Chapter 1
My ex-husband, Kyle Walsh, got into a car accident and lost his memory. He forgot all about our marriage contract and handed me 30 million dollars in alimony, telling me to get lost.
I signed the divorce papers in record time, hid my pregnancy, and left with style.
Rich, single, and expecting? Talk about a perfect deal.
I went straight back to my hometown and opened a farm stay. Life couldn't be better.
Then, one day, a corporate group booked the whole place. Leading them was none other than my ex-husband, Kyle—just as handsome and just as cold as ever.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, terrified he'd suddenly remember everything and come for our child.
But he just gave me a cold once-over, then pointed at my baby bump and frowned.
He said, "Ma'am, your extra weight is ruining my appetite.
"But your cooking's not bad."
"Here's my offer," he went on. "I need a personal chef. I'll pay you 300,000 dollars a month, and I'll make sure you lose all that extra."
*****
I gripped my spoon so hard that my knuckles turned white.
Honestly, I almost snapped. I seriously considered whacking that ridiculously handsome face with it.
I took a deep breath and plastered on a fake, professional smile.
"Sorry, sir," I said, "but this is a small farm stay. I'm both the owner and the chef. I don't hire out, especially not to work somewhere else."
"And," I paused, my smile growing even wider, and said, "this isn't extra weight. It's my happy weight."
A woman in a sharp business suit and flawless makeup beside Kyle let out a snort.
"Ms. Rivers, right?" she said. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"
She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at me with a smug expression.
"This is Kyle Walsh, the CEO of Walsh Holdings," she said. "For him to offer you a personal chef position is an extraordinary opportunity. It would be very unwise to let it pass."
I shot her a look. Walsh Holdings, huh.
That was where my 30 million dollars in alimony came from.
I flashed a bright smile. "So you're Mr. Walsh? I've heard your name plenty of times. But honestly, I'm not one for big dreams. I'm happy right here on my little piece of land. Growing veggies, tending chickens, and living my quiet life.
"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Walsh. Lunch is on the house today, so please enjoy it."
With that, I turned on my heel to leave.
I couldn't afford to tangle with someone like him. But avoiding him? That I could manage.
"Stop," Kyle called out from behind me, his voice icy and brooking no argument.
My feet stopped dead, but I didn't look back.
"One and a half million dollars a month," he said coolly, as if he were negotiating the price of potatoes.
"Mr. Walsh, it's not about the money," I said, trying to keep my cool.
"Then I guess I just haven't found the right price yet," he replied.
He stood up and started walking toward me, each step deliberate.
An overwhelming sense of pressure instantly surrounded me.
Even without his memories, that take-charge attitude of his hadn't softened one bit.
"Let me be perfectly clear, Ms. Rivers," he said.
His voice was right in my ear, deep and dangerous.
He went on, "You have two choices. One, you accept the position as my personal chef.
"Or two, I buy this entire property. You'd still be cooking for me, just permanently."
His tone was final. "Decide."
I spun around and found myself trapped in his intense stare.
There wasn't even a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He was dead serious.
This lunatic!
I gritted my teeth, cursing him a million times over in my head.
Buy my farm? This land was my sanctuary. It was built with his 30 million dollars and every ounce of my effort. It was meant to be a home for my baby and me.
Who did he think he was, thinking he could just buy his way into everything?
Linda Carter, the woman standing next to him, started stirring the pot again.
She said, "Mr. Walsh, is this really necessary? Dealing with some local who's clearly just playing hard to get for a better price?
"You've already offered her such a high price, and she's still not satisfied. She's just plain greedy."
Kyle ignored her, his eyes locked on me like a leopard stalking its prey.
I knew if I went head-to-head with him, it'd be a losing battle for me.
So I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
"Mr. Walsh, isn't it a bit ungentlemanly to force someone like this?" I said.
A mocking smile curled at his lips.
He said, "I'm not a gentleman. I'm a businessman.
"Profit dictates my actions. And you are my current target of interest."
I went to the stove and served a bowl from the heavy pot. I said, "This is my chicken and vegetable stew.
"The chicken is from our own yard, and the carrots and potatoes are from the garden. It's been cooking all afternoon."
He looked down at the bowl in his hands. Inside, a thick, hearty stew swirled with tender chunks of chicken, carrots, and potatoes, all bound together by a rich, golden broth. A comforting, savory warmth rose from it.
He picked up the spoon and took a small sip.
In that instant, I saw his eyes widen, a hint of confusion flashing across his face.
That feeling again.
The taste on his tongue was unsettlingly familiar. It pulled at a memory he couldn't quite grasp, both disturbing and compelling.
He set down his spoon, and in that instant, his decision was made. The deal, in his mind, was already closed.
"You still haven't given me an answer," Kyle said, his voice cool.
He pulled out his phone and dialed without hesitation.
He said, "Legal team? Get over to Clear Brook Village. I'm buying out this farm stay..."
"Fine, I'll do it!" I blurted out, almost yelling.
Kyle paused, then said coolly into the phone, "Stand by," then hung up.
He looked at me, completely composed and looking pretty pleased with how I reacted.
"That's better," he said.
I clenched my fists, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.
"I'll be your personal chef, but I have conditions," I said.
"State them," he said.
I said firmly, "First, I'm only working for you for one week. When your team's done here, we're done."
"Second, I only cook here, in my kitchen. If you want to eat, you come here," I added, not backing down.
"Third," I said, my voice firming. "My job is cooking. Nothing else. Especially not..." I shot a look at my bump and said, "anything regarding my personal health."
Linda snapped from the side, "Who do you think you are, laying down conditions for Mr. Walsh?"
Kyle raised a hand, signaling her to shut up.
He checked me out with a spark of interest, like appraising a unique lot at auction.
"Deal," he said.
Wait, he actually agreed?