When the rogue arm of the CIA tries to kill billionaire RAYMOND SINCLAIR after he double crosses the shadowy organization, he discovers the beautiful and spirited intern he fired, EVELYN SIMMONS, holds the key to saving his life and his Silicon Vall...
Evelyn watched as the corpulent cook pulled custards from an industrial-sized oven. She noted how he handled the confections with surprising efficiency. "I've never seen so many desserts." The former intern's brown eyes crinkled with pleasure. "How did you know the correct ingredient quantities without measuring anything, Vince?"
"Being a former Navy cook, I know my way around a kitchen." He winked as he expertly plated the custards. "And here's how I like to serve 'em, with a garnish of mint." He added the fragrant herb with a flourish.
"Nice work. I like to see a real pro on the job." She smiled. "Vince, you're the nicest person I've ever met. You remind me of my uncle—he served in the military his entire life."
He grinned. "Thirty two years and I must have sailed around the world fifty times." He opened the large stainless steel refrigerator on the other side of the room. "We should whip up some deviled eggs. Those are always a crowd pleaser."
Evelyn heard hurried footsteps. Turning around, she saw Deedee, wearing three-inch snake green heels, waltz through the kitchen's side entrance. The drag queen moved with the powerful grace of a panther warming up before breaking into a sprint. The sensual, fruity fragrance, Fantasy, by Brittany Spears, wafted into the room and overwhelmed her olfactory senses.
"Mm...mm, those custards smell heavenly." Holding a canister of whipped cream, Deedee flounced over to peruse the golden desserts. She tied on a spotless, white apron to protect her new, aqua green, silk chiffon dress. Leaning over the counter, she inhaled the dessert's enticing aroma, careful not to soil the asymmetrical ruffles adorning her bodice.
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"That a new perfume?" The chef grinned. "You smell like a boulangerie I used to visit. They made the best croissants in New York City.
"Isn't it divine?" she purred. "It's a delicious mix of litchi, golden quince and kiwi, with hints of jasmine and white chocolate."
"That reminds me. One can of topping won't be enough, Lady Dee. We're going need a few more." Vince delicately applied the garnishing touches as he spoke.
The Drag Queen grabbed a set of keys from a peg on the wall. "I'll go see if there's any cool whip in the freezer." On the way out she cooed over her shoulder, "Sweethearts, you're both doing a great job."
Watching her departure, Prince, a shelter resident with an eerie resemblance to the funk and soul pop singer, stopped fiddling with the rice cooker. Moseying over to Evelyn, he started his favorite pastime—gossiping about men. "Honey, I heard about that brute, Raymond Sinclair. He should be tarred and feathered for the number he did on your self-esteem." He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, babe. Your fairy godfather, Prince's here. I'll turn you into a real Audrey Hepburn, aka Holly Go-Lightly." He flashed a wide grin. "After I'm done raising your self-worth, no man will ever disrespect you again. I promise." He struck a dramatic pose and arched the sole of his David Bowie special edition Converse sneaker. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
