Hired: The Cinderella Chef

by Myrna Mackenzie

  “Okay, you win,” Darcy said. She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.

  Two days later on the eve of the dinner party, she was sure she had made a mistake. The kitchen was under control, the extra staff members were following her directions. The tables, the silver, the candles, the china, the linen…everything looked perfect. But Darcy, having just emerged from an Olivia-style makeover, glanced into the mirror in front of her and wondered what she had been thinking.

  The dress was perfect, a pretty slate-blue with a portrait neckline. A single wide gold chain framed her neck, and her hair had been styled into a chin-length breezy, swingy style. Unaccustomed to makeup, she had blush on her cheeks, lipstick on her lips, eyebrows that had been plucked and shaped, eyelids that had been tastefully shadowed. She felt elegant in the dress, but glancing in the mirror and then down at herself, she had one thought.

  “They’ll notice the chair first,” she said.

  “So what?”

  Darcy had no answer for that. Olivia couldn’t possibly understand.

  “Yes, so what?” a deep male voice asked. A voice that went right through her and made her ache.

  Darcy turned to face him. “You’re making me meet them. I’ll meet them. I even understand why and I’m grateful, but…the chair…”

  “It’s a great looking chair.”

  She frowned.

  “Darcy,” he said slowly, and he gave a brief nod, a signal that sent Olivia out of the room with a smile. “Maybe Olivia and I can’t ever really understand completely. Neither of us can be in your shoes or know what you’re feeling or what it must be like to be you, but for people who didn’t know you before your accident, the chair is a part of you. And since it helps you do all the things you need to do, it’s a good part.”

  “I know that. But—”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want people to give me a pass because of the chair, to be easier on me because of it. The meal has to stand on its own. I don’t want anyone waxing effusive because they think I need to hear pretty compliments.”

  He thought about that for a minute. “I can understand that. So…”

  “So, I don’t want anyone to know anything about me until after the meal. And if the results aren’t positive—such as someone saying that my bouillabaisse sucks, then I stay in the kitchen.”

  “Darcy,” Patrick drawled.

  “Patrick, please.”

  “I get to make the call,” he said. “I know them better than you and I can read their reactions.”

  She hesitated.

  He waited.

  Okay, fair was fair. Patrick was, after all, doing this for her. “Agreed,” she finally said, feeling the butterflies starting to form.

  “And Darcy,” he said, as he turned to leave. “Your bouillabaisse is fantastic.”

  “I know,” she said with a grin. “Too bad I’m not making that tonight.”

  “You’ll pay for that,” he warned with a sexy smile.

  She waggled her fingers and shooed him out of the room…and waited.

  He was magnificent. Darcy had heard snippets of the conversation from her station in the kitchen where she had thrown on an apron and was personally making sure that the meal was perfect. Some of the names Darcy had heard were household names, yet their deferential tones told her that they looked up to Patrick.

  For his part he was gracious to everyone. And he had kept his promise. Once the meal had begun and everyone had been escorted to the dining room, Darcy had been left to do her job in anonymity. Of course, that meant that she didn’t have a clue as to what was going on in the other room. The servers seemed to be good at their jobs, but they were keyed in on their work. It wouldn’t be right to try to get them to spy or to pump them for information.

  The strangest thing was that while Darcy knew that the exalted of Chicago society were eating her food, she was more nervous about how Patrick reacted to the meal than any of them did. And she’d been cooking for the man for several weeks now! That alone told her that she had stepped over a line she didn’t want to cross.

  But how to stop caring what he thought?

  “Just stop,” she muttered.

  A server passing by looked up startled.

  “Oh, no,” Darcy said. “You’re doing fine. You’re doing great. Go on.”

  “Darcy.”

  She glanced up, fear gripping her as she heard Patrick’s voice. The moment of reckoning was here, and there wasn’t any way to put some positive spin on this. Either the response had been tepid and she would have to live with the knowledge that Patrick was disappointed or it would be positive and she would have to roll into the other room and meet that sea of faces.

  “It’s time,” he said and he held out his hand.

  She moved forward, stopped and took his hand.

  “You’re sensational,” he told her.

  “Patrick, I can’t—not like this. It’s too—I’m too—people will stare at me.” Suddenly every humiliation of that long-ago day when she had walked into that exclusive prep school came rushing back at her. Her gym shoes had been on their last legs, because her mother hadn’t been able to afford new ones yet. Her clothes had been the best she owned but still thrift shop specials. As she had moved past that sea of squeaky clean kids with their designer clothes and their expressions that told her that curious as they were, they would not be inviting her to any parties, she had wanted to run, to get out from under the microscope. She’d wanted to beg them not to look at her, but…

  Those old, bad memories broke into pieces as Patrick dropped to his knees in front of her. “Darcy,” he said. “I would never knowingly humiliate you. And…”

  He frowned, that chiseled jaw growing harder. “Dammit, I don’t have any real right to play God with your life or to presume to know what you’re about or what you’ve been through, but I know this much. You have an amazing talent and a skill that no one else in that room possesses. I watched them, Darcy, while the meal was going on. They were in gastronomical heaven.”

  Darcy gave him a skeptical look. “That’s pushing it, don’t you think, Patrick?”

  He shook his head slowly, his eyes never looking away from hers. She wanted to reach out, to frame her palms around his face, to feel his skin as he spoke.

  “Not far enough,” he said. “I know it’s true, because I was so intent on catching their expressions and their comments that I almost missed the meal myself.”

  “Were you worried that I would mess up?”

  He grinned and reached out and took her hands in his own. “Not even remotely. The scent of your cooking, Darcy…”

  He groaned, a sound that made Darcy hot, then cold, then hot again. She snatched her hands away for fear she would do something stupid. The man certainly had a heightened olfactory sense, didn’t he? And wasn’t there just something incredibly…sexy about that?

  Don’t think that. Don’t ever think that, she ordered herself. She tried to turn her attention back to the mundane.

  “Your cooking was one of the hot topics during dinner,” Patrick continued. “You may not recognize all the names, but everyone in the room has a reputation for discriminating taste in food. Yet I have it on good authority that Donovan Mintner rated your vichyssoise six stars on a five-star scale and Eleanor Givelli went off her diet for a half hour so that she could have a second helping of your lemon plum cake. Michael Brisbin asked me where I’d found my chef and wondered if there were any more where you’d come from. The point I’m trying to make, Darcy, is that they’re already half in love with you.”

  “With my cooking.”

  He got that stubborn frown that she was beginning to recognize. “I have a feeling that your cooking comes from your soul. It’s definitely more than a skill you’ve learned, which means that yes, it’s you who has captured their hearts.”

  “Stomachs,” she said just as stubbornly.

  Without warning, he reached out and stroked his palm down her cheek, smoothing back her hair. “
Didn’t anyone ever pay you any compliments?” he asked. “You seem so unwilling to accept them, even when they’re the truth.”

  Darcy fought against closing her eyes to drink in the sensation of his caress. The answer to his question was yes, she had earned compliments over the years. Just not like this. Not from someone who had opened a window to her soul. Not Patrick.

  Save yourself, a little voice inside her whispered. Run away. And because she’d spent a lifetime relying on her instincts and had been part of too many situations where her feelings had been out in the open and ruthlessly trampled, she did just that. Darcy rolled backward just a touch. Just enough.

  Patrick lowered his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask before I touched, did I?”

  “I suppose it was kind of a big brother thing. You know, once you’re in the habit of nurturing, you can’t turn it off.” Darcy desperately needed to believe that, because thinking of his touch any other way, even beginning to daydream was…preposterous, potentially heartbreaking. Unthinkable.

  His brows drew together. “No, it wasn’t like that,” he said, as if half to himself. “Not remotely like that.” He rose and took a step backward. “But you’re right. It probably should have been. Dammit, we don’t have time for me to get remorseful and apologetic right now. I can hear rumbling in the other room. They’re probably wondering where I am and if I’ve bundled you off somewhere so they won’t get a chance to steal you. I told them I would bring you.”

  “Oh, no. Are you saying that there’s a sea of people waiting to meet me? I thought we were just going to quietly slip in and you might introduce me to a few people and then I would leave. This sounds like a big production.”

  “Nothing wrong with doing things big.”

  Of course, she should have expected that. This was a man who ran an international company, who had taken on the gargantuan task of raising three girls when he had not been much more than a child himself. This was a man who was organizing a global charity venture which entailed him jumping out of airplanes, rocketing down mountains on a tiny board and who knew what all else?

  “Big? If I weren’t so grateful for your help, I would roll over you with my chair.” The words just popped out before she could think to stop them. Immediately she pressed both palms to her mouth. “I didn’t just say that, did I?”

  But Patrick had tipped his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, yes, and I’m not forgetting it, either.” He laughed again, and Darcy heard sounds coming from just beyond the door.

  “They must wonder what we’re doing in here.”

  “I’ll bet they’d never guess that you’re threatening me with bodily harm,” he teased. “Come on, we’d better go. And Darcy?”

  “Yes?” She barely got the word out. She was a mess, a complete mess.

  “It’s probably best to watch your temper. I want them to hire you, not run away for fear you’re going to trample them.” His smile was broad and teasing and…just too darn sexy. That wasn’t fair, not fair at all when he was as unattainable as the moon and stars.

  “Don’t you even see the chair?” she said in frustration.

  His teasing grin faded. “Of course,” he said. “I also see your eyes. You have the most amazing, expressive eyes. I’m pretty sure I saw a few sparks fly from them a few seconds ago.”

  Warmth puddled in her heart. Nonsensical desires and questions racketed through her brain. She had to ignore them, but…no one had ever spoken to her like this before. No one had ever made her feel like this. “What else do you see?” she asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to ask.

  “Oh, so much more,” he said, his gaze skimming down her. She felt heat everywhere he looked. Her face, her throat, her breasts. “But it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention those things when other people might hear.”

  For a second she thought she saw frustration in his eyes, but then he turned and moved toward the other room. “Your fans await, Darcy,” he said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WAS he making a mistake doing this, Patrick wondered as Darcy entered the room. He knew how much she disliked being the center of attention. He also knew that she would be weighing every stare, analyzing every comment. What on earth had the world done to her? And that guy she’d been engaged to, what kind of a man would walk away from a woman like this just because her legs would no longer support her?

  Idiot, he thought. But he didn’t have time to pursue that train of thought and, anyway, it wouldn’t be wise to even go there. Darcy’s beauty haunted him, her frankness enchanted him, the fact that she didn’t seem to be even remotely impressed or in awe of his money and social standing made him wild to get to know her better. And her body…well, as he’d told her it was better not to think those kinds of thoughts. It was best not to think of her in any way other than as a talented woman he was committed to promoting. Because he was leaving.

  He had to leave. He’d waited all his life to leave. He’d put off everything for the girls’ sake. And now that the trip was near, he had made commitments, big-time commitments. His company, his reputation and the future of a whole host of charities that were relying on his help were tied up in this venture. It was his pleasure to go, but also his duty, and he had learned about duty at an early age.

  Besides, he had no business bringing Darcy too closely into his world. It was one thing to handpick a group of guests, tactful, good-hearted people with deep pockets, who would treasure her and be careful with her. It was another to subject her to the public scrutiny she would face if anyone ever thought that she was anything more than just his chef.

  The public and the media were often unkind. They peeled back the outer layers to expose the vulnerable stuff beneath, and…he had no idea what all Darcy had gone through in her life, but he knew that she was vulnerable beneath that tough exterior. A person didn’t develop a tough exterior unless that person had been forced to protect herself. No doubt anyone who had to go through the harrowing experience of losing the use of their limbs and muscles and all that that entailed, who had had the rigors of excruciating physical therapy forced on them, developed strength, but Darcy had holes in her armor. If it was up to him, he wasn’t going to let anyone near enough to expose those holes.

  And he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to do anything that might harm her…including letting the world know that he was attracted to her.

  But he couldn’t ignore her, either. That would be worse. And it would be suspect, as well. He had brought this group here tonight to meet his prize chef, whether they knew it or not. Then, he had taken it a step further and promised them an introduction. Darcy’s future lay in the balance.

  Showtime, Judson, he told himself. He gave Darcy a smile and moved forward to meet his guests who were gathered in small groups in his parlor having after dinner drinks.

  He made a beeline for Eleanor Givelli. She was his first choice, a warmhearted woman with a large checkbook. “Eleanor,” he said, as Darcy moved forward. “Allow me to introduce Darcy Parrish, the woman who created that lemon plum cake you admired.”

  Eleanor was a short, plump woman with springy red curls. “Darcy? How wonderful to meet you. And I didn’t just admire the cake,” she said, laughing and gesturing with her hands, sending those red curls bouncing. “I attacked it and devoured it. No shame at all. It was delicious, as I’m sure you know. Not that I’m surprised. Patrick only has the best in his life. From employees to friends to…oh, everything. The girls, you know. He always had to have the best for them, to only expose them to people who met his high standards. He certainly knows how to zero in on talent.”

  “I—thank you. I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Darcy said, looking pleased but a bit overwhelmed by the woman’s effusive charm.

  Patrick began to move on.

  “Oh, you’re not taking her away, are you?” Eleanor asked. “I wanted to speak to you, Darcy, about an affair I need catered in two weeks. And don’t get all possessive on me, Patrick. I know she’s yours, but you’re only one
man, and Lane is a tiny woman and probably not even here all that much, given her social calendar.”

  Patrick grinned. “Are you telling me that you’re trying to steal my chef?”

  “Not yet,” Eleanor said. “For now I just want to borrow her to cater this affair I’m having. And maybe one or two more.”

  “Are you sharing, Patrick?” Michael Brisbin seemed to appear from out of nowhere. “Because if you are, I’m first in line behind Eleanor here. My company is starting to plan its summer bash and your genius of a chef here—” he gave Darcy a smile and a nod “—is miles above the one we’ve used in the past. I’m Michael, by the way,” he said directly to Darcy. “And you are…”

  “Darcy,” she said with a smile. Michael was a genius and a good man but he had the tendency to speak a mile a minute.

  “Beautiful,” Michael said, and Patrick gave the man a sharp look. The word hadn’t sounded like a simple response to having finagled a talented chef’s name. He had sounded like a man meeting an intriguing and beautiful woman.

  “Hey, Patrick, don’t scowl at me like that. Didn’t you hear Eleanor? If Darcy isn’t averse to sharing with us…do you have an exclusive right to her?”

  No, he had no right to her whatsoever. Furthermore, he had arranged this dinner in the hopes of bringing about just this kind of response.

  “Darcy is a free agent,” he said.

  “Free agent. Did someone say free agent? Are they talking about you, Patrick, darling?” Angelise asked, coming up and linking her arm through his. “Because if that’s true, I’m staking a claim on you. I haven’t seen you in weeks. Fortunately your sisters knew how I was pining away and invited me here.”

  Patrick blinked. Not in surprise, exactly. He’d known that his sisters had invited Angelise and he had spoken to her at dinner. They’d known each other for years, were good friends and he’d even occasionally—as late as a week ago—thought that after her divorce was final and she was free, the two of them might consider becoming closer. He did want to get married eventually, to have children, and he and Angelise had a lot in common. Similar backgrounds, similar interests. They would suit.