Hired: The Cinderella Chef

by Myrna Mackenzie

  He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Still, you should have a full life. More than just cooking for some rich guy who lives alone.”

  “Hey, I like cooking!” she protested.

  “Shh,” he whispered, smiling down at her. “It wasn’t the cooking I was objecting to, just the audience you have. You may not like crowds, but you should at least get more exposure than you get working for me.

  “Attracting some additional exposure would be a good starting place. Able House needs to build a reputation, and you’ve got an extraordinary talent. We need to find an alternate workplace for you, anyway, so…let me do a little homework. Then we’ll take on the world.”

  It was a good idea, he thought as he headed for home. He’d rather take on the world than risk wondering why he kept wanting to kiss her again.

  And he did want that very badly. Her skin had been so soft, her lips so warm…

  Patrick groaned.

  “Wrong time, wrong place, buddy,” he told himself. He and Darcy were headed in opposite directions.

  In a few weeks he would leave and might never see her again. But he would remember the taste of her and her take-no-prisoners spirit for a long time.

  When Darcy arrived home two days later, she realized immediately that something was different. There was a buzz in Able House that she hadn’t felt before. Not that the atmosphere here wasn’t positive. It was the most homey place she had ever lived. Even when she’d been able to walk around on two legs she hadn’t experienced the energy that existed in this place. But this morning something was happening. She knew it. Her gut instincts, the ability to feel a change in the stratosphere, in the mood of her surroundings that she’d honed on the street and at the police academy took hold. And pretty soon the reason for that change, that extra energy became apparent.

  Cerise came rolling up to Darcy. “Hey, Darce, we’re expanding our horizons.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Classes, training, public speaking.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Darcy said.

  “I don’t, either, but it has something to do with your Mr. Judson.”

  “Not mine,” Darcy said automatically, but even as she said the words she remembered how his lips had felt against hers the other night. She’d felt…claimed. She’d felt…dominated, but in a good way. She’d always hated being dominated. It made her claustrophobic and rebellious, but when Patrick had touched her she’d just sat there, enjoying the tingle and the closeness and the warmth and the man. His hand had lightly cupped her jaw and she hadn’t even objected.

  Which was downright scary. She remembered what Olivia had said about the cooks that had come before her, and she didn’t want to follow in their footsteps. Letting herself wish for things or reach too high was a recipe for disaster. Especially given the fact that Patrick was her benefactor.

  Every time she had wanted something badly or been a recipient of someone’s good ideas, she had always lost. That ill-fated school experience had severely damaged her pride and made her a target. Her abandonment by her fiancé, an instructor at the academy who had encouraged her to apply and claimed he would love her forever had made her question her ability to judge people. And her baby…oh, her baby who had never known life…

  Darcy closed her eyes. With that tragedy she’d lost her sense that life was mostly good even if some of it was bad. If she even thought about Patrick as anything other than her boss…disaster was a certainty. If she knowingly did something so stupid, she risked her self-respect and her last chance to find happiness and purpose.

  “Darce, are you okay?” Cerise was waving her hand in front of Darcy’s face.

  “Perfect,” Darcy lied. “What do you mean by classes?”

  “Not the usual kind,” Cerise said, rolling her eyes sarcastically. “Patrick—you know it was him—called up Mr. Baxter here in the office and grilled him on some enrichment possibilities. He’s set up some tutoring opportunities with the best in their field. Dancers, elite chefs, experts in new technological advances, wheelchair racers, swimmers, designers…you name it. If one of us wants to take a class—and Mr. Baxter said that he really hopes that as a gesture of faith in what Patrick is trying to do, we’ll all devote ourselves to studying one new thing—an expert will be found to teach us, at no charge to us. But, that’s not all. The two of them are also arranging some charitable ventures.”

  “I don’t understand. This is already a charitable venture, and you just said…”

  “This second part isn’t charity for us. It’s charity given by us. We’re supposed to take our gifts and our expertise out in the world and use it by volunteering to teach, to aid, to make a difference. Twice a month if our schedules allow for it. Patrick will arrange for the initial contacts and once he’s gone, Mr. Baxter will be our liaison. I’m not sure I understand all this, but it’s very cool.”

  “He’s trying to make us examples,” Darcy said.

  Cerise frowned. Darcy didn’t blame her. Being held up as a poster child to enlist sympathy and oohs and ahs was a two-edged sword.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she quickly told her friend. “He wants us to show the people in this area that losing us would leave a hole in their community. He wants us to be contributors, accomplished public figures.”

  By now a few other people had gathered round. “That’s never going to happen,” one person said. “Patrick practically had to cram Able House down people’s throats. Now that we’re here, the demonstrations may have stopped but very few people are really welcoming us. They don’t criticize. They’d feel too guilty doing that, but they don’t want us here in their elite neighborhood, either. We’re an island cut off from the rest of the community by a wall of silence. Patrick can’t change that.”

  Darcy wanted to object, but she didn’t. Because she was sure the man was right, and this lingering conflict wasn’t fair to Patrick. He had sacrificed all of his adult life and had earned the chance to be unencumbered. When he went off on his trip he shouldn’t have to be worrying about Able House. Darcy didn’t know how to change that situation, but she knew how to change her part.

  “Let’s take a look at those classes. If Rick Bayliss of Frontera Grill is teaching a class,” she joked, “I am so signing up right now.”

  To her surprise, he was and she did, but…that wasn’t really pushing her boundaries, was it? She had to do more, to show Patrick that she could be bold and fearless and fine once he had gone. Closing her eyes, she gathered her courage. Then she took her pen and signed on the line next to the class that frightened her the most.

  Wheelchair ballroom dancing. She’d been a heck of a bad dancer back when she had legs that operated smoothly.

  “Sounds like fun,” she told the person next to her. Although it didn’t. It sounded scary. Darcy hated being in situations where she might look foolish, where others might stare at her, but…this was all about pushing limits. She had always been about pushing limits.

  Besides, if she wanted to administer a knockout punch to the fear that she was becoming too attracted to her boss, she had to replace it with an even bigger fear.

  “There’s a recital at the end of the class,” she muttered. Panic attacked her, and for one whole hour she didn’t think about Patrick at all.

  But then she did. And why not? She was on the way to his house where she was to spend more time with him. He’d left a message on her voice mail and asked if she would be available. He had news about the plans they’d discussed the other day.

  Available? I’m feeling way too available. Darcy hated even admitting that, but it was true. “Please let Patrick leave town soon,” she prayed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PATRICK looked up from his desk to see Darcy in the doorway of his office. “I got your message, so here I am. Is this about…the other day you said we were going to take on the world,” Darcy said.

  Her chin was high, her lovely hair falling back to reveal a long, slender neck that drew his a
ttention, reminding him that in some ways he was no different from any other red-blooded male. There was a look of bravado plastered on her pretty face, but Patrick could tell that it was a show. Her hands on the wheels of her chair were white-knuckled.

  His heart went out to her. “I might have been hasty in demanding that much,” he said, wanting to give her an out. They could start more slowly.

  She shook her head. “What day does your trip begin?”

  He named a date just a few weeks away.

  “The world it is, then,” she said. “No point in mucking about and wasting time.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “All right, then. You win.”

  She grinned. “Sweet. I like winning.”

  Patrick couldn’t help laughing, then. “I’ll bet you were a handful growing up.”

  She shrugged, avoiding the comment. “Um, Mr. Judson?”

  “Patrick,” he said. “In spite of our employer-employee status, I think we’ve moved beyond formalities.”

  For a minute she look flustered. He probably shouldn’t have reminded her that he had kissed her or that she had revealed heart-deep secrets to him, but he hated having her call him Mr. Judson.

  “All right, then. Patrick,” she agreed. “What exactly are we planning to do? What does taking on the world mean?”

  “Dinner party. Big. Some names you’ll recognize from the news and the society pages. I want you to prepare the ‘meal of your heart.’ Then I want you to put on your best clothes and cruise the room, let people chat you up.”

  She went rigid, her lips practically turned blue, she fanned herself with her hand. “I have to tell you that I stink at the chatting me up bit.”

  “Darcy,” he drawled. “You’ll do fine. Just be yourself.”

  “You have got to be kidding. I was going to be a street cop, dealing with hardened criminals. Decorum is not my strong suit.”

  “But chocolate mousse is. Rich people love their food, and above all, they like discovering the next new thing. They’ll love you.”

  She rolled closer. “I’ll bet you were a good big brother. Did you always encourage your sisters this way?”

  He sat down in a chair right next to her, staring straight into her eyes. “I was flying by the seat of my pants every step of the way with my sisters and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. Even though I tried to be a good parent and to be encouraging, I don’t even want to think of all the mistakes I made. Somehow they survived.”

  “Oh…but they love you. I heard the way they talked about you.”

  He laughed at that. “They certainly had their moments when they hated me, too. Trying to discipline a fifteen-year-old when you’re only nineteen doesn’t exactly make you popular.”

  “I can imagine it doesn’t. But you did it, and you stayed.”

  “Of course, I did. I’d do it again. I wouldn’t even leave now if I thought they needed me to stay, but they don’t. They’re all grown up.” Patrick couldn’t keep the pride from his voice.

  “You’re such a dad,” she teased. “So…adventure sports? What does that entail?”

  “Rock climbing, paragliding, white water rafting, snow-boarding, that kind of thing.”

  “You can do all that?”

  For a second he thought he heard a wistful tone in her voice. “I attempt all that,” he said.

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  He grinned. “You sound like the girls. They don’t exactly approve of me risking my neck, but since the entry fees and other monies raised from the events go to promote extracurricular sporting programs for kids in disadvantaged areas, they understand.”

  “So, in a way you’re just substituting being a dad for your sisters to being a dad for a whole lot of other kids.”

  “Ouch! Don’t nominate me for sainthood yet. Yes, this is a great cause, but I also love pushing my limits and I haven’t allowed myself to do much of that for a long time.”

  “Now you can,” she said softly.

  “Yes.” But he realized that she couldn’t do most of those things. Not anymore. But the things she could do were amazing, like fighting back from a serious injury, creating meals that were out of this world delicious, feeding people, sassing a man when he needed sassing…

  Aw, don’t go there, Judson, he warned himself. Next step you’ll be staring at those lips again.

  “Let me tell you the basic elements of the party,” he said, trying to take his mind off those lips. “I’ll leave the details up to you.”

  “Are you sure you want me to put in an appearance?”

  “I want other people to experience the Darcy Parrish taste.”

  He’d meant food, but now he was looking at her mouth.

  She nodded, but then she froze. “You do have a reason for this dinner party other than me, don’t you?”

  Okay, he could lie, couldn’t he?

  Patrick wanted to groan. How could he lie when she was looking at him like that? “Sorry. This is strictly a coming out party for your talents. A job audition,” he said, leaning in and crowding close to her. “And don’t get that mutinous look in your eyes, Darcy. When I’m gone, you need a new position. I want you to have a good one.”

  “Patrick Judson,” she said, poking him with her index finger. “I may not be ambulatory and I may have to occasionally rely on the kindness of others, but I do not want to be a charity case. I don’t want to do this like some pitiful contestant in a cooking contest in the hopes that someone might like me well enough to choose me.”

  He caught her hand, enclosed it in his palm and brought it to rest on his heart, cupping her gently, keeping her still. “Not you, Darcy. Them. They’re the contestants. You’re the judge.”

  She shook her head, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes that glistened with her anger and frustration.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I thought you understood. You’re not the one on display. They are. Any one of them would be lucky to get you. All you have to do is talk to them, see who you might feel comfortable working with and make your choice.”

  She closed her eyes. Was she going to cry? What a jerk he was. What an idiot! “Darcy,” he coaxed gently. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

  Her eyes flew open wide, and he saw that she wasn’t crying at all. “You,” was all she said. “Oh, Patrick,” she went on, laughing. “You—only you would think that I would be the one making the choice. Don’t these rich people have cooks already?”

  He knew he should let her go. Instead he leaned closer. “Oh, that isn’t going to matter. You are the best. Believe me.”

  She sat there gazing at him and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She raked her palm across his cheek, so that he wanted to turn his head and kiss that palm, make love to that soft skin. “I do believe that you’re slightly crazy, Patrick,” she whispered. “I should call your sisters and tell them how crazy you’re talking, so they can get you some help, but I won’t. I—it seems I have a dinner party to prepare.”

  “Darn right you do.” He released her and she moved away, headed toward the door. “My guests are going to fight for the privilege of hiring you.” The end result would be a new employer for her, he hoped, but at the same time there was a hollow feeling of loss deep in his chest.

  “It’s nothing,” he whispered to himself after she had gone. He was just imagining things. Because he really wanted this trip he’d been planning for so long. He wanted freedom and a life he’d chosen, not the one that had been thrust on him. And then when that was done, he would settle down with a wife, someone who understood his world and welcomed it. They’d have a house full of children and a nice normal life. That would be perfection. Wouldn’t it?

  Had she actually kissed Patrick on the cheek when they had already agreed that any kind of touching would be a mistake? That was far too risky. The man was her boss! Enough of this being attracted to him already, Darcy told herself the next week as she planned the party, attended h
er first ballroom dancing lesson, discovered that she loved it and attended another.

  She wondered if there would be dancing at the party. Patrick had said that she was planning it, but he had been talking about food-related details, not the rest. She wondered who would be there. Patrick had given her numbers. He’d handpicked most of the guests but allowed his sisters to invite some of their friends and acquaintances as well. Undoubtedly she would know no one other than the Judson family, but given Patrick’s social standing, there would probably be people she’d heard of.

  Darcy tried not to think about being introduced to people who would consider her either inferior or worse, an object, the token disabled person. She’d been that too many times, but…she shook off the bad feeling.

  And yet…what should she wear? Oh, no, how could that little detail have skipped her mind? She hadn’t concerned herself with her clothing in years. Expedience and comfort had been paramount, but now…

  “Olivia, help!” she said. “What should I wear to this dinner? Do you know anything about style?”

  Olivia turned to Darcy with a sly smile. “Darcy, does ice cream make my butt look big, and do I eat it anyway?”

  Darcy blinked.

  “The answer is yes,” Olivia said, grabbing her arm. “And right after work we’re going to go through your closet, your jewelry box and your makeup kit and then we’re going shopping. You are going to knock Mr. Judson and everyone at that party on their wealthy…um, behinds.”

  Uh-oh, she’d released a fashion monster, Darcy thought. Her question had been innocent enough. She hadn’t expected so much enthusiasm. “I was thinking of something a little less major than knocking people on their behinds,” she volunteered.

  Olivia gave her one of those “don’t argue with me” looks. And Darcy had to admit that even in the kitchen Olivia strutted her style.