Walk On The Wild Side. Donna Kauffman
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only asking for six months.”
“You had plenty of time on your own in school.”
No, I didn’t, she thought stubbornly. Her grandparents had chosen the sorority she pledged, made certain she only roomed with girls from suitable families and checked up on her constantly. That was when they weren’t demanding she fly home every other week for some social function or other.
She tried again. “It’s not like I’m planning to cut myself off from you and Grandmother. I’ll even stay here in Chicago. I just need enough time to learn a bit more about who I am—”
“The one thing you can certainly never doubt is who you are, Susan. And six months might as well be an eternity. You know about the upcoming merger. If you are to ever head this company, now is the time to step in, to be in on the new direction we are taking from the day the papers are signed. I expect you to participate in the meetings we have scheduled and more important, I expect you to help Frances and me host the variety of social events that will go hand in hand with this monumental event in the history of Chandler Enterprises. You know as well as I do that more business takes place at those functions than in the boardroom. I expect you to shine, to take your rightful place beside me and move into the inner circle.”
Her grandfather’s words turned into a toneless hum inside her head as her panic began to swell. The more he talked about his expectations, the faster the panic grew. She had to get out. Now.
The limo was taking her from their luncheon meeting, where Edwin had laid out her future in no uncertain terms, to the Chandler Enterprises empire. She had this overwhelming fear that once she arrived inside that building, she’d be locked into her future forever. She had the degree, she had the training, both socially and educationally. But she didn’t have the heart for it.
She wasn’t sure she ever would.
She looked out of the window, despair close to consuming her. And that is when she saw the sign.
Kitchen Help Wanted. Full Time.
“Driver, stop the car!”
“Susan! What in the devil—”
“Stop the car right now, please.”
“Carl, don’t listen to—”
But Carl had pulled the sleek automobile to the curb, and Susan was leaping out. She paused long enough to lean in and beseech her grandfather one last time. “I know you don’t understand this and I’m truly sorry for that. It’s only six months. Then I’ll be the best little Chandler this family has ever bred. I promise.”
Her grandfather’s face was so red she suddenly feared she’d pushed him over the edge into a stroke or a heart attack. She was halfway back in the car when he erupted.
“What I understand is that you’re apparently more immature than Frances and I had assumed. You seriously disappoint me, Susan. This little escapade of yours will cost you far more than it will cost me. You’ll soon find out you don’t know the first thing about living in the so-called real world. You want six months? You won’t last six days.”
That was his final mistake. It was like waving a red flag. Anyone who had ever done business with a Chandler learned very early on to never, ever challenge them. Not if they expected to win. Chandlers always won. Of course, now it was Chandler versus Chandler. Sunny hated that it had come to this, but she’d be damned if she’d back down.
“Then I’ll learn. I’m bright. I have the degrees to prove it.” And with that she closed the door. The door to her past, her carefully planned future and everything she’d ever known.
She turned away and strode to the small Italian restaurant she’d spied from the street. She opened the door and removed the sign from the window. She didn’t know the first thing about what this job involved. But she was a Chandler, and when she left this restaurant today, she’d be leaving it as their newest employee.
She saw the limo pull away from the curb in the reflection of the window. “Goodbye, Chandler Enterprises,” she whispered. She looked at the sign over the door. “Hello, D’Angelos.”
1
THE RESTAURANT DOOR closed behind her. Sunny was immediately assaulted with hot, steamy air. The slow-moving ceiling fans swirled thick scents of sausage and spices and other things she couldn’t name but were making her mouth water and her stomach grumble.
The decor reflected the restaurant’s homey, inviting size. Traditional red-checked tablecloths, slender candles and soft white linen napkins were arranged on every table. There were large round tables dominating the center of the room, where she could picture families boisterously talking as they enjoyed their meals. The walls were dotted with smaller, more intimate tables tucked into alcoves. Those private tables were ideal for a romantic dinner. Vivid Italian landscapes covered the warm yellow walls, vined plants were tucked into ceiling alcoves and draped across the lattice separating the smaller tables.
Everything about D’Angelos was like a warm, welcoming hug.
Everything Chandler Hall had never been.
She was instantly entranced. Fate had brought her here, she was certain of it. If she had any lingering doubts about what she’d just done, she swallowed them.
An older, apron-clad woman came out from the back. She was quite short, and just as stout, with her salt-and-pepper hair caught in a surprisingly lush bun on top of her head. She smiled broadly on seeing Sunny standing there, sign in hand, and Sunny smiled back. It went a long way toward easing the sudden wobbly feeling she had in her knees.
“You’re here for the position?” the woman said, her accent a mix of Italian and pure Chicago.
Sunny stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Sunny Chandler, and yes, I’m here for the job.”
The woman took her hand and gave it a shake that almost had Sunny wincing. She had to be close to Edwin’s age, judging from the lines on her face and the mottled skin on the back of her hand. Sunny liked her instantly.
“You have qualifications? References?”
Sunny faltered, but only briefly. Shoulders straight, she held the woman’s gaze and spoke earnestly. “No references, but I trained at the Jean Marc Academy for two years.” And hated every minute. “I graduated with honors.” Although that had mostly been to annoy the insufferable Jean Marc.
“And when did you earn this certificate?”
Sunny’s face heated, but her posture remained proud. “I was fourteen, ma’am.”
The old woman laughed. Heartily.
“Is there a problem? I assure you I’m a quick study and a hard worker.”
“You need this job, eh?” She waved her silent when Sunny started to speak. “You are here, so you are willing. What I wish to know is why you are here.” She motioned to the closest table. “Sit. You will tell me what brought you to D’Angelos today. Then I will decide on your future employment. That will be your résumé.”
Sunny sat. The other woman sat, as well, and held out her hand. “I am Benedictine D’Angelo. Everyone calls me Mama Bennie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. D’Angelo.”
The woman tsked and shook her head. “Are you not an everyone?”
“I’d be honored to be an everyone. I’d love to call you Mama Bennie if you’d let me. You can call me Sunny.”
The woman nodded, her smile a gleaming one. “You have a smile as bright as your name. And I like your style.”
Sunny grinned. “The feeling is mutual.”
Bennie looked her over. “You are wearing clothing worth more than you will likely earn here in months. You speak in cultured tones that tell me you have diplomas from