Читать книгу Walk On The Wild Side - Donna Kauffman - Страница 8

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 schools other than Jean Marc’s.” She leaned forward, all but pinning Sunny to her seat with her dark eyes. “So, why don’t you get to the meat of it?”

Sunny smiled, thankful for Bennie’s straightforward style. She told her the whole story.

Mama Bennie was frowning. “Seems your grandfather feels respect goes only one way. D’Angelos doesn’t operate like that. We’re a very close family, but love means you allow those you love to find their own happiness. Fortunately, many D’Angelos have found their happiness here. We’re a third-generation restaurant. Almost all run by D’Angelos.”

“Why the sign then?”

“My youngest grandson, Joey, is off to graduate school this fall. He’s a computer programmer. Designs those crazy computer games all the kids are playing.” She shrugged as if to say it was beyond her, but her smile returned quickly. “He’s smart, our Joey. Full scholarship. But he got a summer job on campus with one of his professors, so he’s leaving a bit earlier than we’d expected. I don’t have anyone else in place at the moment, so the sign went up.”

Sunny felt like providence was shining down on her. “So, the job is a temporary one? Until you find a family member?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She eyed Sunny meaningfully.

It was a perfect setup. They could fill each other’s needs until it didn’t suit them any longer. When the time came, she’d go back to Chandlers, and another D’Angelo would fill her position. “I think I came to the right place.”

“I think so, too. But I must be honest with you, Sunny. I am old-fashioned enough to wish you were a good Italian girl. But I’m also old enough to enjoy upsetting the applecart from time to time.” She winked, then got down to business. “I’m going to have to insist on a one-month probationary period. Just to make sure you can live up to that fancy gourmet diploma you earned.”

Sunny blushed, feeling foolish for her earlier airs. “I won’t let you down, Mama Bennie.”

“I believe you’ll try, and that’s the best I can hope for. Now, there is one more thing before we fill out the paperwork. A minor bit of business, really.”

She had the job! Sunny was so relieved, nothing else mattered at this point. “I’m sure whatever it is, I—”

“Not whatever, whoever.” Mama Bennie pushed her chair back and stood. “Follow me.”

Sunny followed the older woman toward the back of the restaurant. They passed the double doors leading to the kitchen. There was a sudden burst of violent Italian, followed by the clash and clang of several pots and pans, followed once more with voices raised in a heated argument.

She paused a moment before Mama Bennie took her arm and continued down the hallway.

“Come, come. Don’t mind Carlo. He’s a hothead, but a pussycat on the inside. Really.”

Sunny wasn’t so sure about that. Another crash made her wince and look over her shoulder in the direction of the swinging doors. Just what had she gotten herself into?

She barely had time to finish that thought when Mama Bennie knocked once on a large wooden door then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

“Niccolo, I have our new kitchen help here. I wish her to begin immediately. I just need the papers.” Before Sunny could gather her wits, Mama Bennie thrust her in front of her ample bosom.

The man she faced could only be called imposing. And that was only partly due to his height. They were in a stockroom, and he’d been surveying the contents stacked on the crowded shelving units, a clipboard in his hand. Now he was staring at her. Unlike Mama Bennie, he didn’t welcome her with a warm smile. Not even close.

He wore black pants and a white button-down shirt with the collar undone. The sleeves were rolled up haphazardly over healthy-size forearms. She could see his white undershirt through the cotton. It was the old-fashioned tank style. She didn’t think they made those anymore. Something about the way it defined his chest and shoulders caught her attention. She jerked her gaze to his face, only to feel another little shock of awareness.

His eyes were a bottomless brown with thick lashes that should have been illegal on a man. And his hair all but begged a woman to sink her fingers into it. It was thick and dark and a bit wild, as if he’d just recently left the steam-soaked kitchen. She could easily imagine him all hot and passionate, shouting in Italian. That thought had her looking at his mouth. Big mistake. It was full, generous, even compressed in a hard line as it was now. Suddenly all thoughts of steamy rooms and heated emotions had her normally well-ordered mind racing in directions it never had before. It was like he’d found her hormonal On button and flipped it. Hard.

Then he shifted his focus away from her, and the switch flipped abruptly to Off.

“We’re not hiring anyone who looks like her to work in my kitchen.”

Mama Bennie snapped out something in Italian, which Sunny only partly caught, but the smoldering man before her curbed his tongue. His expression, however, remained heated. She didn’t think it was about hormones, though. Just as well. Sexist jerk. Probably the head chef or something. They were all temperamental. She’d figured that out at fourteen. So what if he was the embodiment of every red-blooded woman’s Italian stud fantasies?

Just because she looked like the stereotypical blue-eyed blond WASP she was didn’t mean she couldn’t make her way here in this swarthy, testosterone-laden little world of his. She’d won over Jean Marc, who could give lessons to this guy in testosterone spewing. She’d even won over Mama Bennie. She’d win over this guy, too. After all, winning was what Chandlers did best. She wondered briefly how her grandfather would react when she told him she owed her new job to his formative training.

So there she was, all primed and ready to do battle for blond, blue-eyed princesses everywhere, when Mama Bennie promptly took the wind out of her sails.

“Sunny Chandler, this narrow-minded young man is my grandson Nick D’Angelo. Despite his more obvious flaws, he’s good at what he does. He’s the third-generation D’Angelo to run this whole operation.” She beamed at them both. “He’s your new boss.”