Walk On The Wild Side. Donna Kauffman

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      “WOULD YOU MIND waiting out in the hall?” Nick didn’t give the young woman a chance to say no. He took her arm and steered her toward the door.

      He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when she yanked her arm free, resisting his assistance. When Mama Bennie stuck her nose in the family business, trouble always seemed to follow.

      “Thank you,” she said in that oh-so-polite tone. “But I really think, if we’re going to be working together, that we reach an understanding right off.”

      Nick scowled at Bennie’s approving smile.

      “I’ll leave you two to work out the details,” she said, slipping out before Nick could stop her. She was seventy-six and shaped like a ravioli, but she could move with amazing speed when necessary.

      Nick forced his fingers to relax on the clipboard and turned once again to face his latest entrant in the Marry Off Niccolo Sweepstakes. Mama Bennie must be getting desperate. This one wasn’t even Italian.

      “I’m sorry, but you’ve wasted your time.”

      Ms. Chandler planted her hands on her slender hips. “Do you, or do you not, wish to hire kitchen help?”

      Nick sighed heavily. “I do. But I also do the hiring. And the firing,” he added with a pointed look. “Mama Bennie means well, but I’ll be frank with you. She only gave you the job because you’re young and beautiful.”

      “Really,” she said, polished smile intact. “I promise you, I didn’t come in here expecting to get this job based on my good looks.”

      Nick folded his arms, clipboard and all. “Oh? And just what qualifications do you have? We only seat seventy-five, but we offer a full menu. I need someone with experience working a kitchen under those kinds of demands. Do you have experience with Italian cuisine? Southern? Northern?”

      His barrage of questions had been designed to make her understand in no uncertain terms exactly why he wasn’t hiring her.

      She looked deflated and defeated. He tried to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt. So what if he was a soft touch for the occasional sob story? He still wasn’t hiring her. He supposed he could let her down easy, though. He blew out a long sigh and tried on his kinder, gentler voice.

      “Listen, I have two weddings and a communion to cater in the next ten days, along with an annual street festival to prepare for. If I don’t get this order called in by three this afternoon, I’m going to have an angry mother of the bride on my hands, as well. I simply don’t have time to train anyone right now. I’m sure you’ll find something somewhere else. There are plenty of people hiring these days.”

      He thought he’d done pretty well under the circumstances, but one look at her told him she didn’t appreciate his kind and gentle routine. So much for the easy letdown.

      Somewhere between the angry mother-in-law and the no-time-to-train-you part, her chin had come up, showing off the rope of matched pearls adorning her neck, and her slender shoulders had squared beneath the designer blouse she wore. He should have gone with his original instinct and hauled her out bodily. But she was talking, and he found himself listening. Her teeth were white and straight, her lips exactly the right width and curved just so. He should have been turned completely off, as perfection rarely called to him.

      He was drawn more toward the slightly offbeat, the woman with that one crooked tooth or a smile that was a bit too wide, eyebrows a bit uneven. A woman with a bit of the Windy City or the old country in her voice. With hips a bit too wide, breasts on the luxurious side and hair…lots of hair. Thick, wavy hair made to sink his fingers into. That was the kind of woman who got his attention without even trying.

      Not this cool, blond, slim drink of imported water with a twist of lemon, please.

      And yet, he was all but hanging on her every word.

      “Actually,” she said, with just the right amount of defensive posturing, “my experience is more Continental. French cuisine. Mama Bennie agreed to give me a one-month probationary period. Surely you can give me that much of a trial. If I don’t pull my weight, you can give me the ax. Fair?”

      No, he thought, it wasn’t fair. He didn’t have time for this. And he certainly didn’t have time to figure out what it was about her that got his complete attention. He had zero time for that. Less than zero. So why in the world he opened his mouth and said, “One month. I want that in writing, so when I fire you, you won’t bring in some fancy suit and sue me,” he had no idea.

      She smiled with satisfaction, which irked him all the more. She might not have wanted to trade on her good looks, but Nick could think of no reason other than his unreliable hormones for what he’d just gone and done. She stuck out her hand, and he actually had to think about the consequences of touching her.

      He almost laughed. Damn if she hadn’t reduced him to the level of a gawky teenager, sweating out his first kiss. Only he’d never been gawky, as a teenager or any other time. He’d always been a natural with women. At twenty-eight, he could certainly handle this one.

      He took her hand and pumped it once, then let it drop. Warm. He hadn’t expected that. He’d expected cool, finely boned, impersonal. He’d gotten two out of three right, but that one wrong had been critical.

      Warm, huh? He found himself glancing into those blue eyes. Ice princess? Or blond temptress?

      He shook the thoughts from his head. She was an employee now, he reminded himself. He did have some boundaries, and that was one of them. No dating the boss.

      “So, where do I begin?” She asked expectantly.

      He cleared his throat. “There is some paperwork to fill out. Don’t you want to discuss salary?”