Walk On The Wild Side

A second later she shot up in her bed. Only, it wasn’t her bed. Or even night. Sun was shining in the bedroom window.

“What’s wrong?” Nick tugged her arm till she turned.

Just looking at him took her breath away. All dark and tawny, sprawled in white cotton sheets. There should be a law against looking so sinful and downright inviting. Her body was already gearing up to accept that invitation, too.

“I have to leave,” she said nervously.

“There you go, having to do something again.” He shifted and the sheet moved dangerously low on his hips. “What’s really wrong?”

Her mouth went dry. “I—I spent the night.”

“And this is a problem—why?”

“Because I don’t spend the night.”

Nick propped himself up on his pillow. “Oh?”

“Spending the night leads to speculation,” she said. “On the part of the person you spend it with.”

Nick grinned and reached for her. “And what’s wrong with that…?”

Donna Kauffman is the award-winning, nationally bestselling author of eighteen contemporary romance novels. She worked as a bookkeeper, dog groomer, people groomer, art instructor and competitive bodybuilder before turning to storytelling. She began writing while expecting her first child, put the manuscript aside, then finished it during a second pregnancy. That book became her first published novel. She’s since written many more, calling on both imagination and background in order to create compelling, innovative stories.

Walk on the Wild Side is Donna’s debut book for Temptation. It’s a fun, sexy story about a wealthy heroine who longs to take a walk in the real world, albeit temporarily. The passion and love she finds with Nick is worth the trip alone. Look for more books from this talented writer who loves to hear from her fans. Check out her Web site at www.donnakauffman.com. Enjoy!

Walk on the Wild Side

Donna Kauffman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my “sister,” Jill Shalvis.

Families aren’t always the ones you’re born into.

Thanks for taking that first step and making us a family.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Prologue

“YOUR PLACE is with the family, heading the company,” said Edwin Chandler, rebuking his granddaughter. “There will be no further nonsense about this…this sabbatical you wish to take.”

Susan Haddon Chandler kept her gaze focused outside the tinted limousine window. Otherwise the sight of her grandfather’s sharply disapproving expression might just tempt her to strangle him. Which would be exceedingly foolish. Then she’d have to take over the business immediately.

“Susan, are you paying attention? I didn’t raise you to be rude.”

No, she thought wearily, she was raised to be cold, unfeeling, totally focused on business and the bottom line—exactly like her grandparents were. To hell with love, life and anything resembling a good time.

And she hated being called Susan. Her grandparents were the only people in her life who didn’t call her Sunny. That nickname was the one nice thing her father had given her before he and her mother had died in a yacht racing accident right before her fifth birthday.

Almost from that day forward, she’d known this day was coming. She’d always believed that she’d somehow find a way to accept the inevitable when the time came. Every other person in her graduating class had clutched their diploma like the ticket to freedom it represented.

She hadn’t, though. Her degrees represented a one-way ticket to life imprisonment inside the block of cold granite and steel that housed Chandler Enterprises. She would be expected to remain in her suite of rooms in Haddon Hall, the ancestral home of her maternal great-great-grandmother, where her grandparents could continue to monitor her every breath.

How did she say, “Thanks, but no thanks,” to the people who had given her everything?

She hazarded a glance at her grandfather and felt her spirits sink even lower. There were no words that would penetrate that stubborn piece of stone he called a heart.

“Grandfather, I’m not trying to upset you,” she began.

“Well, you’re going about it very well indeed. I’m not getting any younger. It’s time to curb this foolishness.”

Her grandfather was seventy-eight. But he still put in a full workweek and then some. She knew he would continue to do so until he dropped dead, preferably while heading an international board meeting, closing yet another multimillion-dollar deal. She was fairly certain there was a clause somewhere on her birth certificate that said she was expected to do the same.

“I’m finally done with grad school. I don’t think it’s foolish to want to spend some time on my own,” she reasoned. “You know how much I appreciate all you and Grandmother have done for me. And I’m not turning my back on Chandler Enterprises.” The critical look he gave her only firmed her resolve. She was no shrinking violet. Edwin had seen to that early on. Well, now he would have to deal with the mini-me he’d created.

“I fully intend to take my place in the company,” she told him. “But you have no intentions of stepping down any time soon. Six months will not alter our plans significantly. I’m only twenty-five. I have the rest of my life to devote to Chandler Enterprises. I’m 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 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.”

2

“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?”