Hired: Cinderella Chef. Myrna Mackenzie

a wheelchair, she felt even shorter, more at a disadvantage. But she’d been a fighter all her life and she’d never been one to let her fears show.

      “Mr. Judson, I appreciate the offer to meet your guests, but I’m afraid that’s not possible. I have to finish the dessert.” Okay, that was her story and she was sticking to it.

      Patrick’s gaze passed around the room, and Darcy wished she could rush over and cover the obviously finished crystal glasses of chocolate mousse. But he said nothing about that. Instead he turned to Olivia. “If the coffee is ready, why don’t you serve that, Olivia?”

      The young woman nodded, gathered the coffee cart and rushed out, clearly glad to be spared the storm to follow.

      Now Patrick turned those dark green eyes on Darcy. “How long have you been here?” he asked. “I don’t remember you.”

      But he was studying her so intently that Darcy knew he wouldn’t ever forget her. She could no longer be totally invisible the way she liked things. She fought the urge to brush away the trace of chocolate that had dripped onto her left breast. She wished she could get up and make herself tall so that she was the one towering over someone.

      As if he had read her mind, Patrick pulled up the nearest stool and sat down.

      Darcy’s eyes widened. The man had guests, yet he looked as if he intended to settle in for a long visit!

      Now, she did give in to the urge to fidget, clutching the armrests of her chair. “I’ve been here a week,” she said. “My name is Darcy Parrish.”

      “You’re from Able House.”

      She raised her right eyebrow. “How could you tell?” Her tone was slightly mocking and…okay, that was stepping over the line…in more ways than one. Of course, he knew where she was from. Everyone in this neighborhood had fought to keep the assisted-living facility for those with spinal cord injuries out of this posh neighborhood. All except Patrick Judson, who had sponsored Able House, fought for it and made sure that it was luxuriously furnished and stocked and had every technological and administrative advantage available. Darcy was grateful—more than grateful for the chance to live in a place that catered to her needs and made her feel less dependent, but she also knew that being from Able House, being an example of Patrick Judson’s largess made her a marked woman and an object of pity.

      For a second Patrick looked nonplussed. Then a small amused look lifted his lips. “How did I know? It’s stamped on your wheelchair,” he said.

      Darcy looked down. “I don’t see it.” Of course. He had made it up.

      “It’s on one of the spokes.”

      She bent over and read the half-upside down letters on the fat, black spoke. He was right. When she looked up, her gaze met his. Those sleepy green eyes looked right into her ordinary brown ones and she felt as if she had been sucked up into a tornado of sensation. She felt helpless.

      Darcy hated feeling helpless. She had been in situations where she had no control or was at the mercy of the more powerful or advantaged too many times in her life. She had been the object of Good Samaritanism gone bad before, too, and she’d certainly been forced to deal with admiration turned to pity. The times that had happened…she didn’t want to remember. Not any of them. She would have none of that in her life again. Pride mattered, and she knew enough to shield herself. But now…dammit, she liked this job. Moreover, she needed this job.

      Ever since her accident had killed her dreams of being a police officer, she had been spiraling out of control. For the second time in her life, the first being a dark period of her childhood she didn’t like to think about, she had had to rely completely on the mercy and goodwill of others, and the very thought scared her to death. But here in the kitchen, with her newfound skill? She ruled. She had discovered her talent and she totally ruled. What if she lost that just because she couldn’t keep her big mouth shut?

      “I’m sorry about disappointing your guests,” she said, trying for a humble and deferential tone.

      Now, Patrick raised his brow. “Is that so?”

      Okay, she had lied enough. Besides, she never lied about things that really mattered. A person’s attitude mattered. “No, not really. That is, I don’t want to go out there and meet them, But, I also don’t want them to be disappointed in the meal.”

      “They’re not. That’s why they wanted to meet you. To tell you how much they enjoyed it.”

      “I…I’m sorry, but I really don’t like to be on display. I just can’t do that.”

      He nodded curtly. “That wasn’t my intent.”

      “You didn’t know I was in a wheelchair, did you?”

      “I don’t know you at all.”

      “No reason you should. I’m just another employee.” Even though she knew that was a lie. When she applied for this job, Mrs. D., the housekeeper, had noted that she was from Able House, and Darcy was almost certain that the woman had favored her because of that. Not that she didn’t have the talent to do the task, because she did, but this was Chicago. Talent in the kitchen abounded, and a man with Patrick Judson’s money and social standing could hire the best. He wouldn’t have had to give preferential treatment to a woman just because she lived at the institution where he was the chief benefactor.

      But he had. Or at least his housekeeper had.

      Darcy sighed. “I’m grateful for the work.”

      He didn’t smile. Indeed, his look was grim. “If you couldn’t do the work Mrs. D. wouldn’t have hired you. But I have to warn you, it’s a very temporary position.”

      Yes, she knew that. She’d been trying not to think of that. She’d been hoping that temporary meant…not temporary.

      “But for now?” she asked.

      Patrick leveled a look at her and she knew this was a man who was used to getting his way. “For today,” he stressed, “I’ll make your excuses. But that’s a one-time reprieve. I’m leaving Judson House soon and I’ll be gone long-term. When I go, every employee here will have a new place to work. That’s my promise to myself, and I can’t place employees elsewhere if they are insubordinate or insist on hiding their talents. If Able House is going to succeed beyond this generation, its inhabitants have to be willing to be beacons and let their lights shine, at least in some small way. They have to be examples of success stories themselves. You and I are going to work on this, Darcy.”

      She stifled a groan. “On what?”

      “On your fear of coming out of the kitchen and meeting people.”

      It wasn’t exactly fear of being around people that was her problem. True, she didn’t like being stared at, but she wasn’t a complete hermit. She just steered clear of anything that brought her undue attention, and even then…her fear was much more than that. “I don’t want to be anyone’s project,” she said.

      “Too bad. It’s just become a condition of your continued employment. You’re mine now.”

      Darcy tried to ignore the sudden quickened beating of her heart as he stood up and started to walk away.

      Darcy rolled forward. “Mr. Judson. I—”

      Patrick Judson turned. “Trust me on this, Darcy. I’ll make sure you have security, a good job and the means to survive without being beholden to anyone before I go.”

      Oh, yeah, like she hadn’t heard those kinds of promises before. But in the end she was the only person she had ever truly been able to count on.

      “I don’t need security.” A total lie.

      He paused. “What do you need?”

      Darcy didn’t hesitate. “I need to finish making dessert.”

      “Chocolate mousse? Is it good?” he asked, a teasing