Chapter 1 #2
“Don’t need to. I did several small batches that weren’t right, but I just have a feeling about this batch.”
“You and your feelings.” Kayleigh huffed out a laugh. “Honestly, they’re usually right. At least where chocolate’s concerned.”
“Thank you.” Lily took a bow, then grinned and held up a second chocolate. “Here’s to new beginnings.”
Kayleigh’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a rare sight. “That means a lot, Lily. And I know you’ll get your big break someday.”
The sentiment warmed Lily’s heart. “If this chocolate is as amazing as I think it is, maybe sooner rather than later.”
“I hope so.” Then Kayleigh took a bite of the chocolate. Her eyes closed and she tilted her head toward the ceiling. Then groaned. “Okay, I think I just got seven cavities. That’s delicious.”
Lily pumped her fist and then took her own bite. Flavor exploded on her tongue—unique, immersive.
And yes, perfect.
The door slammed open behind her. “Good morning,” a baritone rang out.
Carlos stood on the other side of the island, staring at the kitchen behind Lily, his bushy black eyebrows bunched together. He made a huffing noise and shook his head. Gave a small grin. “You are in so much trouble, Hart.”
What—?
But behind him, through the door walked Oscar, a tall fifty-something with a handlebar mustache and piercing brown eyes.
His gaze landed on the tempering machine, still crusted with chocolate on the inside.
He looked at her. “Tell me.” And then he pointed at the machine.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just getting the machine cleaned.”
“You mean the machine I assigned you to clean last night?”
Lily darted a glance at Kayleigh, whose eyes widened.
“Um, yes. Well, actually, I did clean it but then took the initiative to create some new chocolates for tonight. I worked all night on a new recipe for a bergamot chocolate crunch. That’s not the name—I haven’t come up with the name yet, actually, but?—”
“Ms. Hart?—”
Nope, she couldn’t stop now. “Try one, sir. I think this could be our next big thing. I even wrote down the recipe so we could mass produce it for tonight’s wedding if you like it.”
“Tonight’s menu is already set.”
“Sir, if you’ll just try one, I think?—”
He held up a hand. “I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to do what I assign you. And you clearly haven’t done that.”
“No, but if you’ll just try?—”
“This isn’t the first time, either. You know what’s holding you back? Discipline. You’re impulsive and flighty. Not dependable.”
She stilled, the words pinning her in place. No, that wasn’t…she wasn’t?—
“If you could just taste?—”
“I don’t need to.”
And then he walked over to her plate of chocolates, picked it up, and…
Dumped it in the trash.
She stared at the mess, then back at him. “Have you lost your mind? That—those took me all night!”
And maybe something just snapped inside her. “They were delicious. Artwork. Pomp and circumstance. It’s a medley of flavors, a symphony for the mouth. And you just dumped them because of what? Pride? Just take a look at the recipe!”
He just stared at her, nostrils flaring.
Okay, so maybe…um. She cut her voice low. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to insult you or your work, but?—”
“That’s enough, Ms. Hart.” He snatched the recipe card from her hand, glancing at it, then back to her.
“The thing you don’t seem to understand is that this is my kitchen.
My kitchen, my rules, my recipes. When you have your own kitchen—and honestly, Ms. Hart, I very much doubt you’ll ever reach that level of success— you can decide what to make. Until then…”
He ripped the recipe in half, then again, and again. Then he added the papers to the chocolate, spilled in with the other debris from last night’s dinner.
She barely had a voice. “Why did you do that?” She took a breath, found more of it. “I’ve given you five years of my life. I’ve catered to your every stupid whim, spent countless hours doing tedious work, cleaning and sanitizing, and—this is how you treat me?”
She might be shouting now, so she schooled her voice. Hated the tears that rimmed her eyes. “That was mine. You had no right.”
“Correction,” he snapped, stepping up to her. “You used company resources to create it, so it was actually mine . And I decided I didn’t want it.” Oscar slid the garbage receptacle back into place. “Just like you, Ms. Hart. I don’t want you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want you here anymore. As of this moment, you are no longer an employee of The Sullivan.”
Lily just stared at him, the words not quite landing. The silence buzzed loudly in her ears.
What—?
No, no, no. This is not how things were supposed to go.
Lily pressed her lips together and blinked her eyes rapidly.
She would not cry. Crying hadn’t stopped her grandpa’s disappointment in her.
Hadn’t stopped the Kelleys from accusing her, or Declan from turning away from her.
Hadn’t stopped Professor Hamilton from failing her.
Oscar folded his arms over his chest. “Did you not hear me? You’re fired, Ms. Hart. And I won’t be giving you a reference, so don’t even ask.” He pointed toward the door. “Your chocolate-making days are over.”
* * *
Declan Kelley stepped off the Chicago “L” train—and straight into his new life.
Adjusting his tie, he made his way down the platform, relishing the tug of the crowd flowing around him. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to do.
Including, finally, him.
At seven thirty, the July humidity lay on his skin, his shirt sticky under his three-piece suit.
But not even the oppressive heat could steal the pep in Declan’s step as he approached the skyscraper on The Loop where McGentry Food Company occupied the top four stories.
Was his corner office visible from way down here?
His neck craned upward, taking in the building’s seemingly endless rows of windows glinting off the rising sun—a gorgeous sight, given how cloudy the summer had been so far.
If Declan believed in omens of good luck, he might think the appearance of the sun on his first day as McGentry’s business operations manager portended good things.
But Declan just believed in the value of hard work. And goodness knew he’d worked his tail off—both in his career so far, and all throughout his MBA program—to get to this place. Add to that six months of job searching…
But that was then, this was now, and hello to a perfect future.
Cold air blasted him as he stepped inside, blowing so hard he smoothed his hand along his hair, but his new gel had seemed to hold things steady up top.
Being inside muted the din of honking taxis but enveloped him into a sea of people in suits, many talking on their Bluetooth devices, dressy shoes echoing against the travertine and through the stories-tall lobby.
Declan flashed his shiny new-as-of-yesterday badge at a security guard, who waved him in, and headed toward the bank of six elevators.
His phone vibrated. He pulled it out—Brandon, his cousin. Probably just calling to wish him good luck, but the doors to the elevator opened, so he declined the call and got on with a handful of others.
He’d text him back later.
Scanning his badge, Declan hit the button for the eighty-first floor.
Eighty-first. Which meant a view of the Windy City. Looks like we made it. A tune sang in his head as he flashed a grin at the pretty brunette in a pencil skirt across from him. She smiled back.
Oh—he didn’t want to get too friendly. He pulled out his phone, swiping open his email as an excuse to look somewhere else. Not that he wanted to be rude, but after Kim, the last thing on his mind was dating.
His phone vibrated in his hand. Brandon again. Weird. His cousin wasn’t the type to call twice.
Not unless something was wrong.
He glanced up at the numbers. Only at floor eighteen, with clearly five more to go.
Declan answered, pitched his voice low. “What’s up, Brandon?” He put a hand to his other ear, bent his head to capture his voice.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“I’m on an elevator?—”
“Right. Sorry.” Wind blew across Brandon’s receiver. Probably his tour-guide cousin was standing on a cliff somewhere in Arizona, overlooking a different kind of view. “And now you’re the jerk talking in the lift.”
“Yep.”
The elevator stopped and opened. Two of the businessmen stepped out, one glancing over his shoulder at Declan with a frown. Yeah, yeah, he knew it was rude. Declan raised his hand in apology but the guy was already walking down the thick-carpeted hallway.
A sigh came over the phone, and he forgot about the men. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Grandma.”
Sweet Grandma Kelley, who had been frailer and frailer every time Declan had visited home. Who never had a cross word to say to anyone, even though the Kelleys (except for maybe his Aunt Jill) weren’t generally known for their ability to win friends.
“What about Grandma?”
“She had a small…episode last night.”
“What do you mean, episode ? Like a heart attack? A stroke?” He glanced at the brunette. She’d turned, staring at the numbers, as if trying not to listen.
“She fainted and they’re still running tests to verify what happened. But she’s stable now.”
“Good. Stable’s good.” He blew out a breath. “Is she at the Jonathon Island clinic or did they take her to the mainland?”
“She’s at the Port Joseph Hospital, but they said given the fact she’s eighty-three, they’ll keep her overnight for observation. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner. We didn’t want to call until we had good news. I know how much she means to you—to all of us—and didn’t want you to worry.”
Oops, he hadn’t realized he was pacing until the door opened and another man got out, and the woman took another step away from him.
He retreated to the corner, facing the wall, and fought to keep his voice low. “I appreciate the call, but you definitely should have told me sooner.”