The Harder They Fall (6 page)

Darcy shot him a triumphant, haughty look, then gave full attention to her father. “The specials tonight are trout amandine, broiled prawns and veal marsala. The soups are black bean and cream of broccoli, and the vegetable is steamed zucchini. Ready to order, or do you want a few minutes?”

Edward arched a brow at Michael. Michael waved, fully prepared to get this show on the road and take whatever punishment she could dish out.

Without opening his menu, Edward said, “I’ll start with the escargot, broccoli soup and the prime rib. Rare. Big cut.”

Darcy nodded. “No appetizer, house salad with the raspberry vinaigrette and the trout.”

“Aw, Princess,” Edward complained. “Relax, will ya?”

“Your arteries will thank me someday.”

“But this is a celebration!”

Her gaze snapped up and she took a step backward, nearly slamming into a customer. “A celebration? What kind of celebration?”

Michael crossed his fingers under the table.

Edward lifted his highball glass in toast. “Why, celebrating seeing my little girl working in one of my restaurants, of course.”

She looked like she wanted to puddle to the floor in relief. Her laughter shook. “Oh, Daddy!”

Michael uncrossed his fingers and mentally listed his seven favorite foul words.

Darcy turned her attention to him, and her eyes grew cool. “And you?” she asked crisply.

Snapping the menu closed, he said, “Salad, house dressing and prime rib. Rare. Baked potato. Sour cream.”

She nodded without protest, apparently not concerned about
his
arteries.

Michael noted, not for the first time, that Darcy didn’t bother writing down their order. Once, he’d even seen her take an order for a party of fifteen without ever jotting down a word. He’d inquired later how badly she’d messed up that table’s order, only to find out she’d gotten it exactly right. The woman had to have the memory of an elephant. The grace of a bull and the memory of an elephant. The grace of a bull, the memory of an elephant, and the face of a goddess.

Michael shook his head.

Taking their menus, Darcy turned . . . and nearly toppled a waiter, laden with a large tray of food. He sidestepped her deftly. “Sorry, Darcy, I didn’t see you.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed on the young man. Apologizing to Darcy for nearly knocking him over? Well, she’d avoided two disasters so far, but he knew she couldn’t last the night. She just couldn’t.

As soon as she was gone, he said,
“
In
truth, Edward, there have been several costly accidents lately. I think you’ll probably find that the profits for this restaurant will have diminished significantly over the last month.”

“I suspected as much.”

Michael didn’t know what else to say on that topic, so he changed the subject back to golf—Edward’s passion, and Michael’s hobby.

A short time later, Darcy returned. Anthony carried her tray of salads, which confirmed Michael’s suspicions that there was a conspiracy going on here to keep Darcy from embarrassing herself. Michael supposed he should be irritated, but for some reason the thought warmed him a little. Apparently the other employees had forgiven Darcy for being a Welham. Considering how upset she’d been the other day, he felt a strange gladness.

Darcy passed out the salads without mishap. She looked so pleased with herself, Michael felt his business edge dull just a little.

“Pepper?”

He blinked. “Hmm?”

She waved a large pepper mill in front of him. “Would you like some freshly ground pepper?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

She began grinding pepper onto his salad . . . right near his nose.

Michael tried to sit back, but that pepper mill trailed after him
like a magnet. “Enough,” he said, twitching his nose to get rid of the tickle.

Grind. Grind. Grind.

“Thank you, that’s e-e-e-ah-
choo!
”

She stopped grinding. “More?”

His warm, fuzzy feelings vanished as he saw the humorous gleam in her eye. Shielding his salad with his hands, he said mildly, “No, thank you,” all the while plotting revenge.

She moved to her father and gave him three small twists of pepper, then sashayed away, obviously proud of herself.

Edward dug into his salad with relish. Michael looked at his own. The lettuce, popcorn shrimp, fresh mushrooms and creamy garlic dressing were all coated with enough pepper to season a side of beef. He tried to push the pepper to one side and dig underneath for some virgin lettuce. He took a bite. Swallowing, he grabbed for his water and drained half the glass.

Putting aside his salad fork, he looked around the restaurant for Darcy. The little tart.

A deafening crash from the kitchen rattled the windows in the dining room. Michael shot to his feet. “Come on. I’m sure your daughter will be in the vicinity of the latest disaster.”

Edward followed him into the kitchen.

Chaos reigned. Anthony was trying to clean up what looked like the remains of six or seven dinner servings while waiters and waitresses jumped over him. The chef was swearing in Italian and shaking a spatula at the waste of food. Tom was trying to hand salads, condiments, coffee, whatever, to people who yelled for help.

Darcy wasn’t there.

Michael almost growled. He had no doubt Darcy was behind the latest mishap. Somehow, some way, she’d caused this situation. “Where’s Darcy?” he asked Tom.

Tom raised innocent brows. “Darcy?”

“How’d this happen?” Michael demanded.

Just then one of the waiters stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“You do that,” Tom said gruffly. He nodded at Edward. “I’ve got this under control. Go on out and enjoy the rest of your meal.”

Michael felt the bite of frustration. Shaking his head, he followed Edward back out to the dining room.

Tom waited several heartbeats after the two men left the kitchen. Then he ambled over to the freezer. Peeking in, he caught Darcy biting her thumbnail. “You can come out now. They’re gone.”

Michael couldn’t believe this night.
Darcy had done everything right, or, if she hadn’t, she and the other employees were covering her mistakes nicely. He’d subtly tried to shake her up, but so far hadn’t had any success. Instead, she’d peppered his salad and sprinkled what tasted like lemon juice on his prime rib to ruin the flavor and set his still tender tongue on fire.

He couldn’t wait to see what she did to his pie.

He watched her nearly gut Anthony, then drop the knife in horror. He started to point it out to Ed, but something stopped him. No doubt about it, the lady was dangerous. And yet, there was something so vulnerable about her, he almost felt sorry for her.

“Tell me about Darcy,” he said, then blinked in surprise, wondering where that had come from.

Edward took a sip of wine before answering him. “What about her?”

“Is she your only child?”

“Yes, she is.” Edward smiled, a little sadly, Michael thought. “Jeannie and I were only blessed once, unfortunately. But we did a good job that one time, just the same.”

Physically, Michael couldn’t argue the point. Darcy Welham was one stunning lady. Unfortunately, plenty of nature’s disasters had a haunting beauty. He looked over at her thoughtfully. She was still talking to the busboy, who’d picked up the knife and started cutting the pie for her.

When he’d first learned that the acquisition had ground to a halt because the owner’s daughter had stamped her pampered foot and put a stop to it, Michael had been furious. In fact, he was still furious. Unfortunately, she didn’t quite fit the image he’d conjured up of her. Darcy didn’t remind him of a spoiled little daddy’s girl. But that was exactly what she was.

Wasn’t she?

Yes, of course she was. He didn’t care that she seemed to work as hard or harder than the other staff. He didn’t care that she hadn’t lorded who she was over the other employees—had, in fact, wanted to remain anonymous. He didn’t care that she drove a battered Chevy when he knew for a fact that she could afford any luxury sports car her little heart desired. She was still Darcy Welham, the woman who stood in his way.

Michael didn’t let anything stand in his way. Especially when so much was at stake. His grandfather’s only words to him rang through Michael’s mind.
Garbage in, garbage out.
He hadn’t understood what his grandfather had meant the first time he’d heard him say it.

Michael had been ten. He’d just returned from delivering papers on a slushy winter morning. He’d walked into the apartment, frozen and muddy, to find a man he’d never seen before standing in their tiny living room, looking huge and nasty.

Michael had immediately moved to stand in front of his mother, glaring up at the menacing man. The man had glared right back. Then shaking his head, he’d muttered, “Garbage in, garbage out,” stuffed his hands into leather gloves, and stalked out of their home.

That had been his first and only meeting with his maternal grandfather. It wasn’t until a few years later, in a computer-science class, that he’d heard the words spoken again and finally understood their meaning.

His grandfather didn’t know it, but he’d been inadvertently responsible for what drove Michael to succeed at all costs. One day Michael would confront the son of a bitch. He wanted the man to know just what kind of “garbage” Michael’s mother had produced.

Michael shook his head.

Darcy looked over at their table and, in his newly revived fury, Michael waved her over. She went a little stiff, glaring at him from across the room. Standing frozen for several seconds, she seemed to be contemplating her next move. Then she did something that made Michael suck in his breath.

She touched her fingers to her lips.

Blood roared through his ears, then rushed straight to his groin, the memory of that kiss so fresh he could almost feel the pressure of her lips even now. And suddenly he knew he wanted to kiss her again.

God, he was in trouble.

“Darcy had a tough time of it, growing up,” Michael heard through the buzzing in his head.

“What?” he croaked, dragging his gaze from her.

Ed Welham nodded. “She did.”

“How so?” Michael asked, more interested than he should have been.

Ed wiped his lips with his napkin, then tossed it on the table with a sigh. “Growing up, she was painfully shy. She had very few friends. And the poor young thing was all legs.”

Michael thought most women would kill to be “all legs,” but kept his opinion to himself.

“Jeannie and I were gone for long stretches of time,” Ed said, seeming lost in thought. “We needed someone home full-time to watch Darcy. Unfortunately, her mishaps tended to drive nannies away. And the more nannies who left her, the more her self-esteem suffered.” Ed sighed. “We tried to make up for it, but weren’t always successful.”

Taking a breath, Michael shoved aside the sympathy that welled inside him. It wouldn’t do to soften toward the enemy. Before he knew it, he’d be ripping up the takeover papers in front of the woman and walking away, giving her the company, and him a possible demotion.

No, he had to put a lock on these thoughts, these feelings. It wasn’t like he was yanking her childhood blanket or teddy bear from her. They were just restaurants, for God’s sake! You couldn’t hug the restaurants, couldn’t let them comfort you in return.