The Rich Billionaire's Secret

e wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her chef’s jacket. Adrenaline pumped Daisy’s body. This was dinner service, and she expected a spot-on performance from

lessly wiping the counter. Daisy frowned as she watched him. “Mr. Carda, you wanted to see me?” Mr. Carda looked up, rattled. He shook his head, then warmly smiled. Mr. Carda’s blue eyes weren’t warm or friendly. After a moment, he looked down and threw the towel into the sink behind him. He flashed a smile but didn’t make eye contact. Mr. Carda said, “Great dinner service, Daisy.” Daisy relaxed and sat at the bar. She placed her purse on the barstool next to her. “Thank you. I know Jeff will make an excellent sous chef.” “I’m glad. You are a fine executive chef, Daisy, truly a rare find.” Mr. Carda nods but doesn’t smile. “I’d be honoured to provide a recommendation for you—wherever you go.” Daisy cocked her head to the left and studied Mr. Carda. When he finally made eye contact with her, she smiled. “I’m not going anywhere soon, Mr. Carda. I enjoy cooking here too much. Besides, we’re all like family.” “I,” Mr. Carda started, before pausing and grabbing two glasses. “How’s Leo?” Daisy grabbed her phone from her purse and searched for her latest photographs of Leo. “He’s great. I think he’s five going on thirty-five. Emma says I’m exaggerating.” Mr. Carda poured orange juice into the glasses. “I know you don’t drink alcohol.” Daisy watched as Mr. Carda lifted his glass and did

isy sighed. “No, no, no Jeff, please, pay attention to the ticket.” She dumped the salad in the garbage. “The ticket calls for one salad without onions--” “And pepperoncini,” Jeff quickly interrupted before cursing. “Damn. I could have picked them out.” “Remember, Jeff, always make the ticket as written. We never know if the subtractions or substitutes are preferences or because of allergies. Understand?” Daisy watches Jeff hurriedly remake the salad. Jeff’s head snapped back, and he stomped his foot like he remembered something. He quickly blurted, “Yes, Chef.” Daisy returned to making food when she heard Mr. Carda enter the kitchen. “Daisy, uh, can I speak with you for a moment?” Mr. Carda stood near the door. “Mr. Carda, would you mind giving me twenty minutes?” Daisy said, walking a plate of lasagna to the window. Mr. Carda wrung his hands and nodded. He told her, “Well, no.” “Behind,” Sharon shouted, before glancing back at Daisy. “I’ll take over until you get back.” Daisy nodded, grabbing a towel and wiping her hands. She walked past the dishwasher as she entered the kitchen with dirty dishes. Daisy stood in the hallway between the dining area and kitchen and looked from Mr. Carda to a well-dressed woman in her forties. “Ava,” Mr. Carda pointed at Daisy. He cleared his throat. “Do you remember, Daisy? Daisy, this is my daughter.” Ava’s ruffled blue dress glimmered under the dim hall lighting, and with her hair down and nose stuck in the air, she looked very intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you again,” Daisy tried to sound like she remembered meeting Ava. She extended her hand. Ava shifted her Prada purse from one arm to another before crossing her arms over her breasts. Daisy straightened her chef jacket and forced a smile. “Ava, Daisy has a son. He’s adorable and has the cutest dimples.” Mr. Carda looked from

to his level. His beautiful, wide eyes looked curious. Daisy kissed his cheek and forced a smile as she made eye contact with him. “Maybe you’ll meet him