CHAPTER 2

Marie Sue's POV

I limped into my apartment only to find it unrecognizable. My furniture had been ripped apart, my pillows sliced in two and my coffee table in splinters. Those loanshark assholes!

I cursed them all the way to the moon as I arranged what was left of my living room.

When I was done, I tended to my feet, wiping the small wound I'd gotten from running earlier. Then, I wrapped it with a bandage. I'd be wearing sandals for quite a while. The thing is : will my boss allow it?

My boss… shit!

I rushed to my bedroom and grabbed my phone off the bedside table. My jaws dropped to the floor when I switched it on. 36 bloody missed calls. Jenna will have my head.

I threw my shirt over my head and tossed my sweatpants as I dialled her back. She answered on the first ring and she was not happy.

“Do you mind telling me where the hell you are!” she screamed. I muted the rest of her words because they were all rated-13 swearwords.

I put on some deodorant and slipped into my work uniform.

“I'm sorry, Jenna. I had a little situation.” I winced.

“I don't care. Get your ass here now!” She ended the call.

I grabbed my bag fast and rushed out of my apartment.

I got to the restaurant in record time — 27 minutes. Not very punctual of me.

The second I entered, Jenna grabbed my arm.

“Put on a headscarf and go make your signature soup now.” She hissed.

I followed her into the kitchen and put on my scarf and apron. “My signature soup?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “We have a very important guest and she insisted on trying everything on the menu. Your soup comes last and she's waiting for it. Hurry up.”

“Okay.”

I washed my hands before I began my preparations. I had Gustavo and Fred help me dice some carrots and peas, then I went on to mince the meat and boil it.

I wasn't a professional chef. In fact, this was one of my many part-time jobs where I work as a server. My signature dish was a mistake. One night, I was starving and decided to make use of the restaurant’s kitchen. When I was done preparing the soup, one of the chefs caught me and reported me to Jenna. I thought Jenna would fire me on the spot but she tasted my soup and loved it. The very next day, she added it to the menu and I cooked it. I was so happy I got to cook. Cooking has always been my dream.

“I'm done.” Fred passed me the bowl of diced veggies.

“Thanks.” I ignored the way his fingers touched mine and resumed my cooking.

When I was done, I served it in a bowl and put it on a trolley.

“Be polite. This woman has a very important personality.” Jenna warned.

“Yes, ma'am.” I nodded, then pushed the trolley out of the kitchen. This woman will definitely like my soup. Everyone who tastes it does.

Emerald is a high-end restaurant in Upstate NewYork. The food here is great and the customer service is always topnotch. As the name implies, emerald designs are decorated all over the place. However, can someone explain to me what golden ornaments are doing here? I thought we couldn't afford that. And was all of this made to impress this ‘important personality’?

I brushed that thought off my mind and reached the VIP section with the view of the city.

Classical violins filled the air but as I reached her table, I heard something else. It was hoarse and…

My eyes widened when they landed on the woman. She was clutching her neck.

“Shit!” I rushed to her side and grabbed her from behind. I pressed against her stomach with my twinned knuckles and hoisted her feet off the air. She made a slight choking sound. I did it again and she coughed violently, spitting out what was stuck in her throat. It was a meatball.

I released the woman and helped her sit down. Then I passed her a glass of water.

“Are you alright, ma'am?” I asked softly.

She took a few greedy sips before setting down her glass.

“Are you all trying to kill me?!” She snapped.

“No,” I shook my head. “It was an accident, ma'am.”

“Are you the chef that prepared this? Did you try to harm me?” She pointed a thin finger at me.

“No, I didn't prepare for this.” I shook my head.

“I'm done here. This restaurant is a sham.” She grabbed her purse and took out her phone.

Oh no. Is she going to call the police?

“Ma'am, please…” My pleas fell on deaf ears. She was already making the call.

What should I do?

I bumped into the trolley and remembered I'd come here to serve her this soup.

I reached for the woman’s hand and pleaded. “Ma'am, please, you have to taste this soup. If you don't like it, then, you can do whatever you want.”

“You want me to taste this soup after the last one nearly killed me?” She scoffed.

“It didn't. I saved your life. At least you owe me that.” I bit my bottom lip.

“Really? Call your account number for compensation.” She reached for her phone again.

“I don't need your money. Your compensation will be tasting this soup.” It hurt me to say that. Of course, I needed the money. I was flat broke. But still, I had to save this restaurant. It was the only thing left of my late parents.

“And if I don't like it?” She asked calmly. Good. We're getting somewhere.

“You can report us but you won't because you'll love this soup.” I smiled as I served the dish.

She scoffed and reached for a napkin. “You sound arrogant.”

“No, I'm confident in my cooking.” I nodded.

“Fine.” She grabbed a soup and hesitated.

“It's okay, ma'am.” I said like I was speaking to a child.

She gave it another thought and dipped her spoon into the bowl. When she brought it to her lips, I prayed to all the gods in the world to make her like the soup.

“Oh my God.” She shouted.

I blinked. “Ma'am?”

“This is amazing.” She took another scoop, then another and another. “You made this?”

“Yes,” I nodded proudly.

“This reminds me of Henry Sue's cooking.” She smiled.

“You know my father?” I asked, surprised.

“Your father is Henry Sue?” the woman nodded as she took another scoop. “He is an amazing chef. He is the reason I'm here. I hear people from different countries come to taste his cooking.”

“You're right.” I gave her a faint smile and dropped my gaze.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

I lifted my gaze. “Yes.”

“Where is your father? I have to commend him for teaching you this wonderful recipe.”

I shook my head. “My father passed away 2 years ago. This restaurant is no longer his, I'm afraid.”

The woman gasped. “He sold it?”

My fists clenched. “My stepmother did… but it's a long story.”

“No story is too long, dear. Have a seat.” She patted the side next to me.

I joined her on the couch and told her everything. From when my mom died to when my father remarried to when he died and how my stepmother sold everything we had.

“You poor thing.” The woman cupped my face and wiped tears I didn't know had fallen. “You deserve so much.”

“Thank you.” I sniffled. “I’m sorry for crying on you.”

“It's alright. You're like a daughter to me.” She patted my hair. “I wish you were part of my family.”

“That's generous of you, ma'am.” I chuckled softly.

“No kidding. You could be a Kensington.” She said,

The water I was about to sip left my lips in spittles. I had to collect myself.

“I'm sorry.” I wiped my lips. “Who now?”

She smiled. “The Kensington family.”

I looked at the woman seated next to me and it all came back to me. That short black hair, sharp blue eyes, and a signature jade jewelry pinned on her blouse. The famous symbol of the wealthiest family in NewYork, the Kensington's. They literally own the city. An entire freaking street is named after them and she wants me to be part of her family? I wait tables for a living.

I began with a shaky voice. “Mrs Kensington…”

“Nonsense. Call me Lara.” She patted my hand.

“Um… Lara…”

“What do you say? We can't let your father's legacy die. Come on. I have a son. He's unmarried and you'll make the perfect wife for him…” her voice trailed off when footsteps echoed behind us.

She turned and looked, a smile curled on her lips. “There he is. Come on, Marie. My son is here.”

My body went rigid. This woman was literally selling me off to her son. God knows who he is.

“Mother, are you alright?” He asked in a deep voice.

I froze. That voice sounds so familiar.

He turned to face us and his brows furrowed. “You?”