Читать книгу The Playboy of Rome - Jennifer Faye - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT WAS IT about this woman that had him feeling off-kilter?

Could it be the way her touch sent currents of awareness up his arm? Realizing they were still touching, Dante jerked his hand away. He clenched his fingers, creasing the hefty document.

Or maybe it was those cool blue eyes of hers that seemed to study his every move. It was as though she could see more of him than he cared for anyone to observe. Not that he had any secrets to hide—well, other than his plans to sell the ristorante.

His gaze scrolled over the first lines of the document, pausing when he saw his grandfather’s name followed by Ristorante Massimo. He continued skimming over the legalese until his gaze screeched to a halt at the mention of a television show. His gut twisted into a knot. This was much more involved than he’d ever imagined.

“You said this was for an internship. You didn’t mention anything about a television show.”

Her lips moved but nothing came out. It was as though she wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed. If she thought he was going to make this easy for her, she’d have to think again. She’d tried to get him to agree to let her work here under false pretenses when in fact she had much bigger plans.

When she didn’t respond fast enough, he added, “How long were you planning to keep that little bit of information a secret?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Obviously I wasn’t keeping it a secret or I wouldn’t have handed you the contract.”

She had a valid point, but it didn’t ease his agitation. He once again rubbed at his stiff neck. It’d been an extremely long day. Not only was he short-staffed but also the meeting with the potential buyers for the ristorante hadn’t gone well. They didn’t just want the building. They also wanted the name and the secret recipes that put his grandfather’s name up there with the finest chefs.

Dante didn’t have the right to sell those recipes—recipes that went back to his grandmother’s time. They were special to his grandfather. Still, selling them would keep them alive for others to enjoy instead of them being forgotten in a drawer. But could he actually approach his grandfather and ask for the right to sell them? Those recipes were his grandfather’s pride and joy. In fact, employees signed a nondisclosure agreement to maintain the secrecy of Massimo’s signature dishes. The thought of selling out left a sour taste in Dante’s mouth.

“As you can see in the contract, the television crew will be here on Tuesday.” Her words brought Dante back to his latest problem.

“I also see that you’ve arrived a couple of days early.” He wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement. He was stalling. Thinking.

“I like to be prepared. I don’t like surprises. So I thought I’d get settled in and maybe see some of the sights in Rome. I’ve heard it’s a lovely city.”

“Well, since my grandfather isn’t going to be able to mentor you, perhaps you can have an extended holiday before heading back to—”

“New York. And I didn’t come here for a vacation. I came here to work and to learn.” She got to her feet. “Maybe I should just speak with one of the people in the kitchen. Perhaps they can point me in the direction of your grandfather.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

His grandfather didn’t need to be bothered with this—he had more important issues to deal with at the moment. Dante could and would handle this woman. After all, there had to be a way out of this. Without reading the rest of the lengthy details, he flipped to the last page.

“It’s all signed and legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her voice held a note of confidence, and she sat back down.

She was right. Right there in black and white was his grandfather’s distinguished signature. There was no denying the slope of the M or the scroll of Bianco. Dante resisted the urge to ball up the document and toss it into the stone fireplace across the room from them. Not that it would help since the fire had been long ago extinguished.

He refused to let the sale of the ristorante—the deal he’d been negotiating for weeks—go up in smoke because of some promotional deal his grandfather had signed. There had to be a way around it. Dante wondered how much it’d take to convince Lizzie to quietly return to New York.

“I’m sure we can reach some sort of agreement.” He was, after all, a DeFiore. He had access to a sizable fortune. “What will it take for you to forget about your arrangement with my grandfather?”

She sat up straighter. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing?”

“I mean that I’m not leaving.” She leaned forward, pressing her elbows down on the tabletop. “I don’t think you understand how serious I am. I’ve cut out months of my life for this internship. I’ve said goodbye to my family and friends in order to be here. I had to quit my job. Are you getting the picture? Everything is riding on this agreement—my entire future. I have a signed agreement and I intend to film a television segment in that kitchen.” She pointed over her shoulder.

She’d quit her job!

Who did something like that? Obviously someone very trusting or very desperate. Which type was she? Her beautiful face showed lines of stress and the darkness below her eyes hinted at her exhaustion. He was leaning toward the desperate scenario.

Perhaps he’d been too rough on her. He really hadn’t meant to upset her. He knew how frustrating it could be to be so close to getting what you wanted and yet having a barricade thrown in the way.

“Listen, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I’m sure you’ll be able to land another job somewhere else—”

“And what are you planning to do about the film crew when they arrive?”

Dante’s lips pressed together. Yes, what was he going to do? This situation was getting ever so complicated. He eyed up the woman. Was she on the level? Was she truly after the work experience? The opportunity to learn? Or was she an opportunist playing on his sympathies?

He certainly didn’t want to spend his time inflating her ego in front of the camera crew for the next two months—two very long months. But he was getting the very unsettling feeling that there was no way over, around or under the arrangement without a lengthy, messy lawsuit, which would hold up the sale of the ristorante.

* * *

This was not how things were supposed to go.

Lizzie resisted the urge to get up and start pacing. It was what she usually did when she was stuck in a tough spot. While growing up in the foster care system, she’d found herself in plenty of tough spots. But the one thing she’d learned through it all was not to give up—if it was important enough, there had to be a solution. It’d worked to keep Jules, her foster sister, with her through the years. She just had to take a deep breath and not panic.

Dante appeared to be a businessman. Surely he’d listen to logic. It was her last alternative. She sucked in a steadying breath, willing her mind to calm. “If you’ll read over the contract, you’ll see that your grandfather has agreed not only to mentor me but also to host a television crew. We’re doing a reality spot for one of the cooking shows. It’s been in the works for months now. Your grandfather was very excited about the project and how it’d give this place—” she waved her hand around at the restaurant that had a very distinct air about it “—international recognition. Just think of all the people that would know the name Ristorante Massimo.”

Dante’s eyes lit up with interest. “Do you have some numbers to back up your claims?”

She would have brought them, if she’d known she’d need them. “Your grandfather is confident in the value of these television segments. He has made numerous appearances on the culinary channel and has made quite a name for himself.”

“I know. I was here for every one of those appearances.”

She studied Dante’s face for some recollection of him. His tanned skin. His dark eyes. His strong jaw. And those lips... Oh, they looked good enough to kiss into submission... She jerked her attention back to the conversation. “Why don’t I recall seeing you in any of them?”

“Because I took a very small role in them. I didn’t understand why my grandfather would sign up for those television appearances.”

Her gaze narrowed in on him. “Do you have something against people on television?”

“No.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, rocking his chair on the rear two legs. “I just think in a lot of cases they misrepresent life. They give people false hope that they’ll be overnight successes. Most of the time life doesn’t work that way. Life is a lot harder.”

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes. Was it regret? Or pain? In a blink, his feelings were once again hidden. She was locked out. And for some reason that bothered her. Not that it should—it wasn’t as though they were friends. She didn’t even know him.

Not about to waste her time debating the positive and negative points of television, she decided to turn the conversation back around to her reason for being here. “Surely your grandfather will be back soon. After all, he has a restaurant to run.”

“I’m afraid that he won’t be returning.”

“He won’t?” This was news to her. Surely he couldn’t be right. “But we have an agreement. And he was so eager for us to begin.”

Dante rubbed his jaw as though trying to decide if he should say more. His dark gaze studied her intently. It made her want to squirm in her seat but she resisted.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it. I need to know what’s going on.”

Dante sighed. “My grandfather recently experienced a stroke. He has since moved to the country.”

“Oh, no.” She pressed a hand to her chest. This was so much worse than she’d imagined. “Is he going to be all right?”

Dante’s brows lifted as though he was surprised by her concern. “Yes, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He’s getting therapy.”

“Thank goodness. Your grandfather seemed so lively and active. I just can’t imagine that happening to him.”

She thought back to their lively emails and chatty phone conversations. Massimo’s voice had been rich and robust like a dark roast espresso. He was what she thought of when she imagined having a grandfather of her own. “He was so full of life.”

“How exactly did you get to know him?”

Perhaps she’d said too much. It wasn’t as if she and Massimo were that close. “At first, the production group put us in touch. We emailed back and forth. Then we started talking on the phone, discussing how we wanted to handle the time slots. After all, they are short, so we couldn’t get too elaborate. But then again, we didn’t want to skimp and do just the basics.”

“Sounds like you two talked quite a bit.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t like we talked every day. More like when one of us had a good idea. But that was hampered by the time difference. And then recently the calls stopped. When I phoned here I was merely told that he wasn’t available and that they’d give him a message.”

Dante’s eyes opened wide as though a thought had come to him. “I remember seeing those messages. I had no idea who you were or what you wanted. I was beginning to wonder if my grandfather had a girlfriend on the side.”

“Nope, it was me. And now that you know the whole story, what’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Story. I take it you run this place for your grandfather.”

His brows furrowed together as though he knew where this conversation was leading. “Yes, I do.”

“Have you worked here long?” She wanted as much information as possible so she could plot out a backup plan.

He hesitantly nodded.

“That must be wonderful to learn from such a talented chef.” There had to be a way to salvage this deal. But she needed to know more. “When did you start working with your grandfather?”

“When I was a kid, I would come and visit. But it wasn’t until later that I worked here full-time.”

She noticed that his answers were vague at best, giving her no clue as to his family life or why he came here to work. Perhaps he needed the money. Still, as she stared across the table at him, his whole demeanor spoke of money and culture. She also couldn’t dismiss the fact that most women would find him alarmingly handsome. In fact, he’d make some real eye candy for the television spot. And if that was what it took to draw in an audience, who was she to argue.

She’d been earning money cooking since she was fourteen. Of course, being so young, she’d been paid under the table. Over the years, she’d gained more and more experience, but never thinking she’d ever have a shot at owning a restaurant of her own, she’d taken the safe route and gone to college. She’d needed a way to make decent money to keep herself and Jules afloat.

But then Jules entered her application for a reality TV cooking show. Jules had insisted that she needed to take a risk and follow her dream of being a chef in her own five-star restaurant.

Winning that reality show had been a huge stepping-stone. It gave her a television contract and a plane ticket to Rome, where she’d learn from the best in the business. Jules was right. Maybe her dream would come true.

All she needed was to make sure this deal was a success. One way or the other. And if Chef Massimo couldn’t participate then perhaps his grandson would do.

She eyed him up. “Your grandfather must have taught you all of his secrets in the kitchen.”

His body noticeably stiffened. “Yes, he did. How else would I keep the place running in his absence?”

She knew it was akin to poking a sleeping bear with a stick, but she had to confirm her suspicions before she altered her plans ever so slightly. “But do your dishes taste like your grandfather’s?”

“The customers don’t know the difference.” The indignity in his voice rumbled through the room. “Who do you think took the time to learn every tiny detail of my grandfather’s recipes? My grandfather insisted that if you were going to do something, you should learn to do it right. And there were no shortcuts in his kitchen.”

From the little she’d known of Massimo, she could easily believe this was true. During their phone conversations, he’d made it clear that he didn’t take shortcuts with his recipes or with training people. She’d have to start from the beginning. Normally, she’d have taken it as an insult, but coming from Massimo, she had the feeling that he only wanted the best for both of them and the television spotlight.

“Will you continue to run the restaurant alone?”

Dante ran a hand over his jaw. “Are you always this curious about strangers?”

She wasn’t about to back off. This information was important and she had learned almost everything she needed. “I’m just trying to make a little conversation. Is that so wrong?”

There was a look in his eyes that said he didn’t believe her. Still, he didn’t press the subject. Instead he surprised her by answering. “For the foreseeable future I will continue to run Massimo’s. I can’t predict the future.”

“I still wonder if you’re as good as your grandfather in the kitchen.”

“Wait here.” He jumped to his feet and strode out of the room.

Where in the world had he gone? She was tempted to follow, but she thought better of it. She’d already pushed her luck as far as she dared. But her new plan was definitely taking shape.

The only problem she envisioned was trying to keep her mind on the art of cooking and not on the hottie mentoring her. She knew jet lag was to blame for her distorted worries. A little uninterrupted sleep would have her thinking clearly.

This arrangement was far too important to ruin due to some sort of crush. She pursed her lips together. No matter how good he looked, she knew better than to let her heart rule her mind. She knew too well the agonizing pain of rejection and abandonment. She wouldn’t subject herself to that again. Not for anyone.

She pulled her shoulders back and clasped her hands in her lap. Time to put her plan in motion.

One way or the other.