Читать книгу Valenti's One-Month Mistress - Sabrina Philips, Sabrina Philips - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

FAYE slammed the door as soon as the hotel porter was out of sight, and flung her suitcase onto the bed. She could not remember another time in her life when she had felt her independence so utterly undermined. Yet what choice did she have but to acquiesce? She couldn’t go home knowing that Dante might have considered a compromise that would stop the family business from going bankrupt and her own dreams from being torn to shreds—that rather than sacrifice her pride and go along with his egotistical demands she had decided to fly home instead of hearing him out. How could she?

It was just dinner, she supposed. When it came down to it, she had nothing to lose. If he offered her some ridiculously small sum of money for Matteson’s she would simply refuse again, then get a taxi back here and head straight to the airport, knowing she had done everything she could.

Therefore, forty minutes earlier, Faye had begrudgingly followed his assistant to a car, exactly as he had instructed. Thankfully she had managed to persuade the driver to stop at the guesthouse so she could at least gather her own things on the way, rather than have someone else collect her luggage as Dante had suggested. And now here she was, back at Il Maia.

It was a very different arrival from that scorching hot July day when she had first set foot here, just over six years ago. That day her life had never felt so full of promise. Six weeks before she had been working at her parents’ restaurant, waiting tables, when the most alarmingly attractive man she had ever laid her eyes upon had strolled in with such self-possession she had felt as if she was part of a film set and the star of the movie had just walked in.

‘Catch of the day,’ one of the other waitresses had said, and winked at her, following her line of sight.

Faye had blushed and turned away, but despite being far from alone in her awareness of him she had suddenly found herself to be the only waitress not attending to a customer. Clasping the pen and pad to her chest like a schoolgirl hugging her books, she had tentatively approached him.

‘What can I get you, sir?’

He paused for a long moment, his head down.

‘Whoever is responsible for this,’ he said, tapping the menu with what looked to be utter disgust.

Faye froze, convinced that he was about to launch into a heated complaint. She cursed her chances for being the one to bear the brunt of it.

‘Our chef is responsible for the choice of dishes on offer, sir. If there is something in particular you’d like…’ Faye smiled as placidly as she could and took a step back towards the kitchen, in a gesture she hoped suggested it would be no trouble to ask.

‘Not the food,’ he ground out. ‘The person who is responsible for this design.’

Faye felt the liquid pink that had slowly begun to drain from her cheeks rising with a vengeance.

‘Actually, I am,’ she said, hoping she didn’t look as small as she felt.

‘You?’ His tone was disbelieving as he raised his head to study her face, but for one long, earth-shattering moment his eyes seemed to look deep into her soul with a burning intensity unlike anything she had ever experienced before. He shook his head and continued, ‘You have this incredible talent, yet you are waiting tables?’

Faye was too taken aback to notice the censure in his voice, for it was then that he invited her to sit and Faye explained everything. That this was her father’s restaurant and she was working there temporarily, whilst awaiting her A-level results, and that she had a passion for the whole business of hosting which came second only to her love of designing things. And that was why, whilst she was debating going to university or trying to get a job in marketing, this summer her father had finally let her loose on his menus.

When he had finished asking her every question imaginable, she realised she was beaming all over her face. It felt as if she had been invisible her whole life and that he had just bathed her in sunshine and seen her for who she really was.

‘My staff, who have had years of training,’ he said, lost for a moment in his admiration for her enthusiasm and talent, ‘are incapable of producing something even half this original.’

And that was the moment her life had changed for ever. For in response to her wide-eyed amazement, he had announced that he was the owner of the most successful new restaurant and hotel in Rome, and that there was no way he was leaving this restaurant until she agreed to become part of his team.

It had felt as if she had just won first prize in a competition she’d never even known she had entered. Out of nowhere had come this man, as far from boys her own age as wine was from water, well-dressed, exotically Italian, with a charisma that held her in its thrall, who had created the best there was in the industry she loved. And he’d wanted her to work for him.

Faye remembered the feeling of pure excitement, the sensation of having arrived in every sense of the word when she had waved goodbye to her proud parents and then arrived at Rome International Airport, to find him waiting for her in his bright red sports car to personally oversee her safe arrival. But she had fallen under his spell even before that. For he could have arrived on a moped and revealed that he was actually a pizza delivery boy and she would have been just as captivated. But he had been everything he had said he was—and more besides. Just as the hotel had been beyond her wildest imagination—Il Maia: goddess of growth, indeed. Here, she had not only been introduced to the glamorous world of five-star hospitality, she had also lost her innocence and her heart.

Yes, this arrival at Il Maia was a very different one. Rather than being filled with a sense of freedom and anticipation, now she felt trapped here, because it was the only hope she had. But if being forced to relive the desolation of six years ago meant there was even a small chance of saving Matteson’s, she was just going to have to face it.

Filled with a grim determination, Faye opened her suitcase and began hanging what few outfits she had brought with her in the enormous wardrobes along one side of the room. She sighed. She had not packed with any kind of dining in mind, let alone dining at one of Dante’s exclusive restaurants. Eating out was, ironically, a rare thing for her these days. Though she occasionally went out for a drink with some of the girls from the restaurant when she could, it had been a long time since she had been out on this scale—and longer since she had agreed to a date. Not that this was a date, she reflected, pushing something like regret to the back of her mind.

She held up the only dress she had brought with her. It was a high-street fern-green wrap-over number that was rather too short, but she had brought it knowing the temperature here in September could still be stifling during the day. It was her only option. So what if he wouldn’t consider it appropriate? He could hardly have expected her to have planned for tonight. She had spent the last of her savings on her suit for the meeting, stupidly thinking she could fool him into believing that the restaurant just needed a little extra cash to expand its already adequate profits. But now she knew he was only too aware of their dire financial situation there was no point pretending.

Faye looked in the mirror and unclipped her hair, fanning its honey-coloured length over her shoulders. In two and a half hours’ time he would be downstairs, waiting for her. A frisson of anticipation shot through her. Stupid girl, her reflection seemed to mock. So her body still wanted him? So much was different. So much of what she had believed to be real back then was not. But she had never been wrong about the level of desire he evoked within her. She had thought it was the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia that made her remember how her body had gone into meltdown the moment he touched her, how she had longed for his hands upon her whenever he was near, but today proved that nostalgia had nothing to do with it. Even when his touch had been simply to restrain her, rather than designed to ignite her sexually, she had not wanted it to end. Or maybe that had been precisely its purpose? she speculated as she collected fresh underwear and headed for the luxurious bathroom. She’d only had to see the way Julietta eyed him so coyly to know that he had the same effect on all women. And Dante was not the sort of man who was unaware of his own appeal. It would be exactly his style to torment her with the way he made her feel for his own ends. But it was just sexual attraction, she reasoned. Though her body might be weak, she most definitely was not. Once she had naively fallen for his charms, gladly surrendered her virginity and then slipped out of his life compliantly. But she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She was older, and wiser, and had absolutely no intention of surrendering anything.

Eight-twenty. He saw her the moment she entered the room. So he would not have to go up to the suite and drag her down here. Pity. To his annoyance, several other men at the bar turned on their stools and gave her the once, then twice over. No wonder, in a dress that damned short; she always had had the most fantastic pair of legs he had ever seen. He fought the urge to walk straight up to her, wrap his hands in that golden mane of hair hanging loose over her shoulders and claim her as his own with all the force of his kiss. All in good time, he thought.

He finished the remainder of his wine and stood up before she reached him. ‘I trust you had no trouble finding your way here?’ he mocked, eyeing the watch at her wrist and looking upwards, as if through to the floors above.

Faye did not answer him. She had had no intention of arriving on time, even if she had been ready since seven forty-five.

‘Our table is ready—do not let us refrain from the pleasure any longer.’ Dante motioned for Faye to walk ahead of him.

‘I agree. Let’s get this over with.’ She felt him place one hand lightly at the small of her back and begin to guide her through the bar into the restaurant. His touch was electric. The heat of his hand spread throughout her body. She swallowed, wanting to yell at him to back off, but she was aware that eyes were upon them. No doubt wondering what the hell the head of Valenti Enterprises was doing in one of his restaurants with her, and not one of the usual supermodels he did more than dine with, if the tabloids were anything to go by.

Like the rest of the hotel, the Tuscan restaurant had been simply and elegantly updated, Faye acknowledged as he led her to their table, and she didn’t need to be in the restaurant business to know it remained one of Italy’s most celebrated.

‘Please, sit.’ He held out her chair for her. ‘Welcome back to Perfezione.’

Faye raised her eyebrows. Perfection; she had forgotten. Along with the rest of the staff she had known the restaurant affectionately as Fez during her month here. How had the egoism of the name never struck her back then, even if he did have a point?

‘I have explained to the staff that we have important matters of business to discuss this evening. They have assured me that their disturbance will be minimal.’

Faye was not sure that was necessarily a good thing. They were seated in a fairly isolated corner. The tables cleverly concealed by vines that were the restaurant’s trademark. If it was possible Dante looked even more forbidding than earlier, in a dark lounge suit and a maroon shirt open at the neck that revealed a potently masculine sprinkle of dark hair.

‘I trust your room is satisfactory?’ His politeness was utterly unnerving.

‘Perfezione, naturalmente.’ Two could play at the butter-wouldn’t-melt game.

‘I should hope so. You approve of the changes?’

‘It is beautiful,’ she answered genuinely, thinking how contradictory it was that in her desperation to see Matteson’s tables filled with people enjoying themselves once more she had forgotten to allow herself the pleasure of eating out for what must have been months—too many to count.

Dante nodded and turned his attention to the menu. Faye watched him, unable to focus on her own. She wondered if he had any involvement in deciding what was served these days. She was not sure he would have time for the kind of attention to detail that had once so impressed her now he was based in a separate office, with restaurants all over Europe. He seemed to be looking critically, his thick, black eyelashes, outrageously long for a man, shrouding his eyes. She remembered how they had felt against her cheek, and subconsciously raised her hand to touch her face.

‘I recommend the seafood.’ He looked up at her, mistaking her gesture for puzzlement. ‘I took the liberty of ordering an accompanying wine at the bar, but if you would prefer something else I will order another.’

‘The seafood will be fine, thank you.’ Faye shut her menu. ‘But I will pass on the wine.’

‘A mistake, you realize?’

‘Perhaps.’ Faye did not trust herself to keep her head on anything more than mineral water.

‘And the seafood will be better than fine.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Faye forgot herself for a moment, her nerves making her garrulous. ‘My father used to say, “To eat well, look to the plate of your host.”’ The memory conjured up a childhood image of her father serving up his favourite glazed chicken and rosemary dish as the whole family waited expectantly. She remembered announcing loudly at the very same moment that she wanted to do her Brownie hostess badge.

‘A wise man,’ Dante agreed, his voice unusually soft. ‘I was sorry to hear that he is no longer with us.’

Faye was taken aback. She had not expected Dante even to know of her father’s death, let alone offer his sympathy. She could bear anything but that. Much, much easier to remember that the reason he knew was because he was waiting for Matteson’s to fail in the aftermath. She nodded swiftly.

‘So tell me,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘what offer is it that you are going to make that you think I can’t refuse?’

‘Patience, Faye. My grandfather used to say to me, “Do not chew over an idea until you have digested your food.”’

Great, thought Faye, as Dante swiftly made their order with the waiter. He intends to keep me dangling.

‘So, tell me, what you have been up to since…we last saw each other?’ he asked, his hands together in front of him, his eyes upon her, their intensity stifling.

Trying to forget you, Faye thought, forcing down the parting image of his naked body pressed to hers.

‘I travelled for a year.’ Her tone was polite, stilted; she did not notice the nerve working at his jaw, her head too flooded by truths she would rather not acknowledge.

I left the country indefinitely because I couldn’t bear looking up at the door in the restaurant every time it opened, jumping at the phone every time it rang, hoping it was you, finding it wasn’t. Funny, how her travelling always sounded like the single most important thing she had done with her life when it had been nothing but an escape. At least going to the States to do research with Chris, who couldn’t have been any more different from Dante if he’d tried, had vaguely taken her mind off him. It had beaten sitting at home wondering if she would ever hear from him again. Learning not to hope had become second nature as the months had passed. A pity forgetting him altogether had not.

‘And I studied marketing,’ she continued without elaboration. ‘I graduated just before my father passed away. After that I naturally returned to the restaurant.’

‘And that is where you wish to stay?’

At the time she had never stopped to consider whether or not it was what she wanted. That hadn’t come into it. All that had mattered was that her father had devoted his life to Matteson’s and there was no way she would let everything he had worked for fade to black just because he was gone. But when she thought about it, despite their dire financial situation, deep within her she knew that the restaurant business was so close to her heart that it was where she belonged.

Faye nodded. ‘In particular my passion still lies in the design side of the business, when I get the chance.’ Though that was rarely, now she was practically managing the place as well as doing shifts waiting tables.

‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I was rather convinced your passion lay elsewhere.’

Faye’s face dropped immediately. She felt as if she had been foolish to let her guard down even for a second.

‘Buon appetito. Enjoy.’

The waiter had placed the seafood in front of them, the meals an artwork in themselves. Was the service always this immediate, or did they have every dish on standby when he was in the house?

Dante lifted his fork and looked down at his plate, his face breaking into an unadulterated smile. Faye wondered if this was another deliberate attempt to turn her on, because it sure as hell was working. She forced herself to look away, emotions warring within her. This is the man who made love to you and then walked away.

‘You’re not hungry?’

She shook her head. He looked insulted as he watched her move the food around her plate. But that only frustrated her more, for she knew damned well it was as important to him as it was to her that guests enjoyed their meal—it was just one of the things about him that had once appealed so much to her. But she didn’t care; she couldn’t force her appetite right now if her life depended on it. Even the very act of sitting opposite him made every muscle in her body contract.

‘Contrary to popular belief, a man who takes a woman out to dinner does not find it alluring to see her eat a single lettuce leaf.’

If the misogynist in him had not been apparent earlier, it had just been biding its time. ‘I am not here for your pleasure.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He put down his knife and fork and challenged her with his full attention.

It sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt suddenly conscious of the thin layer of fabric between her breasts and the cool air of the restaurant.

‘No. I am not.’ She concentrated on sipping her mineral water. ‘I am here because, before you so rudely cut short our business meeting this afternoon, you suggested you had something worth saying.’

‘Ahh.’ His pause was arrogant, his eyelids low. ‘So you prefer to digest an idea before your food? But patience has its rewards.’

Did it? she wondered. What good had the months of hoping he would call done for her?

Dante signalled for the waiter and spoke to him briefly in Italian.

‘Very well. You came here to join my marketing team six years ago, and you made it perfectly clear that your interest in doing so was—how shall we say?—to gain experience of a different kind. Once you had achieved that goal, you vanished.’ He trailed his finger pensively across his jaw, as if she was a rather irritating conundrum that had just fallen out of a Christmas cracker. ‘And yet you presume you have the knowledge to run a successful business? Perhaps if you had stayed longer and paid a little more attention your family’s restaurant would not be where it is now.’

She had heard it all now. Was he actually arrogant enough to suggest that if she had hung around it would have prevented this whole crisis? Had he actually expected her to stay and face the humiliation of his rejection when he had practically packed her bags for her? She shook her head in disbelief.

‘But still, despite your failing in this, Matteson’s is in an excellent location,’ he continued.

Here we go again, she thought. He’s just trying to convince me that I’m such a failure I might as well sell now.

‘Therefore I am willing to take a chance and transfer a small advance to your business account now, with the rest of the sum you desire to follow in a month.’

‘You are?’ Faye was so shocked that she almost knocked over her glass. But he had refused point-blank earlier. This made no sense. He hadn’t even looked at her proposal.

‘On one condition,’ he continued, his eyes glittering in challenge. ‘For the next month, you will take up where you left off six years ago, and you will learn everything you need to make Matteson’s a success. Then, and only then, will I loan you the full sum you request. When you return home you will have one further month to double your profits.’

Faye looked at him, wanting to see something in his expression that would suggest he was joking. It wasn’t there.

‘And if I fail?’

‘The restaurant is mine.’