Читать книгу Invitation to Italian - Tracy Kelleher, Tracy Kelleher - Страница 11

SEBASTIANO COOLED HIS heels beside his assistant’s desk while she ran his errand. But he needed to do more than cool his heels. His temper had reached the boiling point, as well. And all because of Julie Antonelli.

He had always found her an annoying presence—constantly emailing him with suggestions, or, rather, demands, on how to run the hospital.

Even more infuriating was the fact that she was undeniably attractive. She had a kind of insouciant sexiness. Too tall, of course, but one couldn’t deny the appeal of her coltish figure and the way her legs seemed to go on for miles. Normally, he wasn’t fond of women with short hair, but somehow her boyish cut worked with her larger-than-life brown eyes, her classically straight Roman nose and her sharply delineated cheekbones. One of which he couldn’t help noticing during the course of their conversation—no, confrontation was more accurate—was rapidly suffering from edema and a contusion.

“Thank you,” he said to his assistant when she came hurrying back. He didn’t bother to offer any explanations. Then he marched back into his office. “Sorry for my brief absence.” He thrust his arm at Julie. “Here. Take this.”

Julie looked down, confused. “A towel? I mean I know my hair is all sweaty and I need a shower….”

“It’s not your hair that concerns me,” he said gruffly. He forced the bundle on her before circling back to the safety of his side of the desk. “That’s an ice pack. Your bruise is swelling quite nicely. Now, please tell me you didn’t infuriate someone else on these premises, thus necessitating another ice pack and a call to our legal counsel?”

Julie unwrapped the towel and saw the plastic Ziploc bag filled with ice cubes. She shook her head. “No, I didn’t irritate anyone else. It was entirely my own clumsiness. But thanks anyway…for this.”

“Don’t thank me, thank my assistant. She was the one who ran to get it. I can just imagine the rumors circulating through the halls already given the noise of the vase crashing.” He looked sternly at Julie.

She grimaced.

Sebastiano should have felt triumphant, only he didn’t. Another source of irritation.

“Yes, one can just imagine,” Iris said with a chuckle.

Julie pushed the towel-wrapped ice pack up against the side of her face, causing her short hair to stick out the side. He had an incredible urge to lean across his desk and gently pat it in place….

Don’t be ridiculous, he chastised himself. He gulped purposefully. “Dr. Antonelli, I can appreciate that in the heat of the moment and after an arduous night you are tired and upset. Still, the hospital has proper protocol for handling complaints.”

“I know, and I am sorry,” Julie said. “And once more, I apologize, Mrs. Phox. I know how much you’ve done for the hospital and the people of this community.”

“Don’t even mention it, my dear. And next time you see your father, please give him my best. I always tell everyone that I would never let anyone else touch my Mercedes.” She looked over at Sebastiano. “You’ve been to Antonelli Auto Mechanics, haven’t you?”

Sebastiano fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I can’t say I have.”

“You must. It’s immaculate. You could eat off the floor.”

He saw Julie suppress a smile.

“And they have very good espresso,” Iris added.

“I’ll remember that the next time I need to take my car to the shop—or need a coffee.”

Julie held out the towel, carefully folding it over to catch where the bag of ice cubes had started to leak. “Here. Thanks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You need it more than I. It’s the least we can do as a proper hospital.”

“You sure you don’t need my insurance card first?” she asked.

“Don’t press your luck,” he warned.

“Dr. Fonterra, Mrs. Phox.” Julie nodded and left.

“An interesting woman,” Iris commented.

Her words brought his attention back into the room. “Dr. Antonelli certainly is…ah…unique.”

“If you mean she has chutzpah—”

Sebastiano frowned. “Chutzpah?”

“Yes, such a lovely Yiddish word. It just rolls off your tongue. I find Yiddish so useful when dealing with people. I can see that I must give you a Yiddish dictionary.”

Sebastiano had this uneasy feeling they were about to go down the rabbit hole again. “I take it that it means rude?” he asked.

Iris pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Rude, yes, I suppose so. But at the same time passionate.” She paused. “I’m no expert of course.”

By which Sebastiano took it to mean that Iris thought she was indeed an expert.

“But,” Iris continued, “I would think that in her line of work that kind of passion—or should I say compassion—often goes missing after the first year or so on the job.”

Sebastiano picked up his pen. “There’s merit in what you say. But I would also argue that sometimes one’s strength is also one’s weakness.”

Iris touched her chin and laughed softly. “You put a lot of stock in logic and order, don’t you?” she asked.

“For someone in my position, they are traits to be expected, I suppose.”

Iris studied him closely. Then she picked up the leather-bound folder resting on the corner of the desk and flipped it open. She slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “You have the agenda that I sent over?”

Sebastiano slid his copy out from under the blotter. Whatever he might think about Iris Phox—and unfortunately, there seemed to be way too much spare time in his evenings to ponder such questions—she was impeccably organized.

“Now,” she said, “as you will note, there are several items for discussion.” She paused, lifted her head and blinked in his direction. “However, I’d like to deviate from the usual protocol, take a moment to digress. That won’t prove inconvenient for you, I trust?”

Only several other pressing appointments and meetings, not to mention the rest of my life, Sebastiano thought.

But since he really had no choice in the matter, he smiled graciously. “For you, Iris, I have all the time in the world.”