Читать книгу Sizzle in the City - Wendy Etherington - Страница 10

“IT WAS WONDERFUL, Mario—truly.” Shelby smiled warmly at the handsome Italian chef. “I’d love to know what you put in the marinara sauce.”

Mario waggled his finger. “Not even for you, bella. My great-great grandmother would never let me past the gates of heaven.”

“We can’t let that happen. How about a trade? I’ll bring you four dozen of my chocolate-chunk caramel cookies, and you give me four jars of that sauce?”

With a smile, Mario nodded. “This is an excellent idea.”

They agreed to trade on Tuesday, and Shelby picked up her wineglass with a satisfied sigh. She might be in a financial and emotional pinch, but the best things in life were sometimes easy to come by.

She directed her attention to Trevor, wondering if, with his privileged upbringing, he’d taken that kind of thing for granted.

“How nice of you to notice I’m still here,” he said, drumming his long, elegant fingers against the table.

Impulsively, she covered his hand with hers. “Sorry. I get carried away by great food. Occupational hazard.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over her fingers in an old-fashioned gesture that left her breathless. “I agree the food has always been delicious here, but I’ve never gotten such exceptional service.” He paused, his expression wry. “But then Mario never seemed enamored with my cleavage.”

“Oh, good grief. He’s married and has four kids.”

“Yes, well, I’m not so sure his wife would be impressed by his close customer service.”

Trevor’s possessiveness should have bothered her. It didn’t. “You’re jealous?”

“I like cookies, too.”

Delighted and charmed, she squeezed his hand and scooted closer to him in the intimate corner booth they shared. “How many do you want?”

“If Mario gets four dozen, I want five.”

“I could also add dark chocolate and cranberries to yours. It gives the sweet cookies a hint of tartness.”

“I like tart and sweet.”

“Then that’s what you’ll have.”

She’d gone out with him to spy and help her parents’ cause—or so she’d told herself at the start of the evening.

She should be probing Trevor for information about Max and wondering if he’d told her the truth about his brother. Or if he actually knew Max was an amoral creep. Or if he knew anything about this investor’s meeting. But she’d barely given the Robin Hood matter a minute’s thought. In fact, she’d purposely avoided the subject of Max, as the more she enjoyed time with Trevor, the more guilty she felt for misleading him about her true motives.

Dinner had been delightful. Trevor was intelligent and attentive. He was determined and self-made, despite counting royalty among his friends. His wit had its British moments, but since he’d left his family’s long shadow and come to New York at the young age of twenty-two, his ideas had a distinctly American slant. And maybe, most importantly, the idea of him sharing DNA with a scheming, self-absorbed creep like Max Banfield seemed ludicrous.

She wished she could convince herself she was impressed by him because her last decent date had been months ago, but she knew deep down that Trevor would be impressive to anyone and in any situation.

“Should I bring the cookies Tuesday?” she asked.

“How about right after you deliver Mario’s? Then they’ll be dessert after I take you to a great steak house. Have you ever eaten at Palo’s?”

She had—once. Victoria had treated her and Calla after Victoria had landed an important client but lost her latest lover because she’d spent so much time wooing the big client.