скачать книгу бесплатно
No stories about an acrimonious divorce, either. Hmm. So it looked as if Dante Romano steered clear of relationships and focused on his work.
A workaholic, then.
She looked him up on the business pages. Make that a very successful workaholic, she corrected herself. He had a chain of six restaurants at the age of thirty—pretty impressive, given that he seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. A little more digging gave her the information that he had a solid track record of buying up businesses and then turning them round. And there was a new rumour in the business world that he was going to franchise his restaurants. Carenza didn’t know much about franchising, but she had a feeling that it meant going national or even international—so Dante Romano would be way too busy to date anyone, right now.
Not that she was interested in his love life. At all. Because she wasn’t going to act on the attraction between them. Right now, she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. She wanted to concentrate on the family business—on feeling that she could do something worthwhile. Get her self-respect back. But would this franchising thing mean that he’d be too busy to help her? And, even if he wasn’t, would he agree to be her mentor—to help her get the business back under control?
It was a risky strategy, she knew, but she had no other real choice. And there was only one way to find out if he’d help her.
Given that he was a workaholic, it was a fair bet that Dante would still be at his office. Her hand was shaking as she punched the number into the phone. ‘Come on, Caz. Don’t be such a wimp,’ she told herself as she pressed the last digit. But with each ring of the phone, her nerves increased. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe he wasn’t there. Maybe she should just give u—
‘Dante.’ His voice was crisp, clear—and every coherent thought went out of her head.
‘Hello?’
Get a grip, Caz, she told herself and took a deep breath. ‘Signor Romano? It’s Carenza Tonielli.’
‘How can I help you, Signorina Tonielli?’
If he was surprised—or if he’d expected her to call and say she’d changed her mind, once she’d had a proper look through the books—it didn’t show. He was polite, formal and absolutely expressionless. Which unnerved her even more.
‘I, um, wondered if we could talk. There’s something I wanted to run by you.’
‘Where and when?’
He certainly didn’t waste any time. Maybe that was why he was so good at business. ‘My office?’ As for when …
‘When would be convenient for you?’
‘Now?’
‘Now?’ She almost squeaked the word into the phone. Whoever had a business meeting at this time of the evening?
Then again, she didn’t need any more time to prepare. There wasn’t anything she could add to make her case. ‘OK. Um, do you know where my office is?’
‘Yes.’
Stupid question. Of course he did. He’d been planning to buy the business. No doubt he’d met her grandfather here. ‘Good. I’ll, um, see you in a bit, then.’
‘Ciao.’
Her hand was still shaking slightly when she put the phone down. Well, she’d done it now. She was going to have to go through with it. Anyway, what was the worst thing that could happen? Just that he’d refuse. And if he did that, she’d still be in the same position she was in now. It wouldn’t make things any more difficult. So it was ridiculous to feel so nervous about seeing him.
She busied herself shaking coffee grounds into a cafetière and boiling the kettle. She’d just rearranged the cups on the tray for the third time when she heard the knock at the shop door.
‘Thank you for coming, Signor Romano,’ she said as she let him in and locked the door behind him.
‘Prego.’ Still perfectly polite and formal. And his face was even less easy to read than his voice. Maybe she should’ve asked him over the phone, instead. It would be a lot easier without those piercing eyes watching her every movement.
‘May I offer you some coffee?’ she asked as she led him through to her office.
‘Thank you. No milk or sugar.’
Easy enough. She could do this.
Except her hand shook as she brought his cup over to the desk, and she spilled coffee all over his suit trousers.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—’
He cut her off with a shrug. ‘No problem. It’ll come out in the wash.’
But he was unsmiling. Grim, even. And her heart sank. Why had she ever been daft enough to think he was going to agree to this? It wasn’t just a risky strategy, it was an insane one.
‘So what did you want to run past me?’ he asked.
She placed her own coffee very carefully on her desk and sat down. ‘I’ve looked at Nonno’s books.’
‘And? ‘
‘And you have a point. I admit it. I don’t have the experience to turn things round. But—’ she sucked in a breath ‘—if you’d agree to mentor me, I could do it.’
‘Mentor you.’ Again, his voice and his face were completely expressionless. She had no idea whether he was amused, outraged, surprised, interested. Definitely not a man to play poker against.
And then he was silent.
Thinking about it, maybe. Did she interrupt, or give him space, or what?
‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked eventually.
‘How about, you can say “I told you so” and feel really, really smug?’
That earned her a smile, and maybe the slightest softening in those beautiful dark eyes—which gave her enough heart to continue. ‘Seriously, I can pay you to mentor me,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you charge.’
‘More than you can afford, Princess. Remember, I’ve already seen your books.’
Princess? That rankled. But she could hardly have a hissy fit on him. Not if she wanted him to help her.
‘I can pay you,’ she insisted.
‘How?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I could …’ She licked her lower lip. She could sell her jewellery. It would hurt—especially parting with the watch that her grandparents had given her for her twenty-first—but if she could save the business and make her grandparents proud of her, it would be worth it.
He clearly mistook her pause, because he raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m thirty years old. I’ve never had to pay for sex before, Princess, and I have no intention of starting now.’
‘I d-didn’t mean that,’ she stuttered, feeling her face flood with colour. ‘I was going to say, I can sell some of my jewellery.’
Except now he’d put a picture in her head. One that was even more inappropriate than the one that had been there the last time she’d met him. A picture of him naked, in her bed. Buried deep inside her.
Oh, help. She really needed to get a grip. This was about business.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Why?’ Think, Caz, think. Except she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. The circuits in her brain had just scrambled.
‘Why do you want me to mentor you?’
Oh. Yes. The reason she’d asked him here in the first place. The reason that should’ve been uppermost in her mind. Except that picture in her head had got in the way. Big time. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m asking you to mentor me because you have experience at turning businesses round.’ She listed the last three restaurants he’d bought, and the dates.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Done your homework, then, Princess?’
‘Don’t call me that!’ She glared at him.
Then she remembered. She was asking him a favour. She had to play nice. ‘Please,’ she added belatedly. ‘My name’s Carenza.’
‘Carenza.’ It sounded like a caress, the way he said it. All deep and husky and sexy as hell.
No. She had to focus.
‘You were right, Signor Romano. I don’t have the experience to turn the business round.’
‘And you’re eating humble pie.’ He inclined his head. ‘Interesting.’
‘Why do you have such a low opinion of me?’ she asked.
‘Because I know your type.’ He paused, giving her a measured look. ‘Princess.’
It took all her effort not to glower at him. ‘I’m not a princess,’ she said coolly.
‘Put your feet on the desk.’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘Put your feet on the desk,’ he repeated.
She had no idea what he was driving at, but she did as he requested.
‘Look at your shoes. High-end designer brand. They’d cost almost a month’s wages for most of your staff,’ he said softly. ‘So are you going to tell me now that you’re not a princess?’
Put like that, it sounded bad. She took her feet off the desk. ‘I had a job in England,’ she said, knowing that she sounded defensive.
‘Uh-huh.’
So he really did think it had been no more than a sinecure. ‘I wasn’t just sitting there filing my nails and fluttering my eyelashes. I was Amy’s PA. I organised things. I know how retail works.’
‘For luxury goods, maybe, but not food. It’s a completely different customer base,’ he pointed out.
‘Look, I’ve admitted that I need help. What more do you expect from me?’
‘Take the easy way out. Sell the business to me.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m the fifth generation of Toniellis. It’s up to me to make this work.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I guess I would’ve been the sixth generation. Or maybe if my parents had lived, I’d have had a brother or sister to share the burden of the business with me.’ She shook herself. ‘But you can’t change the past, so it’s pointless brooding over it. You just have to get on with things.’
Dante looked at her. She wouldn’t sell because the business had been part of her family’s life for years. So she had family loyalty after all. Given how few times she’d been back to Italy in the last ten years, he’d thought she’d pretty much abandoned her grandparents, happy with a life of partying in London. And she’d gone seriously off the rails last year.
But maybe Carenza Tonielli was turning over a new leaf. Maybe she wasn’t quite what he’d thought she was.
And, if she really wanted to make the business work, then getting a mentor to teach her the ropes would be the best thing that she could do.
She’d chosen him. Ironic, as he’d planned to buy her out.
He could refuse—but, then again, he owed Gino. The old man had given him a break, all those years ago. Gino had given Dante solid advice, taught him things that had stood him in good stead in business. This was Dante’s chance for payback: to help Gino’s granddaughter and make sure that the gelati business didn’t go under.
And this had nothing to do with the fact that Carenza had the most beautiful mouth and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Or the fact that he could imagine that glorious blonde hair spread over his pillow, her lips parted and her body arched in pleasure as he touched her.
‘OK,’ he said abruptly.
She blinked. ‘What?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Pay attention, Princess.’ He wasn’t going to call her ‘Signorina Tonielli’, not if he was going to be her mentor. But he wasn’t going to call her by her given name, either. It would be too intimate. This way, he could keep some distance between them. Maybe it would keep his wayward thoughts under control, too. He wasn’t used to feeling anything less than in full control of himself, and it unnerved him slightly that Carenza Tonielli could have this effect on him. He pushed the unwanted attraction away. This was business. ‘I said OK, I’ll be your mentor.’
Her face was flooded with relief. ‘Thank you. But I meant it about paying you. I can’t expect you to do this for nothing. I mean, I’m taking your time.’
‘No payment required. I’ll give you guidance, where I can—but you’re going to be the one doing the work, not me.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’ She sat up straight. ‘Where do we start?
‘You can start,’ he said, ‘by wearing something frumpy.’
Carenza could see from the shock on Dante’s face that he hadn’t actually meant to say that. So she wasn’t the only one with pictures in her head, then?
The room suddenly felt way, way too small—and it felt as if all the oxygen had just been sucked out of it, too, for good measure.
‘What’s wrong with my business suit?’ she asked, her voice only just above a whisper.
‘Nothing. The jacket and skirt are fine.’ There was a slash of colour over his cheekbones.
So what was bothering him? Her top? Her shoes? Anger flared. The woman she’d been last year wouldn’t have thought twice about taking off her jacket, strutting round to his side of the desk and teasing him, and she could see in his face that he thought he knew her type; his research must’ve dredged up a hell of a lot of dirt. No wonder he wasn’t taking her seriously. Well, let’s play your little game, Signor Romano, then I’ll show you just how wrong you are about me when I turn you down cold.
She stood up, slid the jacket off her shoulders and rested it over the back of her chair. ‘Is this the problem?’ She fingered the spaghetti straps.
His eyes were very, very dark. ‘You’re playing with fire, Princess.’
‘You started it,’ she pointed out. ‘So what’s the problem with my top?’
