The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo. Michelle Douglas
working with troubled youths not to recognise the signs—the glitter in her eyes, the colour high on her cheekbones and the flared nostrils. Even if it was all tucked away beneath a polite smile.
He stared at her and his shoulders unhitched a fraction. She might be a lot of things, but he was suddenly certain the one thing she wasn’t was meek and mild.
‘Mr D’Angelo?’
He kicked himself forward from behind his desk. ‘Yes.’
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Neen Cuthbert.’
She strode across to him, hand extended. It was bright red, as if it had recently been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. He briefly clasped it and then stepped back. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose and her knees were bright red too.
It wasn’t her hands or her knees that held his attention, though. Her dove-grey suit sported four equidistant pawprints—two on her thighs and two just above her breasts. No amount of scrubbing could hide those. For the first time in two days he found himself biting back a smile.
When his gaze returned to her face, her chin went up a notch, as if daring him to say one word about those pawprints.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Neen.’ He kept his voice even and some of the glitter eased from her eyes. He pursed his lips and then shook his head. ‘I suspect your afternoon has been as stressful as mine.’
A flash of humour lit up her face. ‘It’s that obvious, huh?’ She glanced down at the pawprints, her lips twisting. ‘It has been something of a trial,’ she allowed.
‘Please, take a seat.’ He motioned to a chair. Moving back around his desk, he stabbed a finger to his intercom. ‘I know it’s going above and beyond, Lisle, but could we possibly have coffee in here?’
‘Coming right up,’ she shot back cheerfully.
To his mind, the other two project managers took thorough advantage of their shared secretary. Rico didn’t see coffee making as part of Lisle’s duties. In this instance, though, he was prepared to make an exception.
‘That was kind of you.’ Neen’s glance was direct. ‘Truly, though, you didn’t have to do that on my account.’
He waved that away. ‘You may not thank me once you’ve tasted it.’ It wouldn’t be café standard by any means. ‘But, to be perfectly frank, I could do with a hit of caffeine.’
‘I take it your interviews aren’t going well?’
He stiffened at her question, realising how unprofessional he must appear. He shifted on his chair, fighting a frown. He’d let his guard down. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
He shook his head. He needed a holiday.
He shook it again. He didn’t have time for a holiday.
‘It’s hardly surprising, though, is it?’ she said, obviously misinterpreting the shaking of his head. ‘You want a highly qualified and experienced restaurant manager, but the wage you’re offering is hardly attractive.’
‘And yet you applied.’
She pointed to her file on his desk. ‘As you’ll have no doubt ascertained from my résumé, I’m not what you’d call highly experienced.’
‘And yet you still applied?’
‘And you decided to interview me.’
Okay, she definitely had backbone. She might not be cheerful and earnest, but she definitely had backbone, and that trumped cheerful and earnest any day. At least for this particular job.
Lisle came in with two steaming coffees. After she’d left he asked, ‘What happened?’ He gestured to the pawprints.
He made it a vague gesture, because he didn’t want her to think he was checking out her chest. He hadn’t been going to ask, but her criticism of the wage he was offering made him dispense with the niceties. Besides, he held those pawprints entirely responsible for his momentary lapse. If he found the answer to their mystery, he could then concentrate on getting this interview, and himself, firmly back on track.
She’d started to lift her mug, but at his words she set it back down with a thump. She didn’t spill a single drop, though. ‘Nothing today is going as planned. I came in here prepared with a pretty speech about why I’m the best applicant for your job. Instead I make snarky comments about the remuneration package and...’
Just for a moment her shoulders sagged. In the next instant, however, she straightened them again. Her eyes suddenly danced and she seized her coffee and sipped it.
‘I mean to enjoy this,’ she raised her mug in his direction, ‘because I’m guessing it doesn’t much matter what I say from here on. And after the day I’ve had I’m not going to beat myself up about it.’
She was mistaken if she thought she was out of the running. Not that he had any intention of telling her so. Yet. ‘Well?’ He raised an eyebrow.
She cradled her mug in her hands and crossed her legs. One of those red knees peeped out at him. ‘My flaky neighbour has landed me with her dog—gifted him to me, would you believe?—while she jets off to Italy for some indefinite amount of time on multiple modelling contracts.’
He gestured. Again, vaguely. ‘So the dog...?’
‘Montgomery.’
‘Did that?’
‘He did a whole lot more than that. You should see the state of my navy suit and my pantyhose.’
She lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. He watched, fascinated, as she closed her eyes in what he guessed was bliss. He reached for his own mug and took a sip too. It was good. He let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. The tightness in his shoulders eased a fraction more.
‘It’s hardly Monty’s fault, though. Audra’s never trained him, and at fourteen months he’s not much more than a puppy still.’
He stared at those pawprints. ‘What kind of puppy?’
‘A Great Dane.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘No pretty little Chihuahua or toy poodle for Audra. Oh, no. She thought that a cliché. She wanted to be the model with the Great Dane. She thought the photo opportunities would be fabulous.’
‘But?’
She suddenly grinned. It changed her entire bearing. Backbone: tick. Sense of humour: tick. Whoever won the position would need both of those in spades.
‘Oh, the photo opportunities were there, but unfortunately they weren’t to Audra’s advantage.’
A chuckle broke free from his throat. The images Neen’s quick sketch evoked were alive in his mind. ‘Why did you agree to take him?’
‘Ah, well, that would be because she snuck him into my apartment while I was in the shower, left a note explaining it all and then hightailed it for the airport.’
The act of someone who knew Neen couldn’t be taken advantage of. ‘What are you going to do with Monty?’
He shifted on his chair. Would she call the pound? He could hardly blame her. But...
‘I guess I’ll have to find a home for him.’ She sent him a smile of such extraordinary sweetness it momentarily stole his breath. ‘Mr D’Angelo,’ she purred. ‘You look exactly like a man in need of a dog.’
He stared. He floundered. Finally common sense reasserted itself. ‘I’m not home often enough. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog.’ Inside him, a grin built. The minx!
All of her sweetness vanished. ‘If only everyone who decided to get a dog had half as much foresight,’ she muttered, and the grin inside him grew. ‘There should be some kind of dog-ownership test that people have to pass before they’re allowed to get a dog.’
‘The