The Playboy of Rome. Jennifer Faye
in his eyes. Was it regret? Or pain? In a blink, his feelings were once again hidden. She was locked out. And for some reason that bothered her. Not that it should—it wasn’t as though they were friends. She didn’t even know him.
Not about to waste her time debating the positive and negative points of television, she decided to turn the conversation back around to her reason for being here. “Surely your grandfather will be back soon. After all, he has a restaurant to run.”
“I’m afraid that he won’t be returning.”
“He won’t?” This was news to her. Surely he couldn’t be right. “But we have an agreement. And he was so eager for us to begin.”
Dante rubbed his jaw as though trying to decide if he should say more. His dark gaze studied her intently. It made her want to squirm in her seat but she resisted.
“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it. I need to know what’s going on.”
Dante sighed. “My grandfather recently experienced a stroke. He has since moved to the country.”
“Oh, no.” She pressed a hand to her chest. This was so much worse than she’d imagined. “Is he going to be all right?”
Dante’s brows lifted as though he was surprised by her concern. “Yes, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He’s getting therapy.”
“Thank goodness. Your grandfather seemed so lively and active. I just can’t imagine that happening to him.”
She thought back to their lively emails and chatty phone conversations. Massimo’s voice had been rich and robust like a dark roast espresso. He was what she thought of when she imagined having a grandfather of her own. “He was so full of life.”
“How exactly did you get to know him?”
Perhaps she’d said too much. It wasn’t as if she and Massimo were that close. “At first, the production group put us in touch. We emailed back and forth. Then we started talking on the phone, discussing how we wanted to handle the time slots. After all, they are short, so we couldn’t get too elaborate. But then again, we didn’t want to skimp and do just the basics.”
“Sounds like you two talked quite a bit.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t like we talked every day. More like when one of us had a good idea. But that was hampered by the time difference. And then recently the calls stopped. When I phoned here I was merely told that he wasn’t available and that they’d give him a message.”
Dante’s eyes opened wide as though a thought had come to him. “I remember seeing those messages. I had no idea who you were or what you wanted. I was beginning to wonder if my grandfather had a girlfriend on the side.”
“Nope, it was me. And now that you know the whole story, what’s yours?”
“My what?”
“Story. I take it you run this place for your grandfather.”
His brows furrowed together as though he knew where this conversation was leading. “Yes, I do.”
“Have you worked here long?” She wanted as much information as possible so she could plot out a backup plan.
He hesitantly nodded.
“That must be wonderful to learn from such a talented chef.” There had to be a way to salvage this deal. But she needed to know more. “When did you start working with your grandfather?”
“When I was a kid, I would come and visit. But it wasn’t until later that I worked here full-time.”
She noticed that his answers were vague at best, giving her no clue as to his family life or why he came here to work. Perhaps he needed the money. Still, as she stared across the table at him, his whole demeanor spoke of money and culture. She also couldn’t dismiss the fact that most women would find him alarmingly handsome. In fact, he’d make some real eye candy for the television spot. And if that was what it took to draw in an audience, who was she to argue.
She’d been earning money cooking since she was fourteen. Of course, being so young, she’d been paid under the table. Over the years, she’d gained more and more experience, but never thinking she’d ever have a shot at owning a restaurant of her own, she’d taken the safe route and gone to college. She’d needed a way to make decent money to keep herself and Jules afloat.
But then Jules entered her application for a reality TV cooking show. Jules had insisted that she needed to take a risk and follow her dream of being a chef in her own five-star restaurant.
Winning that reality show had been a huge stepping-stone. It gave her a television contract and a plane ticket to Rome, where she’d learn from the best in the business. Jules was right. Maybe her dream would come true.
All she needed was to make sure this deal was a success. One way or the other. And if Chef Massimo couldn’t participate then perhaps his grandson would do.
She eyed him up. “Your grandfather must have taught you all of his secrets in the kitchen.”
His body noticeably stiffened. “Yes, he did. How else would I keep the place running in his absence?”
She knew it was akin to poking a sleeping bear with a stick, but she had to confirm her suspicions before she altered her plans ever so slightly. “But do your dishes taste like your grandfather’s?”
“The customers don’t know the difference.” The indignity in his voice rumbled through the room. “Who do you think took the time to learn every tiny detail of my grandfather’s recipes? My grandfather insisted that if you were going to do something, you should learn to do it right. And there were no shortcuts in his kitchen.”
From the little she’d known of Massimo, she could easily believe this was true. During their phone conversations, he’d made it clear that he didn’t take shortcuts with his recipes or with training people. She’d have to start from the beginning. Normally, she’d have taken it as an insult, but coming from Massimo, she had the feeling that he only wanted the best for both of them and the television spotlight.
“Will you continue to run the restaurant alone?”
Dante ran a hand over his jaw. “Are you always this curious about strangers?”
She wasn’t about to back off. This information was important and she had learned almost everything she needed. “I’m just trying to make a little conversation. Is that so wrong?”
There was a look in his eyes that said he didn’t believe her. Still, he didn’t press the subject. Instead he surprised her by answering. “For the foreseeable future I will continue to run Massimo’s. I can’t predict the future.”
“I still wonder if you’re as good as your grandfather in the kitchen.”
“Wait here.” He jumped to his feet and strode out of the room.
Where in the world had he gone? She was tempted to follow, but she thought better of it. She’d already pushed her luck as far as she dared. But her new plan was definitely taking shape.
The only problem she envisioned was trying to keep her mind on the art of cooking and not on the hottie mentoring her. She knew jet lag was to blame for her distorted worries. A little uninterrupted sleep would have her thinking clearly.
This arrangement was far too important to ruin due to some sort of crush. She pursed her lips together. No matter how good he looked, she knew better than to let her heart rule her mind. She knew too well the agonizing pain of rejection and abandonment. She wouldn’t subject herself to that again. Not for anyone.
She pulled her shoulders back and clasped her hands in her lap. Time to put her plan in motion.
One way or the other.
HOW