Valenti's One-Month Mistress. Sabrina PhilipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
left the country indefinitely because I couldn’t bear looking up at the door in the restaurant every time it opened, jumping at the phone every time it rang, hoping it was you, finding it wasn’t. Funny, how her travelling always sounded like the single most important thing she had done with her life when it had been nothing but an escape. At least going to the States to do research with Chris, who couldn’t have been any more different from Dante if he’d tried, had vaguely taken her mind off him. It had beaten sitting at home wondering if she would ever hear from him again. Learning not to hope had become second nature as the months had passed. A pity forgetting him altogether had not.
‘And I studied marketing,’ she continued without elaboration. ‘I graduated just before my father passed away. After that I naturally returned to the restaurant.’
‘And that is where you wish to stay?’
At the time she had never stopped to consider whether or not it was what she wanted. That hadn’t come into it. All that had mattered was that her father had devoted his life to Matteson’s and there was no way she would let everything he had worked for fade to black just because he was gone. But when she thought about it, despite their dire financial situation, deep within her she knew that the restaurant business was so close to her heart that it was where she belonged.
Faye nodded. ‘In particular my passion still lies in the design side of the business, when I get the chance.’ Though that was rarely, now she was practically managing the place as well as doing shifts waiting tables.
‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I was rather convinced your passion lay elsewhere.’
Faye’s face dropped immediately. She felt as if she had been foolish to let her guard down even for a second.
‘Buon appetito. Enjoy.’
The waiter had placed the seafood in front of them, the meals an artwork in themselves. Was the service always this immediate, or did they have every dish on standby when he was in the house?
Dante lifted his fork and looked down at his plate, his face breaking into an unadulterated smile. Faye wondered if this was another deliberate attempt to turn her on, because it sure as hell was working. She forced herself to look away, emotions warring within her. This is the man who made love to you and then walked away.
‘You’re not hungry?’
She shook her head. He looked insulted as he watched her move the food around her plate. But that only frustrated her more, for she knew damned well it was as important to him as it was to her that guests enjoyed their meal—it was just one of the things about him that had once appealed so much to her. But she didn’t care; she couldn’t force her appetite right now if her life depended on it. Even the very act of sitting opposite him made every muscle in her body contract.
‘Contrary to popular belief, a man who takes a woman out to dinner does not find it alluring to see her eat a single lettuce leaf.’
If the misogynist in him had not been apparent earlier, it had just been biding its time. ‘I am not here for your pleasure.’
‘Aren’t you?’ He put down his knife and fork and challenged her with his full attention.
It sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt suddenly conscious of the thin layer of fabric between her breasts and the cool air of the restaurant.
‘No. I am not.’ She concentrated on sipping her mineral water. ‘I am here because, before you so rudely cut short our business meeting this afternoon, you suggested you had something worth saying.’
‘Ahh.’ His pause was arrogant, his eyelids low. ‘So you prefer to digest an idea before your food? But patience has its rewards.’
Did it? she wondered. What good had the months of hoping he would call done for her?
Dante signalled for the waiter and spoke to him briefly in Italian.
‘Very well. You came here to join my marketing team six years ago, and you made it perfectly clear that your interest in doing so was—how shall we say?—to gain experience of a different kind. Once you had achieved that goal, you vanished.’ He trailed his finger pensively across his jaw, as if she was a rather irritating conundrum that had just fallen out of a Christmas cracker. ‘And yet you presume you have the knowledge to run a successful business? Perhaps if you had stayed longer and paid a little more attention your family’s restaurant would not be where it is now.’
She had heard it all now. Was he actually arrogant enough to suggest that if she had hung around it would have prevented this whole crisis? Had he actually expected her to stay and face the humiliation of his rejection when he had practically packed her bags for her? She shook her head in disbelief.
‘But still, despite your failing in this, Matteson’s is in an excellent location,’ he continued.
Here we go again, she thought. He’s just trying to convince me that I’m such a failure I might as well sell now.
‘Therefore I am willing to take a chance and transfer a small advance to your business account now, with the rest of the sum you desire to follow in a month.’
‘You are?’ Faye was so shocked that she almost knocked over her glass. But he had refused point-blank earlier. This made no sense. He hadn’t even looked at her proposal.
‘On one condition,’ he continued, his eyes glittering in challenge. ‘For the next month, you will take up where you left off six years ago, and you will learn everything you need to make Matteson’s a success. Then, and only then, will I loan you the full sum you request. When you return home you will have one further month to double your profits.’
Faye looked at him, wanting to see something in his expression that would suggest he was joking. It wasn’t there.
‘And if I fail?’
‘The restaurant is mine.’
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