The Sexiest Man Alive (The Romanos 1)

Someone laughed nervously. Susannah shot a quick look around the room, and the place became silent.

“You have the right to disrupt the routine of this office anytime you please, of course.”

“Disrupt?” Matthew said, very coldly.

Had she really said that? Susannah wrapped her arms around herself. “Ah, perhaps that’s too strong a word to use.”

“Not at all. Not if that’s the word you want.”

Matthew folded his arms. His jaw shot out. The air hummed with hostility, but it was too late to back off unless she wanted it to seem as if she were afraid of him.

“Very well, Mr. Romano.” Susannah folded her arms, too and tilted her chin. “It’s exactly the word I want.”

The indrawn gasps almost emptied the room of air.

“Uh, Suze?” Claire said hesitantly. “Mr. Romano, ah Matthew, ah, Matt said—he said he was interested in hearing how the sexiest restaurant thingy was going, so we were, ah we were telling him all about it, and—”

“If Mr. Romano has questions, he should ask them directly of me.”

Matthew’s mouth formed a smile that threatened to send the temperature plummeting.

“I did, Miss Madison. The other day, remember? I faxed and asked how the restaurant feature was coming along. Your reply indicated that it was coming along splendidly.” That icy smile flickered across his lips again. “That was your word, wasn’t it? ‘Splendidly’?”

“Yes,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers, “it was.”

“You said you’d had many excellent suggestions, and that you’d narrowed them down to…”

“Six.”

“Six. From which you’ll select the winner.”

“Yes. Mr. Romano, you know all of this. And really, we’re very busy, so—”

“How will you do that, Miss Madison?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How will you select the winner?”

Susannah laughed politely. “How would you think, Mr. Romano?”

“I don’t know,” he said, ever so politely. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

Susannah looked into that handsome, smug face. Was he trying to trap her into something? It seemed so, but what? And why?

“It’s all spelled out in the rules. I’ll visit all six finalists—”

“I’ve read the rules,”

Susannah’s mouth was dry. He knew. About the twenty-four-hour days. About the restaurants that were only open at night. About the impossibility of getting it all done on time…

How? Was he a mind reader, along with everything else?

“Yes,” she said, with a little smile and a toss of her head, “I know. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to—”

“Unfortunately, it’s starting to look as if you won’t.”

Susannah blinked. “Won’t what?”

“Please, Miss Madison, don’t play coy. You’ve got an article to write, an interview to do. When do you expect to fit in six evenings and six dinners? It’s impossible.”

“It isn’t impossible,” she said coldly, drawing herself up to her full five feet four inches, wishing like hell she’d known he was coming so she could have worn heels.

“But it is.” His smile was smooth as satin and twice as slippery. “Especially since you haven’t even visited one of them, have you?”

“How did you…” Susannah glared at her staff. No one would make eye contact.

“I know because it’s my business to know,” Matthew said, “because I’m the publisher of this magazine, and because some members of your staff, at least, understand the need to provide meaningful information when I request it.”

Susannah slapped her hands on her hips “I suppose that’s a roundabout way of saying you came here to spy on me.”

“Don’t blame your inadequacy on your people, Miss Madison. I simply asked them how the project was going and they, unlike you, saw no need to lie.”

“I did not he, Mr. Romano! I never lie!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Then you won’t mind telling me if you’re going to be able to have the next issue ready on time.”

“Of course it’ll be ready”

“Complete with the much-touted, highly publicized sexiest restaurant feature?”

“Certainly,” she said, lying through her teeth.

It didn’t have to be a lie. He was right. It was time she admitted it to herself, if not to him. Time was running out. She couldn’t work until nine and ten in the evenings, then go to dinner at the six restaurants that had made the finals.

But she didn’t have to.

She didn’t really have to visit them all. Well, she did. But not for an entire evening. She could pop in, take a look, even request a quick tour of the kitchen. She’d look at the pictures the photographer took, check her notes, then make a choice.

Oh, it was a brilliant plan! And it was flawless. What could go wrong when you were narrowing a field of six Rembrandts down to one?

“Absolutely, it will be ready,” she said, and smiled. But Matthew smiled, too. The hair on the back of her neck rose. The trap was about to be sprung. She could tell.

“You’re planning on selecting a winner without paying a personal visit, aren’t you, Miss Madison?”

Susannah shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her khaki trousers.

“Certainly not. I made a promise to our readers, and I intend to keep it.”

“I’m happy to hear it. And, of course, you won’t cut any corners. You’ll spend a couple of hours, savor a bottle of wine, a full meal…”

Susannah blinked. Perhaps he really was a mind reader.

“I don’t see that as necessary,” she said pleasantly. “The restaurants are all highly recommended.”

“So was La Strada,” he said, his smile turning into something that would have done Peter proud.

She waited. He waited. Finally, she gave in.

“Are you going to explain what you mean, Mr. Romano?”

“Certainly, Miss Madison. La Strada’s in San Francisco. It had a wonderful reputation until it changed hands. Now they couldn’t fill the seats if they gave the food away.”

“Yes, well, I suppose those things can happen, but—”

“If CHIC is going to give coverage to these restaurants, we’d better be damned sure they’re what we claim they are. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It was a good thing she’d tucked her hands away because they were shaking.

“It’s not a problem.” She spoke coolly. At least, she hoped it was coolly. “I’ll just ask some selective questions of the owner…”

Matthew chuckled. To her chagrin, so did a couple of others.

“Let me be sure I understand this. You’ll phone and you’ll say, ‘Hello, this is Susannah Madison, from CHIC magazine. We’re trying to determine the sexiest restaurant for a big feature we’re doing, and you’re on our short list. This feature will bring you incredible amounts of business. And oh, by the way, how’s the kitchen situation? The service? Have you fixed the rickety chairs? Replaced the frayed napery? And have you, by any chance, matched the silverware yet? Should we feel comfortable listing you as one of the most romantic restaurants in New York?’” Matthew’s voice hardened. “Or should we tell people that they’d better prepare themselves for a night in the Ptomaine Palace?’” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, Miss Madison? Does that sound about right?”

No one moved. No one spoke. No one seemed to take a breath. Not even Susannah, who knew he was right and hated him for it.

“Are you asking for my resignation?” she asked, finally.

Matthew’s eyes widened. If she hadn’t known better, she’d really have believed it was in total innocence.

“Of course not. Your staff and I agree that you’ve been working as hard as any one human being could. I’m here to offer my help.”

“Your help,” she said carefully. “And that would mean?”

&nbs

p; Offering to check out the six finalists himself? Volunteering to take a series of beautiful blondes—and not dumb ones, because she knew him well enough now to suspect dumb women would bore him silly—out for six evenings of romantic suppers?

“My immediate authorization for you to put on extra staff. You need more hands here, Susannah, to free up your time.”

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “That would be wonderful.”

“And I’ll clear my calendar for the next six evenings.” He grinned. “As you said, dining at all these romantic spots is going to be a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

Her stomach knotted. She’d been right. Matthew and the Blonde of the Month, out every night, and all on her behalf.

“That’s very generous, Mr. Romano.”

“Matthew,” he said soothingly.

“Matthew.” Susannah tried for a smile. “I know how busy you must be.”

“Yes, but I have a vested interest in seeing CHIC succeed.”

“I know. But to put yourself out this way—”

“I think the best approach will be for us to begin immediately.” He looked over her head. “Pam?”

“Yes, sir.”