I perch on the edge of my desk again. It’s a power position. I get to lounge casually while still looming over her. “I woulda given it to you in a heartbeat, doll. No collateral but your grandma’s fucking cannoli. But now I’m kinda pissed.”
She nods. “I know.” A tear slides from the outer corner of one eye but her face remains stoic. She’s brave, I give her that. Stupid, but she’s got balls. “I was going to just come and ask. I don’t know why I put on the clothes.” She tugs the blouse down like it might cover her panties if she tries hard enough.
I like her bared to me like this. Like it way too fucking much.
“But then I got scared. I was afraid you’d take ownership of Caffè Milano, like your dad did. It took my grandfather forty years to pay him off. Or I don’t know—maybe he never did and you and your brothers just let it go when your dad went…” She trails off like she’s afraid of offending me.
“To jail?”
She nods.
I consider her, trying to remember the business end of the deal. Milano’s was just always our haunt, for as long as I can remember. I never thought about how or why. Junior would probably know.
“My father often structured loans to keep men permanently under his thumb.” Might as well call a spade a spade. “He probably made it impossible to pay off so we could use Milano’s as our headquarters.”
She grows pale, like this news is even worse than what she’d imagined. Clearly the old man has kept her sheltered.
“So, you don’t want me to have Milano’s.” I shrug. “I am fond of the place, but it’s all right. I didn’t see myself serving espresso and wiping tables anyway. We can work out a different deal.”
She stares up at me, her blue-green gaze wary. “What kind of deal?”
“I don’t know.” I tilt my head. “Didn’t you go to culinary school? I could use a personal chef around here.”
The relief that ripples through her is immediately apparent by the way her posture straightens and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, I can do that. I mean, yes.” She actually seems excited by the idea. A woman who loves her craft. “I can prepare meals for you and drop them off. A couple days at a time. Or a full week. Whatever you want, Mr. Tacone.”
“First off, you’re gonna call me Gio or we’re gonna to have a problem. I mean another problem.”
Her lips quirk. There. It’s funny how relieved I am to see her relax.
“Secondly, I wasn’t thinking drop-offs. I was thinking you’d come in here—with or without the tight little skirt—and cook in my kitchen.” In fact, my cock gets hard thinking about it.
Some of the tension returns. “I can’t. I mean, maybe one night a week. But I work full-time at a restaurant and at Milano’s every other minute.”
“Hard worker.” I’m not surprised. She may have screwed up this meeting, but she’s got capable written all over her. “Okay. One night a week you cook dinner for me and leave my prepared meals for the week. I’ll deduct five hundred a week from your tab and give you cash for groceries.”
She gathers the money on her lap—it’s the first time she’s touched it—and stands. “Are you serious?”
I brace myself for her gratitude. I don’t know—I almost prefer her prickly and throwing shade to moments like this. Where she shows me everything in the depths of those innocent eyes. She puts her arms around me like she did the other night at the cafe and leans in for a hug.
I don’t read too much into it—she’s Italian, like me. We touch. We kiss. We hug. But she’s in her panties and these fucking thigh-highs that make my dick harder than stone and she definitely feels my appreciation.
Her breath catches and there’s this moment of hesitation.
She doesn’t jerk away. She goes still.
The old Gio woulda had her on her back by now. I’d lay her out on my desk, spread those legs and pound her hard, and all the time she’d be thanking me for the fuck and the money.
New Gio thinks too much.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s Marissa. The girl from the nightmares.
She said she’s not having sex with me. I know I could make her willing. I know she wants it, even.
But I can’t take the weight of any new shit on my conscience. Fucking the Milano girl after what just passed between us would be questionable. She would go for it, but she’d hate me tomorrow. So, I force myself to unwind my arm from around her back, and I deliver a light slap to her ass.
“I’m still pissed.”
It was the right thing to do. She gets her confidence back and flashes me a flirtatious smile, dumping the money on my desk. “You won’t be after you taste the food I cook you.”