The Playboy of Rome

“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 ownin

g 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?”