The Playboy of Rome. Jennifer Faye
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He once again rubbed at his stiff neck. It’d been an extremely long day. Not only was he short-staffed but also the meeting with the potential buyers for the ristorante hadn’t gone well. They didn’t just want the building. They also wanted the name and the secret recipes that put his grandfather’s name up there with the finest chefs.
Dante didn’t have the right to sell those recipes—recipes that went back to his grandmother’s time. They were special to his grandfather. Still, selling them would keep them alive for others to enjoy instead of them being forgotten in a drawer. But could he actually approach his grandfather and ask for the right to sell them? Those recipes were his grandfather’s pride and joy. In fact, employees signed a nondisclosure agreement to maintain the secrecy of Massimo’s signature dishes. The thought of selling out left a sour taste in Dante’s mouth.
“As you can see in the contract, the television crew will be here on Tuesday.” Her words brought Dante back to his latest problem.
“I also see that you’ve arrived a couple of days early.” He wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement. He was stalling. Thinking.
“I like to be prepared. I don’t like surprises. So I thought I’d get settled in and maybe see some of the sights in Rome. I’ve heard it’s a lovely city.”
“Well, since my grandfather isn’t going to be able to mentor you, perhaps you can have an extended holiday before heading back to—”
“New York. And I didn’t come here for a vacation. I came here to work and to learn.” She got to her feet. “Maybe I should just speak with one of the people in the kitchen. Perhaps they can point me in the direction of your grandfather.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
His grandfather didn’t need to be bothered with this—he had more important issues to deal with at the moment. Dante could and would handle this woman. After all, there had to be a way out of this. Without reading the rest of the lengthy details, he flipped to the last page.
“It’s all signed and legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her voice held a note of confidence, and she sat back down.
She was right. Right there in black and white was his grandfather’s distinguished signature. There was no denying the slope of the M or the scroll of Bianco. Dante resisted the urge to ball up the document and toss it into the stone fireplace across the room from them. Not that it would help since the fire had been long ago extinguished.
He refused to let the sale of the ristorante—the deal he’d been negotiating for weeks—go up in smoke because of some promotional deal his grandfather had signed. There had to be a way around it. Dante wondered how much it’d take to convince Lizzie to quietly return to New York.
“I’m sure we can reach some sort of agreement.” He was, after all, a DeFiore. He had access to a sizable fortune. “What will it take for you to forget about your arrangement with my grandfather?”
She sat up straighter. “Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“I mean that I’m not leaving.” She leaned forward, pressing her elbows down on the tabletop. “I don’t think you understand how serious I am. I’ve cut out months of my life for this internship. I’ve said goodbye to my family and friends in order to be here. I had to quit my job. Are you getting the picture? Everything is riding on this agreement—my entire future. I have a signed agreement and I intend to film a television segment in that kitchen.” She pointed over her shoulder.
She’d quit her job!
Who did something like that? Obviously someone very trusting or very desperate. Which type was she? Her beautiful face showed lines of stress and the darkness below her eyes hinted at her exhaustion. He was leaning toward the desperate scenario.
Perhaps he’d been too rough on her. He really hadn’t meant to upset her. He knew how frustrating it could be to be so close to getting what you wanted and yet having a barricade thrown in the way.
“Listen, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I’m sure you’ll be able to land another job somewhere else—”
“And what are you planning to do about the film crew when they arrive?”
Dante’s lips pressed together. Yes, what was he going to do? This situation was getting ever so complicated. He eyed up the woman. Was she on the level? Was she truly after the work experience? The opportunity to learn? Or was she an opportunist playing on his sympathies?
He certainly didn’t want to spend his time inflating her ego in front of the camera crew for the next two months—two very long months. But he was getting the very unsettling feeling that there was no way over, around or under the arrangement without a lengthy, messy lawsuit, which would hold up the sale of the ristorante.
* * *
This was not how things were supposed to go.
Lizzie resisted the urge to get up and start pacing. It was what she usually did when she was stuck in a tough spot. While growing up in the foster care system, she’d found herself in plenty of tough spots. But the one thing she’d learned through it all was not to give up—if it was important enough, there had to be a solution. It’d worked to keep Jules, her foster sister, with her through the years. She just had to take a deep breath and not panic.
Dante appeared to be a businessman. Surely he’d listen to logic. It was her last alternative. She sucked in a steadying breath, willing her mind to calm. “If you’ll read over the contract, you’ll see that your grandfather has agreed not only to mentor me but also to host a television crew. We’re doing a reality spot for one of the cooking shows. It’s been in the works for months now. Your grandfather was very excited about the project and how it’d give this place—” she waved her hand around at the restaurant that had a very distinct air about it “—international recognition. Just think of all the people that would know the name Ristorante Massimo.”
Dante’s eyes lit up with interest. “Do you have some numbers to back up your claims?”
She would have brought them, if she’d known she’d need them. “Your grandfather is confident in the value of these television segments. He has made numerous appearances on the culinary channel and has made quite a name for himself.”
“I know. I was here for every one of those appearances.”
She studied Dante’s face for some recollection of him. His tanned skin. His dark eyes. His strong jaw. And those lips... Oh, they looked good enough to kiss into submission... She jerked her attention back to the conversation. “Why don’t I recall seeing you in any of them?”
“Because I took a very small role in them. I didn’t understand why my grandfather would sign up for those television appearances.”
Her gaze narrowed in on him. “Do you have something against people on television?”
“No.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, rocking his chair on the rear two legs. “I just think in a lot of cases they misrepresent life. They give people false hope that they’ll be overnight successes. Most of the time life doesn’t work that way. Life is a lot harder.”
There was a glimmer of something 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.”