His Forbidden Conquest. Kate Hardy
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he? And she had a pretty good idea why. ‘You’re right, doing all the jobs gave me more of an idea what my staff have to do.’ She gave him a level stare. ‘And, yes, I did clean the toilets.’
He laughed. ‘Good. So you’re not afraid of hard work.’
‘I told you I wasn’t.’ She contented herself with a brief glower at him, and arranged the flowers in a vase. ‘I’ll just put these in the living room. Stay here—we’re eating in here and my notes are in here.’
He looked faintly amused by her attempt at bossing him around, but he sat down at her kitchen table.
‘Coffee?’ she asked when she came back in.
‘It depends if you’re planning to spill it on me.’
She felt her skin heat. ‘Trust you to bring that up. It was an accident. I was nervous.’
‘And you’re not now?’
‘No.’ After what they’d shared together, she wasn’t nervous of him. There were times when he completely flummoxed her, but she wasn’t nervous. He intrigued her. And she wanted to learn from him—as well as take him straight to her bed.
‘Thank you, but I’ll pass on the coffee. So, homework. You know your customers?’
She nodded. ‘They’re mainly families. The most popular flavours are vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, in that order—which is pretty much the same as it is in the rest of Europe. And vanilla’s top in the States, too.’ Just so he’d know she was looking at the big picture and was capable of doing her own research. ‘And in my shops, they’re closely followed by hazelnut, coffee, lemon and stracciatella.’
‘I’m impressed. You know your product and you know your customers. So now you need to decide how you grow the business. Either you need to sell more things to your current customer base, or you need to increase your customer base.’
She frowned. ‘Who buys ice cream, apart from families?’
He coughed. ‘I thought I was supposed to be the one who asks the questions? Think about it.’ He shrugged. ‘Or think about where families buy ice cream.’
‘From a gelateria, a stall or a kiosk …’ She thought about it. ‘Actually, one of my friends in London was a wedding planner. She did a summer wedding once with an ice cream cart for the guests, and apparently the kids absolutely loved it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘London’s a bit far to ship ice cream from Naples.’
‘Very funny. I meant maybe I could offer something to local wedding planners. Maybe we could produce tubs to the bride and groom’s specifications, with their name on it and the date of the wedding or something.’
‘That’s a good thought. Where else do you buy ice cream?’
He pushed her until she’d come up with a list including supermarkets, cinemas, hotels and restaurants. And although he was asking questions, he wasn’t leading her—the ideas were all hers. He knew it, too, because he actually looked pleased. ‘You’re a quick learner and you can think on your feet. That’s going to be good for Tonielli’s.’
His praise warmed her. ‘I’ll research the openings, see where I can do some deals. The local deli, the cinemas …’
She paused. ‘Or a restaurant chain. How about yours? Do you offer ice cream as a dessert?’
‘I do.’
‘Tonielli’s?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘But that’s what you were planning.’
‘What I planned is irrelevant, because you’re running the business now.’
‘So would you stock my ice cream in your restaurants?’
‘That depends what you offer me.’ He held his hand up to stop her talking. ‘Don’t rush into it, Princess—or into any other deal. You need to cost everything first and work out your strategy. I’ll get you a marketing primer so you can work it out for yourself, then I’ll go over the figures with you to see if I can add anything you haven’t thought of. It’s a bit of a conflict of interest, but between us we’ll come up with something that’s fair to both of us.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘Can we have a dinner break, now?’
‘That’d be good.’
She walked over to the fridge. ‘I did think about giving you nothing but ice cream.’
‘Did you now?’
‘I had a whole menu planned out. Tomato and basil sorbet, to start with. Like an iced soup.’
He sighed. ‘If that’s your idea of growing the business, I have to say it’s an epic fail.’
‘No, it was just a thought. But I couldn’t come up with a reasonable flavour for the main course,’ she admitted, ‘except maybe parmesan, served on a waffle with salad, so I gave up on it.’
‘Good. Because nothing but ice cream for dinner is just …’ He grimaced. ‘Well, it’s too gimmicky. It wouldn’t suit your customer base.’
‘So you’re telling me you’ve never eaten just ice cream for a meal?’
‘No.’ Dante pushed back the memories of the times when he’d had nothing at all for a meal. Because his father had drunk away the housekeeping budget yet again, and the local shopkeepers refused to give them credit because they knew his family was a bad risk.
‘You’re missing a trick. Having a duvet day and a tub of really good ice cream for lunch …’
‘Is that an offer?’ he drawled.
She backtracked fast. ‘Time for dinner.’ She took the plates she’d carefully arranged earlier from the fridge, a simple tricolore salad. ‘And yes, I know this isn’t proper cooking. It’s just arranging things on a plate.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re defensive tonight, Princess.’
‘That’s because you make me defensive.’
He shrugged. ‘Do you have something to be defensive about?’
How did he manage to wrongfoot her all the time? Just when she thought she knew what she was doing, everything shifted, and she found herself in the wrong. ‘I guess not,’ she muttered.
‘It’s good,’ he said after the first mouthful. ‘Fresh and simple, good quality ingredients, and nicely presented. It works for me.’
‘Was that a compliment?’
He smiled. ‘Don’t push it, Princess.’
When they’d eaten the antipasti, she cooked some fresh pasta, drained it, and stirred in a simple pesto sauce. ‘Go on, then. Ask me if I bought it from a shop,’ she challenged when she put the plate in front of him.
He tasted it. ‘No, this is definitely home-made.’ The lines round his eyes crinkled. ‘Though I could ask you if your grandmother made it. Or her cook.’
She held out her left hand so he could see the plaster on her thumb. ‘All my own work. See? I cut myself chopping the basil for the pesto.’
He took her hand and kissed her thumb. His mouth was warm and soothing, and at the same time it made her ache for him.
She sucked in a breath. ‘What was that for?’
‘Didn’t you show me so I could kiss it better?’
Well, yes. Except whenever his mouth touched her skin, even if it wasn’t overtly sexual, her body went into overdrive.
She managed to concentrate for long enough to serve up the simple chicken dish with vegetables for the main course, which he ate without comment—just