A Moment on the Lips(5)
‘More than you can afford, Princess. Remember, I’ve already seen your books.’
Princess? That rankled. But she could hardly have a hissy fit on him. Not if she wanted him to help her.
‘I can pay you,’ she insisted.
‘How?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I could …’ She licked her lower lip. She could sell her jewellery. It would hurt—especially parting with the watch that her grandparents had given her for her twenty-first—but if she could save the business and make her grandparents proud of her, it would be worth it.
He clearly mistook her pause, because he raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m thirty years old. I’ve never had to pay for sex before, Princess, and I have no intention of starting now.’
‘I d-didn’t mean that,’ she stuttered, feeling her face flood with colour. ‘I was going to say, I can sell some of my jewellery.’
Except now he’d put a picture in her head. One that was even more inappropriate than the one that had been there the last time she’d met him. A picture of him naked, in her bed. Buried deep inside her.
Oh, help. She really needed to get a grip. This was about business.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Why?’ Think, Caz, think. Except she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. The circuits in her brain had just scrambled.
‘Why do you want me to mentor you?’
Oh. Yes. The reason she’d asked him here in the first place. The reason that should’ve been uppermost in her mind. Except that picture in her head had got in the way. Big time. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m asking you to mentor me because you have experience at turning businesses round.’ She listed the last three restaurants he’d bought, and the dates.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Done your homework, then, Princess?’
‘Don’t call me that!’ She glared at him.
Then she remembered. She was asking him a favour. She had to play nice. ‘Please,’ she added belatedly. ‘My name’s Carenza.’
‘Carenza.’ It sounded like a caress, the way he said it. All deep and husky and sexy as hell.
No. She had to focus.
‘You were right, Signor Romano. I don’t have the experience to turn the business round.’
‘And you’re eating humble pie.’ He inclined his head. ‘Interesting.’
‘Why do you have such a low opinion of me?’ she asked.
‘Because I know your type.’ He paused, giving her a measured look. ‘Princess.’
It took all her effort not to glower at him. ‘I’m not a princess,’ she said coolly.
‘Put your feet on the desk.’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘Put your feet on the desk,’ he repeated.
She had no idea what he was driving at, but she did as he requested.
‘Look at your shoes. High-end designer brand. They’d cost almost a month’s wages for most of your staff,’ he said softly. ‘So are you going to tell me now that you’re not a princess?’
Put like that, it sounded bad. She took her feet off the desk. ‘I had a job in England,’ she said, knowing that she sounded defensive.
‘Uh-huh.’
So he really did think it had been no more than a sinecure. ‘I wasn’t just sitting there filing my nails and fluttering my eyelashes. I was Amy’s PA. I organised things. I know how retail works.’
‘For luxury goods, maybe, but not food. It’s a completely different customer base,’ he pointed out.
‘Look, I’ve admitted that I need help. What more do you expect from me?’
‘Take the easy way out. Sell the business to me.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m the fifth generation of Toniellis. It’s up to me to make this work.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I guess I would’ve been the sixth generation. Or maybe if my parents had lived, I’d have had a brother or sister to share the burden of the business with me.’ She shook herself. ‘But you can’t change the past, so it’s pointless brooding over it. You just have to get on with things.’
Dante looked at her. She wouldn’t sell because the business had been part of her family’s life for years. So she had family loyalty after all. Given how few times she’d been back to Italy in the last ten years, he’d thought she’d pretty much abandoned her grandparents, happy with a life of partying in London. And she’d gone seriously off the rails last year.