Unbuttoning the Tuscan Tycoon, page 7
He straightened. ‘Thank you.’
He said the words so gravely they pierced her heart. She leaned towards him. ‘And I promise I’ll help you make a success of Lorenzo’s in every way I can.’
He leaned towards her too. ‘You have already promised to give me your best work.’
‘But now I promise you my best work from my heart and not because you’re paying me.’
He sagged as if her words had punched the breath from his body. ‘I do not know what to say.’
She waved that away, reminded herself to channel some chilled holiday attitude. ‘It’s no biggie.’
His brows shot up. ‘It is indeed a biggie, as you put it.’
First thing on the Help Make Lorenzo’s a Success agenda was getting Dante to somehow loosen the control freak grip he had on every area of the restaurant’s day-to-day running and allow the staff to do their jobs.
He frowned. ‘Now you do not say anything. This is not usual. I do not trust it.’
She barked out a laugh. ‘Okay, okay, it’s just...’
‘Yes?’
He leaned towards her again and his lemon, sage and sunshine scent drifted all around, making her far too aware of him. Instead of fixing on those tempting lips or mesmerising eyes, she stared down at the bar and made circles in the condensation her wineglass had left behind.
He reached out and closed his hand over hers. ‘I wish you to be candid with me, Frankie. I promise no more temper tantrums.’
She found herself turning her hand up to entwine with his. It was meant to be a sign of solidarity and friendship. And initially it was exactly that. They smiled at each other as if that was innate and understood.
But then something flared. Something delicious and dangerous. Something that had no place in their relationship and they both snatched their hands back.
Frankie gulped a mouthful of wine. It shouldn’t be gulped, gulping it was a sin, but she needed something to burn sense back into her. ‘You agreed that you’ve lost perspective where the restaurant is concerned, and it’s easy to see why. Lorenzo meant so much to you, and you want to create a fitting tribute to the man you loved and respected. But your grandfather would want you to do this with a joyful heart, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t want it causing you so much stress and heartache.’
He stared at her as if he’d not considered such a thing.
‘I think you ought to be having fun and feeling joy at what you’re doing. I know there’s the inevitable stress and worry as well, but it shouldn’t be negating the excitement.’
He didn’t say anything.
She shifted on her seat. ‘Maybe you don’t agree with me and, obviously, that’s fine too. I just... You wanted me to tell you what was on my mind.’
‘I am not angry at what you have said.’
She let out a breath.
‘You have given me a different perspective, which I appreciate.’
He didn’t look appreciative.
‘This attitude of mine, it is not one that is complimentary to my grandfather. You are right. He would want me to enjoy this process. Instead, I am treating it like a mountain I must climb or an obligation I need to see through to completion. I must do better.’
And just like that he’d gone and put even more pressure on himself. It was all Frankie could do not to drop her head to her arms. Instead, she asked a question she’d been burning to ask from the get-to. ‘Are you a good chef?’
He nodded. ‘It is my passion. I learned from a very good chef in the village when we first moved here. He took me under his wing. I learned much. In my leisure time I cook to relax. When I can spare the time, I hire masters to teach me new techniques and dishes.’
She stared at him, recognised the sudden fire in his eyes, and her mouth went dry. ‘It makes you come alive, feel alive, when you’re cooking?’
‘Si, it is the best feeling in the world.’
Her heart thumped. She used to feel like that about medicine. She wished she could get it back. She wished—
She broke off with a frown. ‘If you love cooking so much, why aren’t you doing that instead of whatever it is you normally do?’
‘Which would be running a multimillion-dollar construction business.’
Okay, so he really was super successful.
‘I have a talent for business too.’
She reached across and poked him in the chest. ‘Talent and passion are not the same thing. Which do you love more? If you were king of the world, and could choose to do anything, what would you choose?’
* * *
Dante’s chest burned at Frankie’s question. No one had ever asked him what he wanted before. His throat ached as he allowed himself to consider it.
Cooking filled his soul, made him feel complete in a way nothing else did, but not everyone was lucky enough to follow their dreams. Not everyone wanted to fritter away their life savings—and their grandmother’s—on a life made up of holidays, ukuleles and grape picking.
‘I have responsibilities, Frankie. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to follow their passions.’
The way she slid back in her seat away from him, made him realise how pointed that had sounded—the words shot at her as if from a gun.
Why? Because she didn’t have the same responsibilities that he did? That wasn’t fair. ‘I greatly enjoy my business success,’ he managed in a milder tone. ‘I like what I have achieved.’ It might not be his passion, but it didn’t make those words any less true. ‘What is your passion?’
She stared down into her wine. ‘I don’t know. I mean I thought I knew, once, but now I’m not so sure.’ She shrugged, sent him a small smile. ‘That’s why I’m here in Tuscany.’
He had no right to judge her or to resent her freedom. Especially when she had just told him she would do everything she could to help him make Lorenzo’s a success. When all she really wanted was a summer free of complications.
She was the only person so far brave enough to tell him where she thought he was going wrong, and to offer suggestions for how he could do better. He should be cherishing her, not rebuking her.
He straightened. He should be helping her. ‘How is it you plan to discover your passion?’
‘That’s what this summer is all about—lots of relaxing in the sun, lots of time to ponder the future while noodling about doing things I enjoy, with no responsibilities impinging on my time. I’m hoping three months of that will help me consider the future with a clearer eye.’
Except now it wasn’t going to be such a carefree time, was it? He’d bullied her into being maître d’ and had somehow made her feel invested in Lorenzo’s success. He opened his mouth to tell her that he would find another maître d’’ immediately, but closed it again. He wasn’t prepared to let her go. His instinct—the business instinct that rarely let him down—told him that Frankie had what it took, that indefinable X factor, that would help him make Lorenzo’s a success.
His hands clenched and unclenched. He had to do Lorenzo proud. And if Lorenzo were watching from above—if such things were possible—he did not want his beloved grandfather to think that this restaurant was in any way a chore or burden. It was a joy.
At least, it would be a joy once it was a success.
‘Maybe I don’t have a passion. Maybe there are lots of things I like, but no one single thing that’s a passion.’
‘Dio, everyone has a passion!’
He wished the words back the moment they left him. As if aware of an altogether different kind of passion, her gaze lowered to his lips and her blue eyes darkened to sapphire.
He had not meant that kind of passion. He ground his teeth together. This heat circling through his veins, and hers if he were reading her correctly, had to be ignored.
Forcing steel to his backbone, he straightened. ‘I apologise if working at Lorenzo’s is playing havoc with your plans.’
She snapped away as if his words had released her from a spell. Reaching up, she pulled her hair into a makeshift ponytail, not meeting his eyes. ‘Stop wracking yourself with guilt and feeling responsible for all the things, Dante. It wasn’t part of the plan, but then I realised not being wedded to any particular plan is what this summer should be about. I’ve simply decided to go with the flow. Maybe this job comes with more responsibility than I’d envisaged, but it’s only for a month.’
Would a month be long enough, though? He’d barely started making enquiries about a suitable chef. What if he—?
No. He could not ask more of her. ‘You do me a great favour and I appreciate it. I do not want you thinking otherwise.’
She let her hair fall back down around her shoulders. ‘You are paying me,’ she pointed out.
She was worth twice the money. ‘Maybe there will be something I can do for you in return.’ He would like to help her find a passion that would make her soul sing.
Those irrepressible eyes started to dance. ‘Do you mean that? If so, then something immediately comes to mind.’
Unfortunately, several things came to his mind too, but none of them were fit to utter in polite company. All of them involved spreading her out on a large bed and—
Dio!
He rolled his shoulders, not meeting her eyes. ‘Let me guess, it involves me playing a ukulele.’
A laugh gurgled out of her and she started humming ‘You Are My Sunshine’, and he couldn’t explain why, but he found himself torn between laughter and exasperation.
‘No, this is something much closer to home—your home, Dante. Come grape picking with me.’
He found himself placing a hand on his heart. ‘The grapes aren’t ready yet. In a few weeks’ time, before you leave Riposo, Frankie, I will take you grape picking.’
* * *
On Lorenzo’s opening night, Dante paced the length of the kitchen, past the long preparation bench, past the ovens and hot plates and then around the servery and back again. He was aware of the looks exchanged by his kitchen staff, of the way they tensed and fidgeted, but could do nothing to temper the tension that coiled him up tight—tension that felt strangely like panic.
This had been a bad idea. He should’ve delayed the opening when he’d discovered Eleanora’s duplicity.
And allowed the general public to suspect Lorenzo’s somehow lacking?
He slammed to a halt. Never! This was the lesser of two evils. But he should have moved heaven and earth to find a new chef.
In a week?
He ground his teeth together. He needed to find a chef with vision, a chef he could trust, a chef Lorenzo’s deserved. Not someone who was simply available.
Stretching his neck first to the left and then to the right, he set to pacing again. He had the talent to fill in as head chef. He’d been offered positions in some of the finest restaurants in Italy. He knew food in the same way a musician knew the right notes to play on a piano, or the way an accomplished author knew what words to use to paint a vivid picture in a reader’s mind. He knew what ingredients to put together to create a meal that would be long remembered in a diner’s mind.
It was just...
He ought to be out there overseeing everything!
Frankie chose that moment to come waltzing into the kitchen, her eyes bright, a smile curving those luscious lips, everything about her exuding enthusiasm...and that indefinable something that had things inside of him shifting, tightening, wanting.
He tried to pinpoint exactly what it was she made him want. Because whatever she currently radiated, it wasn’t sexual. He couldn’t deny his stirring of sexual desire in reaction to just seeing her, but this was something different, something more.
Her gaze fixed on him, her eyes narrowed, and then she laughed. ‘Oh, Dante, you really do have the soul of a chef, even if you manage to keep it trapped behind your cool-as-a-cucumber business demeanour most of the time.’
Behind him he was aware of his kitchen staff tensing even further. He glared at her.
‘I mean look at you—all volatile and tempestuous.’ She huffed out another laugh. ‘You have your poor staff shaking in their boots.’
‘Nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘I am not this mythical, unreasonable, tyrannical boss you wish to make me out to be.’
Her eyes danced. ‘I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear it.’
Was she deliberately trying to rile him?
‘Okay, Dante, listen to me. All you need to focus on tonight is creating beautiful dishes to send out to our beautiful diners.’
But he wanted—needed—to know how the diners were reacting—
‘You’re the boss in here, but out there I’m the boss.’
He blinked.
She folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air. ‘And I forbid you from coming out into the dining room.’
He clenched his hands so hard he started to shake. ‘You forbid me? You forget—’
‘I won’t have you frightening my diners.’
He gaped at her.
She moved in a step closer and her eyes gentled. ‘I’m very good at my job, Dante. You know this. It’s why you hired me.’
He closed his eyes and dragged in air scented with amber and carnations.
‘You’ve hired the best waitstaff I’ve ever worked with.’
What she said was true. He had hired the best.
‘My waitstaff and I are going to provide the best service tonight’s diners have experienced in a long time. But good service will only take us so far. What’s really going to put Lorenzo’s on the map and make the dining experience extraordinary is the food, and you’ve put together a magnificent menu.’
He opened his eyes. ‘This is a menu that cannot be beaten.’ He planted his feet. ‘I have hired the very best kitchen staff too.’
At his words, his staff all straightened.
‘It is just this waiting for our first orders is hard.’
‘Well, we’ll be busy enough before you know it. Now, do I have your word that you’ll focus on the food, rather than peering out the door every two minutes and checking on everything and upsetting everyone? Will you leave me to focus on the service?’
He knew she was right, but it felt precariously like giving control to someone else, and that was not something that came easily to him.
She stepped closer. ‘You need to trust your staff,’ she said softly. ‘You know we’re the best. Between us all, we can and will wow tonight’s diners.’
He found his lips curving into an unexpected smile. Perhaps it was the picture her words created in his mind. Perhaps it was the confidence that shone from her eyes. ‘How is it you put it, Frankie? You have yourself a deal.’
She laughed and he felt as if he’d done something magical.
She glanced at his kitchen staff. ‘We’re going to do Dante’s late grandfather, Lorenzo, proud tonight, everyone. He was a very good man who made a big difference in a lot of people’s lives. Our world would be a much better place if there were more people like Lorenzo in it.’
Her words made his eyes burn and his throat thicken.
‘Also, for those who have the time to stay, we’ll be having prosecco and nibbles in the dining room afterwards to celebrate tonight’s opening, as a thank-you for giving your finest efforts.’
Dio. This was an excellent idea. Why had he not thought of it himself?
She rubbed her hands together and did a funny little happy dance on the spot. ‘It’s almost time for the doors to open. C’mon, Dante, test me on my knowledge. Give me a meal I need to pair with a good wine.’
‘Veal scallopine.’
Her eyes widened in outrage. ‘That’s not on the menu!’
He folded his arms and tapped a foot, raising what he hoped was an infuriating eyebrow. He’d taught her reds on Thursday. She’d discovered a love of Brunello.
She tossed her head. ‘I would suggest a Pinot Noir. It would give the palate a nice clean finish.’
‘You are getting very good.’
‘I keep telling you that.’
She turned on her heel and exited the room, and he realised she’d changed the entire dynamic in the kitchen. She had soothed the fear that had him in its grip. It was still there, but it no longer overshadowed his excitement or determination.
How had she done that? ‘A most extraordinary woman,’ he murmured.
Carlo, his second-in-command, nodded in hearty agreement.
He clapped his hands, that determination crystallising inside him. ‘Very well, everyone, take your stations. Don’t forget, if there is anything that you are unsure about, come and check with me. I will not bite off your head. And if I happen to yell at anyone, or yell in general, it is my excitement not because I am angry...and I will apologise at the end of the evening.’
Before they knew it, orders began pouring in, and the kitchen became a frenzy of activity. Dante found himself grinning and grimacing and feeling more alive than he had in an age. At one point he’d started absentmindedly humming ‘You Are My Sunshine’. When he momentarily took stock, after sending one dish out into the dining room and before starting on the next, he realised his entire kitchen hummed the tune with him. It felt somehow right.
* * *
Dante glanced up from the desk in his office bright and early Monday morning when he heard Frankie calling out his name from the corridor outside. What on earth was she doing up so early? Her efforts over the last two nights definitely deserved a sleep in this morning. His opening weekend had gone better than he could’ve hoped, and that was in large part due to her. The next few days were hers to do with as she pleased. He’d told her as much last night when they’d closed up.
He rose and rounded his desk as she burst in brandishing a newspaper. ‘Lorenzo’s has received the most wonderful write-up, Dante! Glowing!’
