“Smells good,” Bolt remarks.
“Sure does.”
“At least there’s no paparazzi,” he adds, his voice gruff.
“Did they know you were going to be at The Black Swan?”
“Someone might have tipped them off. More than likely, they were hanging out in the hopes of someone gossip-worthy turning up.”
“I think you’ll be okay here. You should probably avoid restaurants like The Black Swan.”
He doesn’t say anything. I hope I didn’t put my foot into it. I shouldn’t be telling him what he should and shouldn’t do.
“If I let the paparazzi dictate what I can and can’t do, I’d have to stay home twenty-four seven,” he says as we arrive. Bolt stands back at the door, letting me go in first. A young man approaches us. “Welcome to I’anatra Grassa. Can I get you a table?”
The restaurant is very small. It’s long and narrow, with only a handful of tables. Only one table is occupied. A couple of people are talking and laughing. There are full glasses of wine on the table.
“Would we be able to order to take home?” Bolt asks, looking with skepticism at the occupied table. They’re too busy enjoying themselves to care about us.
“But of course. My name is Giovanni. Please take a seat, and I will bring you some menus. You must be thirsty. Can I get you something to drink?”
I must still be buzzing from the champagne because before I can help myself, I say, “A glass of red wine. I always drink red when I eat Italian food,” I tell Bolt.
He shrugs. “I’ll have a beer.” He asks for some or other brand I’ve never heard of. Not that I know many beer brands.
Our waiter seems to know it. “I’ll be right back.” Giovanni smiles down at us. He lights the candle in the middle of the table.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but it’s too late. The candle is lit, and Giovanni is walking away.
Bolt leans back in the plastic chair. I notice that the tables have gaudy plastic tablecloths. They are red and white checks. There’s nothing fancy about this place, but I must say, I like it here. It’s warm and inviting.
“Do you often get hungry this late?” Bolt asks.
“Not really, but I always get hungry when I drink. I normally have cookies or pastries at home for midnight snacks. Although nothing beats pasta.” I widen my eyes.
“Do you go out drinking often?”
“No…not at all.” I narrow my eyes. “Why do you ask?” I widen my eyes again. “Do I look like I eat midnight snacks all the time?” I run my hands over my thighs.
“Nothing like that. I was just wondering. Just making conversation, Miss Shaw.”
“I like all of your directors and their significant others. I really enjoyed myself tonight. Your IT director was a little pompous, but otherwise—”
“I would rather not talk business,” he says.
Giovanni arrives with our drinks. He places them on the table and hands us some menus. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says. Then he looks at his watch. “Kitchen closes in a few, so please be ready to order.” He lowers his voice. “My aunt and uncle own I’anatra Grassa. They run the kitchen. They’re getting older…can’t be on their feet as long as they used to be.”
“Of course,” I say. I flip open the menu, and Bolt does the same.
“All of our pasta is handmade,” Giovanni adds. “The pizza is out of this world. Recommendations would be for any of the risotto dishes; Eggplant Parmigiana is delizioso. You can’t go wrong with our gnocchi or tortellini. I’ll leave you to…” He starts to leave but turns back. “I have to mention the Ossobuco if you’re a meat-lover. I’ll be back shortly.” He winks at me.
“He just gave us half the menu.” Bolt looks irritated. “No help at all.”
“He’s enthusiastic. It’s nice to see.” I take another sip of my wine and then laugh when I see the first page of the menu. It has a cute introduction to the restaurant. “Did you see this? I’anatra Grassa means ‘the fat duck’ in Italian.”
He doesn’t look impressed.
“We were just at The Black Swan, and now we’re at The Fat Duck.” I giggle. This wine is definitely going straight to my head.
His mouth twitches. “I guess it is funny.”
“It’s hilarious.” I take another sip of my wine. We spend the next few minutes looking through the menu. Bolt closes his and puts it down first. He takes a drink of his beer. Then he loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. Next thing, he starts to fold his shirtsleeves to just above his elbows.
His forearms are… Good lord, but they’re lick-worthy. Is it wrong that I want to lick my boss’ forearms? Probably. Definitely! I need to lay off the wine. As I’m thinking it, I pick up my glass and take a sip. It can’t be helped, my mouth is suddenly dry. I take another long drink, my eyes stay glued to those arms. His biceps are great too. His chest… Don’t even get me started. I force myself to put my wine down and to peruse the menu.
I’m so busy sneaking looks at Bolt that I forget to read what’s actually on the menu. I haven’t even gone through the pasta dishes yet when Giovanni returns. Both men look at me expectantly. “Um…I…I need two seconds. You order first,” I say to Bolt as I skim-read. I stick with the pasta dishes.
“I’ll have the Eggplant Parmigiana,” Bolt says. They both look at me.
“That was quick,” I mutter to myself. “Um…I’ll have the…the…” I skim the list one more time, “Gnocchi Pomodoro, please. I’ll also have some garlic bread…would that be okay?”
“Of course.” Giovanni laughs. “Anything for the beautiful lady.” He winks at me again.
I swear I see Bolt’s jaw tighten. He shifts in his chair. “That guy is over-familiar,” he says when Giovanni is out of hearing.
“He’s just being nice.”
Bolt mutters something I can’t make out. “Have your parents replaced you at the bakery yet?” he asks.
His question is such a one-eighty that it takes me a few seconds to comprehend what he’s asking and to answer. His forearms might also still be a distraction. “Um…no…they won’t be replacing me.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“The bakery isn’t doing as well as it used to…” Before I know it, I launch into the whole story about the franchise opening up. About losing loads of our regulars and a whole bunch of our corporate clients. I hadn’t planned on telling him all of this. I don’t want him to think I took this job because I didn’t have a choice, although it’s precisely why I took the job. It’s better that he doesn’t know that, though. I’m sure he must have figured it out, so it’s too late now, I may as well tell him all of it.
“I’m sorry to hear it. What’s the plan?”
“Plan?” What do I say? That I plan to only work for him until I have enough money saved. That I don’t plan on making this a career choice or being in it for the long-haul. That I’m ultimately only here because I didn’t have any other option.
“There has to be a plan, Miss Shaw, or your family business is doomed. You realize that, don’t you?” He leans forward and places his elbows on the table, folding his arms. His really great arms. His eyes are on me…waiting.
“I left. My folks don’t have to pay two pastry chefs. That’s a big saving for them.”
“Good move for the short-term. What are your plans long-term?”
I can’t believe he’s taking an interest. “Um…well…” I lick my lips. “My folks will invest the money they save on my wages and put it back into the business.”
“It won’t be enough.” He shakes his head.
“I plan on helping them, as well. It’s part of the reason I took this position.” It’s too late now to hold back, so I go on. “I’m going to help them. The extra money you offered will come in handy.”
He nods his head. “Invest how?”
I tell him the plans I have to invest in equipment so that we’ll be more competitive. I tell him more about the industrial equipment I have i
n mind.
“That’s certainly a very good start.”
“Start?” I push out. What does he mean by that?
“Well, Miss Shaw, it’s a good start, but I doubt it’s enough to—”
Giovanni returns with a plate in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He sets the plate in front of us. “Something to nibble on while you wait. They are called arancini di riso, or rice balls. They are filled with ragu and mozzarella and coated in breadcrumbs. For you to enjoy.” He looks at me as he says the last.
Before I can stop him, Giovanni refills my glass of wine. “No…no…I—” Too late. “Thank you.”
“On the house, and no problem at all. You tell me if you need anything. Anything at all.” He smiles at me before disappearing into the kitchen.
I look up, expecting to see a scowling Bolt, but his eyes are twinkling. “So, instead of nuts, it looks like you have balls.” He chuckles.
“That’s not funny.” I’m smiling but trying not to.
“It really is.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Ball?” He holds out the plate to me. There are six perfectly golden balls on the plate. They’re much smaller than…than…well…actual balls. I bite back a laugh.
“I think I’ll take two,” I say, looking him in the eyes. I notice how he turns serious. That look of his is back. The one I can’t quite fathom. I really have had too much to drink. I absolutely cannot have any more wine, which makes me feel bad, since Giovanni gave me a refill. I use both hands, taking an arancini ball in between my thumb and forefinger of each hand. They’re warm. I pop one in my mouth. I’m not sure how they taste because I can’t think straight with Bolt watching me eat. He’s looking with such focus and intensity. I swallow. “Aren’t you going to have one?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “I just ate dinner, and I have more food on the way. With all that cheese sauce and parmesan, my meal isn’t exactly light eating for a midnight snack.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “That’s true,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t—” I start to put the ball back.
“You can’t put that back.” He cocks his head at me. “You have to eat it now, Miss Shaw.”
“I shouldn’t have it.” I’m a pig. An absolute glutton. To make matters worse, I ordered garlic bread as well. I’m making such a bad impression. I’m shocked he hired me, and even more shocked that I’m still here.
“You absolutely should eat the arancini. I’m sorry I teased you. It’s just…” he smiles and out pops that single dimple, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone blush as hard as you do, Miss Shaw, and I love that you can enjoy a meal…or two.” He chuckles.
I blush harder. I can feel my cheeks growing hot.
“It’s a good thing. Refreshing, actually. Even being here is…” He looks around, relaxing back into his chair. “It’s refreshing.”
“I like it too.” Then I eat the ball and moan around it. “It’s good,” I say, chewing a few more times before I swallow.
His eyes are on my mouth. They quickly avert to his beer glass. Bolt takes a sip.
“You should try one.” I feel like another rice ball but refrain. “They’re amazing. Best thing I’ve had in a long time.” Oh, fudge buckets! I shouldn’t have said that. “Except for our dinner tonight, that is. That was amazing too. The best. Unbelievable.” It was! I’m not lying. “I have to say that these are right up there, though.” I point at the rice balls.
“I have to try one, then.” He puts a ball in his mouth, and I watch him chew. Masticating. It’s an ugly word. Up there with ‘moist’. Chewing…the action itself is pretty ugly. There are people on this planet who have phobias about this very thing. Phobias about the sound of someone chewing. Phobias about the sight of it. I think that even if I had a phobia, I would still watch Bolt. It would still do things to me. He swallows and licks his lips. “You’re right, Miss Shaw. That was probably the tastiest thing I’ve had all night.”
I clear my throat. I need to get my head out of the gutter. “We were interrupted earlier. You were telling me that our plans to get Buns and Breads back on track were a good start, but that it was just a start. What did you mean by that?”
“Exactly that. Buying equipment is a great start, but I doubt it would be enough. Do you know your competition?”
“Of course.” I shrug. I rattle off the franchise name. “They have twenty-two bakeries across the country.”
“I mean really know them. Have you been to one of their stores? Have you specifically been to the one up the road from your parent’s bakery?”
“Of course not,” I snort. “I would never! It would be wrong.”
“That’s a mistake, Miss Shaw. How can you hope to go head-to-head with someone and not know them intimately? You need to head over there. Go buy their products. Find out why they have taken your customers. What are they doing that you’re not?”
“It’s prices…theirs have to be lower.” I reach for my wine. I can’t leave a full glass. It would be rude. I’ll drink some water when I get to my room. I’m praying I don’t have a hangover in the morning. I don’t usually drink this much on a work night.
“Prices are one aspect.” He shrugs. “Delve deeper. What else? Keep asking yourself that question until you have all the answers. You need to know your competition. What’s working for them and what’s not. Then formulate the rest of your plan on how to beat them.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is.”
“This is for my parents, by the way. I don’t want them to lose their business. I’m excited to be working for you. To be doing something new and challenging.” I have a whole lot more to say. Too much. If I say anything more, it’ll look bad, like I’m trying to cover it up. Like I don’t mean it. Even though I’m a fish out of water, I find that the prospect of being Bolt’s PA isn’t as daunting as it was. I might even enjoy it.
“I’m glad to hear that, Miss Shaw.”
“I’m an only child,” I blurt. This has been running through my head over the last few months. I haven’t told anyone my true feelings. Not even Candice. Maybe the wine has loosened my tongue. Maybe it’s his beautiful gray eyes that are so intently focused on me. I can’t say exactly, but it all comes out. “It falls on me to make sure my parents are okay. Right now, that isn’t the case. They’re going to lose everything they’ve worked so hard for, and at a time when they should be winding down, thinking about retirement.” I pull in a deep breath, feeling my eyes well with tears. “I have to try to help them. Try to figure out a way…” I lick my lips, taking another sip of that blasted wine. I should have asked for water. I blink back the waterworks. I can’t cry. Not happening! Not in front of my new boss on my first day of work.
“I understand, Miss Shaw. I’m also an only child.” He puts his hands on his thighs. “My dad left before I was even born.” His eyes flare in shock. I don’t think he meant to tell me that. He quickly schools his emotions, putting on a poker face of note.
14
Ashley
“That sucks!” Stupid thing to say. Really deep and meaningful. I have such a way with words.
Bolt nods once. “It does suck. Big fucking time. My mom dated someone for a while when I was a boy, but it never worked out. She’s alone. I worry about her all the time. I get what you’re trying to say.”
“At least you don’t have to worry about her from a financial standpoint. No offense, but you’re a billionaire. I’m sure your mom doesn’t need for anything.”
“I’m not a billionaire. Not technically. I don’t have a billion dollars in the bank. Maybe if I sold off all my assets…maybe then…”
I roll my eyes and choke out a laugh. “Semantics. You could probably build your mother a house out of actual money. Stack up those bricks of cash and build a house.”
He looks sheepish for a moment, and I realize it’s true. He could do it. “You would think, but she wouldn’t let me. My mom has a leak in her roof rig
ht now that she won’t let me fix. She sent the contractors away. Her furniture is so outdated. I’m talking country chic but with none of the modern style. I sent her a new living room suite a couple of months ago, but she sent the guys packing. Wouldn’t even let them into the house. My money means nothing. I don’t get it.”
“You should ask her.”
“I’ve tried. I really have, but you don’t know my mom. I think I know where I got my stubborn streak from. She’s told me she doesn’t want strangers in her house.”
“Maybe she wants you to do it.”
His eyes crinkle at the edges. “I might be able to do something about the leak, but I’m no contractor. I just wish she’d let the professionals have at it.”
I think about what he said earlier about his mom not wanting strangers in the house. “Maybe she wants you there when they do the job. Sounds like she could be afraid.”
He shakes head. “I doubt it very much. They would be a little afraid of her.”
“Based on what you’ve told me, I think she wants you there. I’m not sure of her reasoning. Throwing money at something doesn’t always solve a problem.”
“Funny, that’s what she would—” he starts to say but Giovanni arrives with a large brown paper bag. “I included a small portion of tiramisu. The two of you must enjoy.” He looks at Bolt. “You are one lucky man.”
I’m waiting for him to set the record straight, but he doesn’t. Bolt doesn’t say anything.
“Thanks so much,” I push out. “Please give my thanks to your aunt and uncle. Tell them I love the name of this restaurant…I’anatra Grassa.” I stutter over the pronunciation.
Giovanni laughs. “I’anatra Grassa,” he says in flawless Italian.
“I’anatra Grassa,” I repeat. It’s better but still not great. “The Fat Duck. What made them come up with that name? There has to be a story behind it.”
“There definitely is. My aunt went for a walk on one fine summer’s day. She was only nineteen. Young and beautiful.” He winks at me. “She was enjoying the sunshine. Enjoying the day and her walk, when, out of nowhere, a duck attacked her.”
Lord of Rain (The Dragon Demigods Book 5) Page 11