The couple moved away and, taking a deep breath, Sonia turned around to face Esteban. Up close she saw he had chocolate-colored eyes and a thin upper lip resting on a plump bottom one. The strands of his black hair glimmered beneath the lights, and his pale yellow shirt, opened at the top to reveal a strong throat, looked even paler against his swarthy skin.
“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Galiano?” she asked, kicking herself for the breathlessness in her voice. She’d met plenty of attractive men before, certainly not unusual in a city like Miami, where appearances were very important for both men and women. With a diversity of cultures, at any given time, one could run into a handsome Brit, a handsome Russian, and, certainly, a handsome South American. So why did this man unnerve her so much?
“I’m not in the mood for a drink, but I am interested in knowing more about you.”
“Me?”
Rounding the bar, Sonia put the barrier between them as a safety mechanism. She hadn’t expected his voice to sound like that. She was accustomed to hearing Spanish accents, but it wasn’t simply his accent. The smoky huskiness was very appealing. Sensual, almost as if he’d caressed her with his words.
“Yes. I’ve heard nothing but complimentary remarks about you all evening. You know your wines.” A whisper of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth but didn’t quite soften his features. His eyes were too assessing. His jaw too rigid. In fact, he made her a little uneasy. She sensed a ruthlessness beneath the polished exterior.
“I should. I’m a sommelier.” His unnerving attention left her a little short of breath.
“You are? Are you certified?”
“Not yet, but I plan to be eventually.” She’d already earned an introductory certificate and was studying for the next level. The coursework required a substantial investment of time and money. Both, particularly the latter, were at a premium of late.
Interest sparked in his eyes. “Tell me”—his gaze flicked to the gold nametag—“Sonia. What do you know about Argentine wines?”
She debated whether or not to mention that she’d put in an application at La Cocina Patagonia. She sensed that he was testing her, which meant he might be considering her for his restaurant. She tried not to get too excited, instead concentrating on impressing him with her knowledge.
“I know there’s more to Argentina than your Malbecs, though it’s what the country is best known for producing, and they’re your number one wine export. But Argentina produces other varieties, including Chardonnay and Cabernet. Torrontés—a floral, tropical-tasting wine—are gaining in popularity in the U.S., and I personally enjoy a good Bonarda to change things up a bit.”
The corners of his mouth quirked higher, and this time she did note a softening in his features, which created a tightening in her belly.
“You did well,” he said.
“You had doubts?”
“Not at all. I’m certain you’re a very talented woman.”
Heat suffused her skin. A bit flustered, Sonia laughed softly and cleared her throat. “Thank you for the compliment.”
“Do you have plans after you leave here?” He rested an arm atop the bar, and his voice dropped lower, a gravelly texture infusing the words. “Perhaps you could join me for drinks at Patagonia, my hotel. We could continue this conversation about wines or…other things.”
“Other things?” Her spirits deflated as she realized what was happening. He wasn’t interested in her knowledge or expertise. He was making a pass at her. “What other things?” Sonia asked, still holding out hope that she was wrong.
He kept his eyes on her as a knowing smile drifted over his face. “The type of things men and women talk about. If you prefer to change, I could have my driver take you home and bring you back to the hotel for us to…talk.”
The slight pause and the way his eyes drifted down to her breasts before coming back up again made it clear the last thing on his mind was conversation, and she hated the way her nipples tightened under his hungry gaze. He expected her to be like everyone else—perhaps every other woman he ran into—turning cartwheels because he’d made time to speak to her. Appreciative that he’d chosen her from among all the guests in attendance. She would have been appreciative and turning cartwheels, if his interest was job-related.
Tamping down her irritation, Sonia looked him directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Galiano, but I’m not available later this evening.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
Couldn’t this guy take a hint? Of course not. He probably couldn’t fathom someone had rejected his not-so-subtle offer. This was the part where she became annoyed. She could be flattered by his attention, but the truth was, he didn’t even see her. For him, like so many men, she was a pretty face, and she couldn’t complain about the insult of being reduced to tits, ass, and a pretty face without sounding like a vain bitch.
“Not tomorrow, or the day after, or any day after that,” Sonia said coolly, meeting his gaze.
Take that, you arrogant ass.
One dark eyebrow lifted a fraction before settling back into place. His shoulders straightened and his face settled into an impassive expression. “I’m usually very good at reading people, but it appears I’ve made a mistake in this instance.”
“Mistakes happen,” Sonia said, disappointed she’d lost her shot at working for him.
His gaze lingered on her face. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sonia.” With a slight bow, he shoved a hand in his pocket and strolled away.
Sonia’s shoulders sagged as she breathed easier. For some reason, he made her very tense.
More guests trickled out the door, and she started closing down the bar. Davis had already left, so she was alone. As she finished up, Jackie came over.
“All done?” her friend asked. Jackie lived in a swanky neighborhood in Coral Gables, but she was spending the night in Sonia’s one-bedroom apartment, walking distance away on Washington Avenue.
“All done,” Sonia confirmed.
They headed out the door and took the elevator to the first floor. Exiting the hotel, they started down the stairs, and right in front of them stood Esteban beside a champagne-colored Mercedes Maybach. Hanging on his arm was a lithe Asian woman with a buzz cut, wearing a figure-hugging turquoise sleeveless dress. The sight of the woman hanging on his arm initially shocked Sonia and then turned her stomach.
“Why am I not surprised he left the party with someone?” Jackie murmured.
That someone could have been Sonia.
Esteban helped the woman into the car and then walked around to the other door. Before getting in, he happened to look up and saw Sonia and Jackie.
No acknowledgment. Nothing on his face indicated they’d talked and he’d propositioned her, expecting her to be the woman he took to his hotel tonight.
And then, a slight lift at the left corner of his mouth. Not even a smile, just a small movement that suggested he was scoffing at her and her principles.
She glared at him, lifting her head a little higher in rebuttal.
Esteban slipped into the car and his driver, who’d already walked around by then, closed the door and climbed into the front seat.
Sonia and Jackie stepped down onto the sidewalk for the short walk to her apartment. Jackie chattered away, but Sonia barely listened, watching as the Maybach rolled by, the images of the occupants not discernible because of the dark tint of the windows.
She’d made the right decision. She needed a job, not a man, and she already had a boyfriend.
She wasn’t jealous. Not even a teeny tiny bit.
Chapter 3
“This is unacceptable!” Esteban thundered.
He tossed the menus onto his desk and glowered at the graphics designer. “We are months from reopening and this is what you brought me? This design is not even close to what I instructed you to create. Nonna is a fine-dining establishment, not a neighborhood diner.”
The woman’s cheeks reddened but she didn’t respond. He didn’t expect her to. He’d put up with too
much of her poor performance and was at the end of his patience.
He held up a finger. “You have one more opportunity to get this right.”
Quietly, she took the offending menus and headed to the door.
“You’re in a mood.” Oval-faced, with skin nearly as dark as a sunless sky, his assistant, Abena, strolled over from the far side of his office, where she’d made him a midmorning espresso. Originally from Ghana, she wore her hair shaved low, almost to the scalp, highlighting her stunning ebony features. She could have been a model if she weren’t so short and curvy.
Esteban accepted the cup and took an appreciative sip. “Not everyone is as professional and efficient as you.”
Calling Abena his assistant was a misnomer. She was more than that. Her language skills—she spoke seven—proved indispensable in meetings, she supervised his administrative assistant, and managed a multitude of tasks in his personal and business life. She was his right hand, a Jane-of-all-trades. If they were married, he’d call her his rib. Except three months ago a very smart man had put an engagement ring on her finger to secure the future right to call her that.
“I need you to be charming when you meet with the investors at your two o’clock appointment.”
Esteban looked up from the documents he was reviewing. “They’re trying to impress me, not the other way around.”
“We all know that you have the Midas touch when it comes to restaurants, Mr. Galiano. But these men are a prestigious investor group that represents celebrity clients. It would be good for you to be on your best behavior.” Abena was the only person he tolerated talking to him like that. She managed to do so in dulcet tones, her faintly accented voice softening her words and giving them a melodious effect. “By the way, you have fifteen minutes for your appointment with Adam before the lunch meeting with your attorney.”
“Dammit. Is that today?”
Esteban glanced at the clock on the desk, mentally running through the list of tasks he wanted to complete. Fortunately, he didn’t have far to travel. His office was located upstairs from the restaurant. He’d commandeered an entire floor of the hotel and turned it into the seat of his East Coast offices.
“Yes.” Abena removed a folder tucked under her arm and placed it in front of him. “Here’s everything you need to review before the meeting.”
Esteban flipped open the dossier, and she’d already marked the paragraphs he should pay close attention to with colorful arrow tabs. What would he do without this woman? He made a mental note to add to her annual bonus.
A knock sounded on the open door, and Adam Jamison walked in. A tall black male, he was approximately the same height as Esteban and commanded attention when he entered a room. He owned Premium Staffing, an international placement firm, and with his help, Esteban filled key positions in his restaurants in the States and overseas. Because Esteban was his biggest client, he often preferred to handle his requests personally instead of handing them over to one of his account managers.
“Hello, Adam, can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” Abena asked.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Abena said.
Esteban kept his eyes on the folder of information before him and didn’t need to look up to know that Adam ogled Abena as she walked out the door. Not that he could blame him. The simple skirt and blouse ensemble looked striking on her shapely figure.
“She’s engaged now,” he reminded Adam, without looking up.
“Happily?” Adam asked, half joking, half serious. He took a seat in front of the desk.
Esteban didn’t need to reply. “How is your progress on finding me a chef de cuisine?”
His current chef was leaving to open his own restaurant, and Esteban hadn’t been satisfied with the first round of choices. Fortunately, he’d given Esteban ample notice, allowing him to fill the position in a timely fashion.
“My assistant emailed the CVs of three potential chefs. Have you seen those?”
“I reviewed them and I’d like to fly in the female candidate for an interview.”
Adam nodded, making a note on his tablet. “I should have two more for you before the end of the week, assuming they pass the background check.” He looked up. “Who will be conducting the interviews? You or the general manager?”
“Both. I want to make sure the new chef understands my vision and the food that they’ll be creating.” Esteban was very particular about Patagonia, much more so than with his other stateside restaurants. Patagonia was his baby, his first U.S. endeavor, and the one that had launched his success in the country. The restaurant offered a variety of South American cuisine, from Peruvian ceviche to Argentine grilled meats served with chimichurri made fresh daily.
“And that other project I asked you to work on?”
He hadn’t been able to get Sonia off his mind and found out her full name from Arturo. Then he’d enlisted Adam’s assistance in finding out more about her. Adam had said her name sounded familiar and, upon further research, found her information in the database. She’d applied for a position with Patagonia a few weeks ago.
Adam looked up with a curious expression, but he wasn’t comfortable enough to ask the question that lurked behind his eyes. “Do you want the long version or the highlights?”
With his elbows on the chair arms, Esteban interlaced his fingers. “The highlights.”
Adam double-tapped the tablet screen. “Sonia Kennedy, twenty-seven years old, finished high school in Atlanta, Georgia. No post-high-school education. Has been working in restaurants since she started waitressing in the eleventh grade. Moved to Miami a few years ago, worked as a hostess at one restaurant before getting one of two sommelier positions at Azul Restaurant. Currently holds an introductory sommelier certificate.”
“So she’s been at Azul how long?”
“Over a year. According to her application, the reason she’s looking for work is because they cut her hours to part-time.”
“She was very impressive at Arturo’s party. What did she say when you told her I was interested in offering her a position as a private wine consultant?”
“Um, let’s just say she wasn’t interested.”
“That bad?” He smiled internally. He could imagine her response.
“She seemed to think I had an ulterior motive for contacting her.”
“Interesting.” Esteban hid his amusement behind a stoic expression. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.
“No problem.” Adam rose from the chair. “I’m sure I could find you a qualified wine consultant for your parties.”
“I’ve found the person I want. Have a good day.”
After Adam left, Esteban swiveled in his chair and released the smirk he hadn’t allowed to appear in Adam’s presence. Even a job offer, one she obviously needed, couldn’t convince Miss Kennedy to have anything to do with him.
Patience, he silently chided himself. He was a patient man and a rich man. There was nothing he couldn’t achieve with patience and money.
Her resistance only made him more determined to see her. When he did, he’d make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Seated in a booth near the kitchen, Sonia stifled a yawn. A few diners remained, conversation had lowered to a moderate hum, and the lights were turned low. It had been a long but productive night. All of her wine recommendations had been well received, resulting in a high-revenue night. She’d even sold a bottle of scotch for over five thousand dollars. The owner had been beside himself with glee, but it didn’t change her current situation.
The landscape of the wine industry had changed over the years to include more female sommeliers. Even the Europeans were allowing more women into their wine cellars. In the States, the numbers were more impressive, and in recent years, the number of new master sommeliers that were female had outpaced the number of men, but sexism and skepticism were still rampant in a vocation where men continued to dominate, and Sonia was fairly certain that the reason she was
part-time and the other sommelier was full-time was because she was female and he was male.
Pedro Loisseau, her boyfriend, sat beside her on the padded bench and rested the back of his head to the wall. The assistant pastry chef and former bad boy had found his love for creating in the kitchen surpassed his love of getting into trouble. Half Cuban and half Haitian, he wore his long, wavy hair in a single braid down his back.
“Tired?” Sonia asked.
“Yeah.” There was an undertone of something else in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” She touched his shoulder.
“Tired of this,” he said. “When am I ever going to be able to do more? I’m a scientist and an artist. I have ideas for great creations, but I’m stuck making flan and budin de pan.”
She frowned at his tone of disgust. She loved his budin de pan. His version was creamy, without the chunks of bread. Pedro made it even better by soaking the raisins in rum and topping off the entire dessert with a healthy dose of caramel syrup. It was a simple but decadent treat.
“You know this is only the beginning for you. You have to start somewhere.”
His life before Azul was sketchy at best, but he was fortunate to get the opportunity to work at the restaurant. His restlessness stemmed from the fact that he thought he’d never be able to advance beyond an assistant’s position because the restaurant owner’s boyfriend also happened to be the pastry chef.
She stroked her fingers over Pedro’s tattooed forearms, and he moved restlessly, withdrawing from her touch. Her hand fell to the seat.
“I’ve been here a long time,” he muttered. “I don’t want charity, just the opportunity to prove what I can do. I’m way more creative than Dan.”
“You have to be patient. All good things come to those who wait.” She sometimes thought it was his attitude that kept him from advancing. He was a great pastry chef, but arrogant because of it.
He glared at her. “How much longer do I have to wait? I’ve paid my debt to society, did my time for all the wrongs I’ve done, but still I’m stuck at the bottom no matter how hard I work.”
More Than a Mistress (Latin Men Book 5) Page 2