by Linda Wiken
“Not the best of meetings, I take it.”
“Do you know what he said?” And J.J. proceeded with a detailed rendering of the encounter.
“Huh.”
“His requests.” J.J. almost spat out the words; she was still angry. “His arrogant demands. I—we—have a client. Marcotti is also working for that client.” J.J. finally sat down. “What would you have done?”
Skye shrugged. “I’m not sure. I probably would have handled it much the same, although I think I’d have fewer facial expressions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. I love playing poker with you. Everyone does. Your face reveals your inner thoughts, and I’m sure this Chef Marcotti got an eyeful even if your words were chosen with care. Oh, well. Tell me about the budget. How much over would this dish make it, and is there really no way to juggle it again?”
J.J. pulled out the page with the offending item on it and walked it over to Skye. “Guess which one it is.”
“Ouch. I’m guessing it’s the funghi at fifty-five dollars a pop. Man, that would add up to almost a quarter of the food budget. What would he suggest you cut out? The decorations?”
“Probably. I’ve kept the costs reasonable in other areas, knowing we’d have to splurge a bit on the food. And although Mr. Portovino is loaded, he’s not a spendthrift. He has made that clear.”
“So, what are you thinking of doing?”
“I’ll wait a couple of days and then phone Marcotti. My answer, unless I can figure out a way to include this, will be a resounding no.”
Skye walked over and gave her a quick hug. “It’s your show. Your budget. Your decision. He will just have to accept that.”
CHAPTER 4
The next morning, J.J. kept looking at the clock on the wall behind the head of the gorgeous blonde gazing at her computer at the reception desk of Portovino Technologies. J.J. didn’t like to be kept waiting, but what could she do? This was Lorenzo Portovino, president and CEO of the largest high-tech business in Vermont. It was his timetable. She was doing this job for him. She must work on her lack of patience, she thought. Maybe some yoga classes?
Finally, almost twenty minutes later, another equally stunning blonde called her name from an open doorway. She held out her hand for a brief shake. “I’m Jasmine, Mr. Portovino’s assistant. So nice to meet you after all our telephone calls.”
She smiled, but J.J. didn’t get the feeling there was much warmth behind it. Ms. Efficiency. She motioned and J.J. followed her down a short hall where she knocked on a door and opened it at the summons to come in.
J.J. stood in silence for a moment, taking in the mixture of sleek modern furniture and total masculine presence. Portovino looked up from his desk and motioned for J.J. to sit down across from him. Certain she wouldn’t be able to escape out of it gracefully, especially in the black pencil skirt she’d chosen to wear, she sank into the comfort of a black leather chair. Her power suit. She’d thought she’d need it, but she hoped she wouldn’t regret it. For now, she’d enjoy the moment.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Tanner.” He waved his elegant hand in the direction of the phone. “Even with all our amazing electronics, one cannot avoid using the telephone and that, as you probably know, can make it difficult to attend to matters quickly.” He chuckled. “I think that sometimes, rather than saving us time, e-mail can lead to wasting more time when people actually talk to another human being. They are so desperate for conversation, you know.”
Portovino gave a quick nod, although J.J. hadn’t said a thing. “Now, you already have all the information you need for the upcoming party to celebrate the twenty-first birthday of my Angelica. I just wanted to meet with you one last time to make certain everything we initially spoke about is on track. I do have faith in your company since, as you know, I’m going on the recommendation of my good friend Jonathan Porter. But I do like to assure myself.” He sat in silence for a few moments, studying her. J.J. tilted her chin up slightly, kept a pleasant look on her face, and tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. This had been the routine at their previous meeting, too. Finally, he said, “Buono. Now, please bring me up to date.”
“I’m happy to. As you know, I’ve met with your daughter and she’s delighted with the Italian designer theme. I understand she’s going to college next year to study fashion design, so it seemed appropriate.” She paused to see if there would be a comment. He merely nodded.
“The decorations, as requested, will be discreet but very much in keeping with the theme. We’ll have several panels of Italian street scenes installed on various walls in the dining room, which will be free of furniture to use for dancing. Out on the patio there will be frescoes of the Italian countryside—vineyards and villas.”
“Yes, yes. This all sounds very tasteful, and I leave that in your hands. You’ve met with Angelica, and I trust that will be the basis of everything. You have the music, the caterer, sufficient staff?”
“All is under control,” J.J. said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for specifics. She had the feeling that, although he wanted to know she knew her instructions, he didn’t really have the time to go into details. That was part of the reason all communications up to this point had been handled by his assistant over the phone.
She was right. Portovino stood and extended his hand across the desk. “Good. Now, please feel free to contact my personal assistant, Jasmine, if you have any questions or need anything done.”
J.J. got out of the chair as gracefully as she could manage and shook his hand.
As if she’d been summoned, or perhaps had been waiting outside the door, the blonde reappeared. Tall, slender, and blonde, Jasmine was probably a fashion model on the side, thought J.J. She motioned for J.J. to follow her.
“Thank you, Mr. Portovino,” J.J. said. “It will be an evening to remember, I assure you.”
J.J. stood outside the office building enjoying the sun breaking through the clouds that had hung low all morning. The beacon of light illuminated the large wooden house number sign done in folk-art style, which seemed to be a good omen. In fact, the entire front façade of the place put its best foot forward in the welcoming glow.
Office building was really a misnomer. In fact, the two-story white clapboard house with pale blue trim, built in the 1920s as a post office, had also seen life as a private home and now provided space for three businesses. The entire building was owned by Evan Thornton. He used the main floor for his interior design business, Design Delights. The staircase divided his business into its two halves—the design offices on the right and the showroom on the left.
The upper floor had also been divided in half. To the right it housed Make It Happen, which was owned by Skye with J.J. as her one full-time staffer. The other half was leased to attorney Tansy Paine, someone, J.J. realized on first meeting her, that she’d never want to face in a courtroom.
Evan had appeared on the front porch, which wrapped around both sides of the house, while J.J. daydreamed. He waited for her to reach him before starting in with the questions.
“So tell me, how did your meeting with Antonio Marcotti go? That was today, wasn’t it?” Evan had his hands in the pockets of his cream-colored chinos, and he leaned casually against the post. He wore a beige V-neck pullover with black triangles on it over a white shirt, and he’d pushed the sleeves of both up to his elbows. His sense of style usually drew eyes away from the fact that he was on the rotund side and his face hadn’t lost its boyish cute looks. His red hair was so short on the sides and back that it looked more like fuzz, but the top sported a variety of lengths, all standing at attention and tinted a darker shade. Except for the now infamous gray patch.
J.J. could tell he was trying to look disinterested, though not too successfully. She sighed. “That was yesterday afternoon, and let’s just say, it was not a mutual attraction.”
He grimaced.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Just watch your every step with him.”
“What do you mean?”
Evan looked to be making a decision. “Let’s just say he’s an aggressive businessman.” He shook his head. “He has ideas of his own and has to be charmed into realizing how wrong some of them are. You wouldn’t believe all the drama we went through in redecorating his restaurant a couple of years ago.” Evan started waving his hands around. “First it was leather for the bar, the base of the bar that is, the countertop was always to be quartz. Then he had second thoughts and wanted granite. Let’s just say, my choice was the better one. Then, Marcotti totally pooh-poohed my suggestion of flannel suede for the upholstered chairs, demanding silk, which not only is subject to staining more easily but also costs more, too.”
J.J. tried to remember what the chairs had looked like, wondering who had won that one. She re-focused on Evan’s recital of tribulations.
“He was paying me big bucks but he had a mind of his own, and we clashed on many an occasion.”
“So in the long run, who won?”
“It was probably a draw. He eventually saw the light on many things, especially the upholstery, while I agreed to rejig the budget—several times. I hope it all goes more smoothly for you.” Evan sighed. “But he is a master in the kitchen, and I managed to put on a few pounds over those months. Much to Michael’s chagrin. He’s been trying to put me on a diet ever since.”
J.J. leaned against the other side of the pole. “Well, Marcotti is doing the budget dance with me, too, but it’s not my budget and I don’t really have any wiggle room. Any suggestions on how to handle him?”
“First, get everything in writing. And then flattery, my pet. Every great artist loves to bathe in flattery. Just rave on about his dishes and lather it on heavily about how no one but him will do for this event. I’m sure that will do the trick.”
“Hmmm. As much as that goes against my grain, I’ll give it a try. I guess I should eat there first, or he may know I’m trying to pull a fast one.”
She eyed Evan, a speculative look on her face. “Are you free for dinner at Bella Luna tonight, so I won’t stand out being there all by myself? I’d hate to get cornered by Marcotti and have to talk to him. Not until we’ve settled things.”
Evan hesitated. “Uh, I’m not really sure. I . . . Maybe another time.”
“Please. Michael is welcome, also.”
Evan shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, yeah, okay. If it’s that important to you.”
J.J. grinned. “Yes! That would be great. Thank you so much. Shall we meet there? I’ll make reservations for six thirty.”
Evan nodded.
J.J. gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re a doll. See you then.”
She almost skipped up the stairs to the office. She’d show Antonio Marcotti who was boss. Or at least, who had the final say on the budget.
CHAPTER 5
J.J. glanced around at the other tables in Bella Luna. It looked entirely different by night, with candles and dimmed lighting, and already almost three-quarters of the room was filled. Evan had just ordered the wine, an Italian nero d’Avolo, and was studying the antipasti section of the menu. Michael seemed a little preoccupied, or so J.J. thought. She hoped he wasn’t annoyed at her for instigating the evening. He was such the opposite of Evan, with premature gray hair that looked a little shaggy around the ears, black-framed glasses, and a pipe sticking out of the breast pocket of his brown leather jacket, although she’d never seen him smoke it.
J.J. thought about her own outfit, a long-sleeved black-and-white wrap dress with tooled black leather booties that had taken her all of two seconds to decide on, and wondered what it might say about her.
“I read about the new picnic area for the Laurel Grove Arboretum in the newspaper this morning, Michael,” J.J. said, hoping to get him talking. Besides that, she loved hearing about his work as a landscape architect. Like with her cookbooks, it was seeing the project that interested her the most. She’d never make it as a gardener. “Wasn’t that the design you worked on?”
Michael looked a bit startled, like he’d been elsewhere, which was probably true about his mind, anyway. “I read that also. As usual, they got it wrong. At least the bit about the footpath over the creek.”
Evan excused himself and headed toward the restrooms. Michael watched him go and then leaned forward a bit. “I was wondering if this was such a good idea, coming here tonight.”
J.J. felt startled. “Why wouldn’t it be? Did Evan tell you about my meeting with Marcotti? Do you think I should just back off?”
“Your meeting? No. He hasn’t said anything about it. I’m referring to the last time Evan and Marcotti met. Has he not told you?”
J.J. shrugged. “Not specifically. He did warn me that Marcotti can be a hard person to deal with, but he advised me to blitz the chef with praise in order to reach my end result.”
Michael snorted. “I imagine he’s succeeded in blocking it out, as he usually does with anything that’s upsetting in his life.” He shook his head, but he had a slight smile on his face. J.J. knew he was in his early forties, but at the moment, he looked about eleven. She often thought there was a lot more to Michael Cole than met the eye, and even though she’d often been over to their house, J.J. felt she didn’t really know him very well.
“They had a major blowout,” Michael went on. “Evan had a heck of a time getting paid, and each time he approached Marcotti, it got more vicious. Evan finally threatened to take him to small claims court. In fact, he’d started the process when Marcotti sent a check to him by courier. Shortly after, some rumors about Evan and his business started surfacing. Of course, there’s no real way to tie them to Marcotti. But he’d always threatened some such action if Evan didn’t back off. We haven’t been here since, although we used to dine here frequently.”
Michael glanced around the room and J.J. did the same, wondering if Marcotti might get wind of their presence and come storming out of the kitchen. That’s fanciful, thought J.J. We’re paying customers, and I’m certain Marcotti wouldn’t want his other customers to know something like an unpaid bill—his own—was the source of bad blood. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her fears. She stared at Evan as he made his way back to the table. Why hadn’t he told her this part? And why had he agreed to come tonight? Oh, right. She’d begged him.
The server appeared with the wine and three glasses, and they went through the ritual of Michael sampling the first glass poured. Evan ordered a dish of prosciutto and pear along with some artichoke dip for them to share, then took a small taste of his wine. He gave an appreciative sigh and then lifted his glass in a toast.
“To J.J. We wish you much success with this event. I think being associated with Portovino Technologies could lead to many more events in your career.”
J.J. clinked her glass with the other two and laughed. “Always the businessman at heart, Evan. You’re probably right, though. I’m having fun working with his daughter right now. She’s not the princessy type at all. Really levelheaded and knows what she wants, and she’s also got an eye for fashion. She’s even been giving me some pointers.”
“And what could a twenty-one-year-old possibly teach you, my dear?”
“Leggings versus tights; Manolo Blahnik versus Jimmy Choo.” J.J. stuck her right foot out from under the table, showing off her new booties.
Evan leaned over for a look. “Impressive. To me, those say single, successful career woman who is no pushover. I think you’d better wear them for the duration of this job.”
“I know you’ve had some unpleasant dealings with Marcotti, Evan.”
His eyes narrowed, Evan looked at Michael. Then he shrugged. “That’s true. It’s in the past and something I don’t like to think about. I do still recommend the man’s food, though. It is truly the food of the gods.”
&nb
sp; J.J. sat back in her chair. “I’ll have to remember to read between the lines with you.” She turned to Michael. “Is there anything else about Evan I should know?”
“He does have good taste,” Michael admitted, “but not always good judgment.” He looked pointedly in the direction of the kitchen door.
J.J. turned around, then quickly turned back at the sight of Marcotti stepping into the dining area. “What is he doing? Did he see us? Is he headed over here?” she asked Michael while making note that Evan had suddenly buried his head in the menu.
Michael chuckled. “You’re both safe. He has his back to us and is receiving compliments, no doubt, from the table next to the door. Now, if he doesn’t swan around the room in search of more accolades, you should be all right.”
J.J. took a quick sip of her wine and also turned her attention to the menu. Nobody spoke until Michael gave the all clear. “I can see this was an excellent idea, coming here for a restful meal. He’s gone back inside and let’s hope he’ll stay there.”
The server came and took their orders, and only then did Evan come up for breath. “The food will be worth this discomfort. Believe me.”
J.J. leaned over and touched his arm. “I believe you and will continue to do so in the future. No worries.”
Michael shook his head and dipped a piece of Italian flat bread in the olive oil–and-balsamic mixture left by the server.
Over dinner, they discussed everything from politics to Oprah to new movies in town. That’s one thing J.J. particularly enjoyed about the couple: they were never at a loss for topics, and it was easy to linger over meals for hours of enjoyable conversation. By the time their checks arrived—J.J. had insisted on paying for them all but the guys wouldn’t let her—she felt more relaxed than she had in days.
“I’ve really enjoyed tonight,” she said as they stood to leave.
Evan kissed her on both cheeks, as did Michael, who said, “I think you should try Rocco G’s for some help with your upcoming feast. Have you ever been there?”