Mr. Fiancé

by Lauren Landish

  I finished one more set and went up to my room, where I grabbed a quick shower and changed. I chose my gray suit, mainly because I could use it for both dinner and work later on, and because it was breathable. Seattle may not have been as hot as Alabama, but I wasn't used to wearing suits yet either. Adjusting my tie, I looked in the mirror and thought I looked pretty damn good, if I could say so myself.

  Coming out of my room, I saw Aunt Margaret. “Hey, Squirt," she greeted me, using the nickname that was reserved for her and her only. "You look handsome. Trying to impress a new girl?”

  I laughed and gave her a hug. "Hardly. You know Dad wants his men to look the part when on the job. It’s going to take some getting used to, so I figure now’s as good a time as any. What do you think?"

  Margaret adjusted my tie and ran her fingers through my hair. “You look so much like your uncle that I want to cry sometimes," she said with a sad little smile. "It's amazing having you back in the house, even if it is bittersweet. Tell you what—how about you escort me to the dining room tonight?"

  I smiled and offered my arm. "I'd be honored. I'm not sure I could have a better looking lady on my arm anyway."

  Margaret chuckled and smacked my chest with her left hand while slipping her right arm in mine.

  We went downstairs and into the main dining room, where the giant twenty-four-person table dominated the room.

  She was facing away from me when Aunt Margaret and I first came in, but even with her back turned, I was impressed by what I could see of Luisa Mendosa. She was as tall as me, especially in the heels she was wearing, which made her legs look miles long—the sort of legs a man wants to run his hands over and then his lips and tongue. Well-muscled, they led to an amazing ass that swelled out in all three dimensions. This wasn’t the backside of just genetics, nor of just hard work, but of the perfect combination of both before narrowing down to a waist that, while not model skinny, still highlighted her hips before flaring out again to a firm, flat back that was covered in long honey-blonde hair.

  Our footsteps caught the attention of Luisa and Dad, who both turned to see us, and I was left stunned again. Her breasts were full and round, creating the epitome of an hourglass figure that caused a stir within my shorts even at a distance.

  Even more beautiful, though, was her face, with a swan-like neck, a beautifully oval face, and full lips that twitched with sensuous promise, a button nose, and round, high cheekbones. Most dramatic of all were her eyes, which were nearly so dark they looked black even as I came closer. For me, a man who'd taken pride in sampling the genetic smorgasbord of lovers, she was the hottest woman I'd ever seen. I cleared my throat and tried to think of something to say. "Sorry for the delay. Are we late?"

  Dad shook his head and smiled. "Not at all, Tomasso. Luisa, this is my sister-in-law, Margaret Bertoli, and my eldest son, Tomasso. He just graduated, and is now coming home to learn the family business."

  "It’s a pleasure to meet you both," Luisa said, her accent sending chills down my neck, which intensified when she shook my hand. This woman was no wilting wallflower, that was for sure. She had a good grip, and her hand, while not callused, was also not the type that got oil massages on a daily basis. This woman knew more than her outer appearance let on. "So what did you study?"

  "Business," I replied, putting on a cocky grin. It'd always helped in the past, and I was confident when talking about school. I'd done okay, and I figured if anything, I could always spout a line of bullshit that would sound impressive. I just hoped that she didn't ask me too much about the family side of things. I was still so new to it that I didn't know enough to speak well. "I went to school at a private school in Alabama. What about you?"

  "I studied economics at Brown," Luisa replied with a cool smile. "It was an interesting few years."

  "I see. Well, shall we?" I asked, looking at Dad. He nodded, and we went to the head of the giant table, where four places had been laid out. Dad and Aunt Margaret sat side by side at the two spaces at the head, with Luisa on Dad's right while I sat on Aunt Margaret's left.

  She was wearing an Armani tailored suit herself, but it didn’t hide her femininity one bit. Raising a glass, she smiled beautifully. "I would like to propose a toast," she said, looking at Dad. "To Carlo Bertoli. May his family be blessed forever."

  "To the Mendosa family, who I hope will be friends and allies for all the days to come,” Dad replied before taking a drink of his wine. "I must say, Luisa, the stories of Brazilian beauty pale in comparison to the real thing."

  "Thank you, Mr. Bertoli, but considering your sister-in-law, I’m hardly one to take compliments," Luisa replied. "Besides, you should see my sisters. I’m far too tall to be considered an ideal beauty."

  I coughed slightly, mostly in surprise at her comment. If Luisa thought that her sisters were more beautiful than she—and it sounded like she was being honest and not just giving off false modesty—the family must breed goddesses, not women. My aunt gave me a glance, but overall, I hid my reaction well enough . . . at least I thought so. "Luisa, what’s your part of Brazil like?"

  "Porto Alegre is the southernmost state capital, so it's cooler than some of the larger cities like your Seattle." she said with an eyebrow. “You'd find the weather much closer to what you probably had at your school in Alabama."

  "Tomasso wanted to spread his wings, find his own path. That sometimes requires putting up a little distance," Margaret said, speaking up. The reality, we all knew, was that I was trying to get as far away from Seattle as I could, and the school I went to chose the size of my father's donation over the level of my SAT scores. I'd done a lot more screwing around than studying in high school. "What about Brown? That's quite a distance from Brazil."

  "My father wanted at least one of his children to get an international education. As it was, he was lucky in that two of his daughters took him up on his offer. My little sister, Anna, is currently studying in Australia at the University of Adelaide," Luisa said, taking a sip of wine. Her words were interrupted as Chef wheeled out the first course, a light anchovy salad with an olive oil dressing. "Obrigado."

  "I'm sorry, what was that?" I said, picking up my fork. "I didn't get what you said."

  "Obrigado. It is Portuguese for thank you," Luisa replied, smirking. There was a taunting note to her voice that I didn't like at all. "Don't tell me you only speak English?"

  "Spanish and Italian too, thank you very much," I shot back with more vehemence than I'd expected. This woman, as beautiful as she was, was starting to piss me off. I was used to being the cocky one, and she appeared to be just as confident in herself. "I do have more than just my good looks on my side."

  "Hmm, if you say so," she said, eating her food. I caught the amused twinkle in Margaret's eyes, and I stewed for a moment before eating some of my salad. Conversation drifted along, with Dad asking Luisa about her family and how her life in Porto Alegre was. Despite the sting of her earlier words, I was drawn in as she discussed her life.

  "My father wants me to stay as far from certain sides of our family business as possible, so I often find myself bored but doing what I have to. I know what my brothers do, but I've never been to some of the places they've been. Such a shame, too. While discussing cattle exports is interesting, there are better ways to apply my education."

  "I'm sure, but I can understand your father's point of view," Dad said. "My niece, Adriana, only recently had to see some of the other sides of our family business. Tomasso here has known more since his youth, and while he's just getting started after college, I couldn't be prouder of him. He's his own man—a multi-talented one.”

  “Oh really? Such as?" Luisa asked, giving me a raised eyebrow.

  "Well, I’m sure it’s not exactly what he meant, but I’m a bit of a Judo fanatic. Brown belt, currently. I should have had my black except that I got started late. I spent my high school days mostly wrestling, so I missed a couple of years. Did a couple of tournaments in college. I did okay, won a few."


  Luisa chuckled and took a bite of her main dish, which Chef had brought out while I was talking. "A nice little pastime. I should mention that to my Professor when I get back to Porto Alegre."

  "You study martial arts too?" Margaret asked. "Which one?"

  “I’m a two-stripe brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu," Luisa said. "I haven't kept up enough to be a black belt any time soon, but it’s fun. Besides, my dancing is less painful on the body. But I'd be confident against any regular judo black belt."

  I bristled and cut at my eggplant with my knife with a bit more force than necessary. “Maybe that could be arranged."

  "Only if you’re willing to submit to a woman," Luisa shot back before setting her fork down. She wiped her mouth and looked down at her plate. "Don Bertoli, my apologies. I came to foster friendship between our families, not to pick a fight with your son."

  Dad looked at me and laughed. “No offense taken, Miss Mendosa. Sometimes, we all need to learn lessons, either through making mistakes or through having someone remind us that our egos can’t become larger than our accomplishments. Isn't that true, Tomasso?"

  I swallowed my frustration and nodded.

  Dinner continued, with Aunt Margaret giving me amused looks from time to time as Luisa and I continued to verbally tip-toe around each other, trying to not piss each other off and usually failing miserably. Still, there was something irresistible about her. All through our panna cotta dessert, all I could think of was how I could get the Brazilian beauty in the sack.

  After dinner, as Luisa was getting ready to leave and Dad was sipping his espresso, I took my opportunity. Going to the entryway, I hurried the few steps to stop her from opening the door. "Luisa?"

  She looked at me, and I could see in her eyes that I'd pissed her off, which made her all the sexier to me. "Yes, Tomasso?"

  I took a deep breath and set aside my arrogance for a moment, an act of pure will. I’d cultivated it for years, both as a tool and as a shield. "Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. Tomorrow, you have that trade show, right?"

  "Yes, at the convention center. Why?" She asked, clutching her purse tightly. I could see in her eyes that she wanted to hit me with it, probably right across the face.

  "Let me take you to coffee, say in the afternoon? The show's gotta have a break built in there somewhere, and it's just a cup of coffee. I . . . I'd like to show you that I'm not always such an asshole."

  Luisa chuckled and nodded at my admission. "For the sake of our fathers and families, I accept. Here’s my phone number. Call me tomorrow afternoon. My break right now is about two in the afternoon until three. Maybe then, we can try and make a better start than this. Have a good evening, and good luck with your work tonight."

  "Thank you," I said, a pleasant buzz going through me as she took out a card from her purse and wrote her number on the back. "And like I said, I'm not always an asshole. You'll see."

  "Goodnight."

  Chapter 4

  Luisa

  The next day was the sort of day that I had least looked forward to about Seattle—the sort of dreary, overcast day where the sky looked like it constantly wanted to rain but didn't. In Brazil, it’s different. When the clouds boil over dark and heavy, you know to get yourself indoors. When they were done raining, the clouds knew enough to go away, and the sky was beautiful.

  Seattle clouds, on the other hand, seem to enjoy just mingling with each other, turning the entire sky into a sort of slate gray that sucks the life and pleasure out of the entire day. Everything gets washed out into a monotone yech that can only be abated by sleep. No wonder the city was full of hipsters who have to constantly drink coffee to stay awake.

  The convention center was a lot of the same, with most of the men wearing dull, drab suits that looked like they were all made in the same factory and handed out to American businessmen along with one of three options in ties. Still, as things started, I quickly got into the zone and started to enjoy my work.

  The key to my task at the Seattle convention was not to set up a booth. My family didn’t have the presence nor the available manpower to send such an entourage. Instead, my father trusted me to do what I did best, which was use all of my six-foot-two inches (in heels) and thirty-eight inches each of chest and hip to get the attention of the people at the convention, and then use my brains to complete the work and make the connections. We weren't planning on making any immediate sales, but instead to make the sort of introductions and inroads that could lead to future sales. That didn't mean I didn't have sales forms with me, but they were kept in my small folder case.

  My immediate target, of course, were the churrascaria chains, the Brazilian barbecue places that could use the fact that my family offered authentic Brazilian beef for export as a selling point to their customers. So my immediate target list of people to talk to included Fogo de Chao, Rum Jungle, and Texas de Brazil. But, if the opportunity arose, I'd be happy to talk to any of the chains or even the few supermarkets that were at the convention.

  In the morning, I was able to talk to the lead representative from Texas de Brazil, who sounded interested in what my family had to offer. After exchanging information, he talked with me for nearly twenty minutes, and for the most part, he kept his eyes where they were supposed to be. I was certain that he would actually give our offices in Brazil a call soon in order to get some of our winter cattle, although he stopped short on actually filling out an order form.

  Skipping lunch, I used the opportunity to make some of the smaller connections I'd sought for after seeing the big players leave their booths for lunch. However, the little places, the single restaurants or small chains that were looking for anything they could as every penny was precious to them, stayed at their booths or kept circulating, hustling to make deals and connections. It was capitalism and business in its truest form, which to me was both intoxicating and dangerous. If you let yourself become too desperate or too content, you’d fail. On the outside, you have to look confident and unconcerned, but on the inside, you’re ready to jump at almost any opportunity that comes your way.

  By one thirty, I was pleasantly tired, and the rumble in my stomach reminded me that I was supposed to have coffee with Tomasso Bertoli. As I finished my last conversation and went to a quieter area of the convention center to check my phone for messages, I thought about him. He was handsome—that was undeniable. He had wide shoulders and a powerfully built body that rippled with muscle even under the suit I'd seen him in. His dark brown hair reminded me of freshly ground coffee in color, and his eyes were a deep hazel amber that certainly let him charm his way into many a woman's bed, I was sure.

  Despite being the daughter of a crime lord, I had a bad habit of losing myself when it came to men, including an incident in college where I thought I'd fallen in love with a professor. He'd used me as a 'side piece,' as I came to know the term later, while all the time, he stayed with his society wife. I'd been so ashamed that I hadn't even told my father, and since then, I hadn't seriously considered a man for anything more than to fill a need.

  However, Tomasso Bertoli wasn’t a man that I could just play with. He wasn’t a man that I could just use to fill that particular need. Sure, he was sexy, but I needed to maintain at least a polite relationship with him in order to increase the chances of our families working together.

  I saw that there was a message on my phone when I pulled it out, and that it was from him. He sent me a message at noon, saying he'd be by the convention center whenever I was ready. I hit the dial button and waited.

  "Hello?" Tomasso said when he picked up, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice, even as I tried to fight it. "Luisa?"

  "Yes, Tomasso, it’s me. I got your message. Are you in the area?"

  "Yes, I was just doing a little shopping at a store nearby. Are you on break?" he said, sounding less cocky than he had the night before. "If so, I can meet you in about ten minutes."

  "That sounds fine. I'll be in the north side of the bui
lding. Can you meet me there?"

  "That would be great. I'll see you in less than ten."

  He hung up, and I had to admit that his tone of anticipation bled over onto me. I was looking forward to seeing him. I started heading toward the north exit slowly, pausing to check out a few booths and drop off my business card.

  I waited by the north entrance and was surprised when he walked up. Instead of the slicked back, buttoned down wise guy I'd expected from the day before, he'd gone more casual, with a pair of jeans and a shirt. "Hello."

  He stopped, looking at me. "Wow. You look beautiful. I mean, not that you didn’t last night.”

  His honest compliment stirred me, and I couldn't help it. I smiled. "You look much more relaxed than last night. Shall we?"

  He nodded, and we started back toward the parking lot. "If you don't mind, there's a little cafe just around the corner," Tomasso said. "I've never been there, but they've got a big picture of apple pie out front, and to be honest, I could use some."

  I thought about it and nodded. “Sounds great. I didn’t have much for lunch other than some samples from the convention."

  We walked, my feet only slightly aching as I'd been on my feet all morning in high heels. "This is a part of Seattle I haven't missed the past four years,” Tomasso said, looking up at the sky.

  I chuckled and agreed. “It’s definitely not something to inspire great works of art. On the other hand, I assume that means you value the good weather days all that much more."

  "I suppose," Tomasso said. "To be honest, I don't get as much of a chance to look up at the sky. I've been on the night shift this past week."

  "You're out now," I noted. "Is this your day off or something?"

  He shook his head, chuckling. "Hardly. Monday's one of my busiest. I stop by a lot of the businesses that I’m supposed to pick up from on Mondays. It does tend to end early, so I used the early start, and knowing I was going to be down here, I took the chance to get out and do some shopping."