by Pamela Yaye
The decor was simple, but the heady aromas in the air made her mouth water. Hunger pangs began to stab at her stomach. Perusing the menu, Jordana decided on the quinoa soup and arugula salad. Dante teased her, said she ate like a bird, but she laughed off his comments.
“Want to share a bottle of wine?”
“No, thanks. I need a clear head this afternoon at work.” Jordana raised an eyebrow, wearing a knowing smile. “So do you, Mr. CIO.”
“It’s one drink. Live a little, girl.”
I did, and it almost cost me my life, she thought sadly, dropping her gaze to her lap.
“Would you like to hear the day’s specials?”
They placed their order with the waitress, and chatted about their workday while they waited for their entrées to arrive.
“Anything new and exciting happening in the world of real estate today?”
“Always,” Dante said, nodding. “I’m working my ass off trying to broker a deal with Chinese billionaire Lu Quan. But despite my best efforts, he won’t sign the contracts. When I was in Hong Kong, I wined and dined him, but to no avail.”
“Then think outside the box. Do something unexpected to earn his trust.”
Stroking his chin, he furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the right as if the answer he was looking for was written on the beige walls. “Like what?”
“The possibilities are endless. You live in the most exciting city in the world.”
“Endless, huh? Enlighten me.”
“Take him on a helicopter tour, spend the day wine tasting in Napa Valley, or invite him to your home for a traditional Italian meal with all the fixings.” Jordana picked up her glass and tasted her strawberry lemonade. “Don’t mention your business deal, though. Be a great host, and get to know him as a person, no strings attached.”
“That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Jordana beamed, felt proud as Dante showered her with praise and compliments. Encouraged, she offered more suggestions, and giggled when Dante reached across the table, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on each cheek. It was all for show, to make her laugh, and she did. His cologne mingled with the aromas in the air, washed over her like a gentle mist, tickling and teasing her senses.
“How is your mom feeling? ”
Jordana started to speak, but slammed her mouth shut before the truth spilled out. They were friends, sure, but she didn’t feel comfortable opening up to Dante about her personal problems. Her family was a mess, had been for years, and she didn’t know how to fix things, so why bother baring her soul? Still, her inner voice implored her to confide in him, to seek his advice, so she swallowed her pride and asked the question dominating her thoughts. “Hey, you’re a real estate guy,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Any tips on how to stop a home foreclosure? My mom got a letter from the bank today, and she’s freaking out.”
He moved closer and draped an arm around the back of her chair. “Jordana, what’s going on, and why didn’t you tell me your mom was having financial troubles?”
His tone irked her, grated on her nerves. He looked pissed, as if she’d personally offended him, but Jordana kept her cool. Thanks to Dante, she was out for lunch, instead of stuck in her cubicle, contemplating how to fake her own death, and that was reason enough not to get mad at him for yelling at her. “Why are you mad?”
“Because we’re friends. If you need something you should come to me first.”
His words troubled her, made her feel guilty for letting him down, which was an odd reaction considering they weren’t lovers.
“Start from the beginning, and tell me everything.”
Jordana did, but it wasn’t enough. He questioned her about the house, the balance of the mortgage, the payment history and even her mother’s credit score. Opening up to Dante was therapeutic. She told him things she’d never shared with anyone, not even her girlfriends. “My mom’s had financial problems for as long as I can remember, but I didn’t realize how dire things were until she called me this morning in tears.” Jordana stared at her hands, twisted and turned her fingers. “My parents were never legally married, so my mom raised me and my brothers without much help from my dad.”
“It must have been hard for her to raise three children on her own.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.” It was hell, but Jordana kept the truth to herself. Dante didn’t need to know about the month they were homeless, the nights she went to bed hungry, or their weekly visits to the food bank. No one did. It was embarrassing, something Jordana never talked about, and just thinking about her childhood made her heart ache with pain.
“How did your mom manage?” His smile and his tone were sympathetic. “Housekeepers don’t make much, and kids are expensive.”
“She did what any good mom would do. She worked hard, sacrificed and put the needs of her children above her own.”
Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he took out a leather-bound checkbook and a gold pen speckled with diamonds. “How much do you need?”
“Dante, I can’t take your money.”
“I thought you wanted to save your mom’s house?”
“I do, but I want to do it my way, with my resources.”
“But we’re friends,” he argued, anger evident in his curt tone. “Why is it so hard for you to accept my help?”
Because the last time I put my faith in someone I got burned, and I won’t be fooled again.
“You can pay me back when it’s convenient for you,” he continued. “No pressure.”
“I appreciate the offer, but no, thanks. If you have any other suggestions that don’t require me owing you thousands of dollars for the rest of my life I’m all ears.”
The waitress arrived, carrying a wooden tray, and set it down on the table. She unloaded the entrées, her eyes glued to Dante’s face. She stared at him with longing, and made no attempt to hide her desire. “I hope you enjoy your meal, Mr. Morretti, and if you need anything just let me know.”
Dante gave a polite nod, then picked up his napkin and draped it across his lap.
Beaming, the waitress left, swishing her hips as she sashayed through the dining room.
“She knows your name,” Jordana said, smirking. “You must eat here a lot.”
“This is my first time here.” Dante picked up his utensils and forked a baby potato into his mouth. He chewed slowly, as if savoring the taste, then shrugged a shoulder. “She probably saw the feature in LA Business magazine, and figured she’d get a huge tip if she’s extra nice.”
“Then she thought wrong, because it’s my treat and I’m not a Morretti millionaire!”
His frown returned, and Jordana wondered what she’d done wrong this time.
“Your treat? No way. You’re not paying the bill. Not today, not ever.”
“Dante, it’s not the fifteen hundreds.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I work, too, so you don’t have to pick up the tab every time we go out—”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?” she demanded, annoyed that he was arguing with her about something so trivial.
A devilish grin claimed his mouth, making him look sexier than a cover model. His stare was as blinding as the sun. “Because I’m a perfect gentleman.”
“Ha!” she quipped, with an exaggerated laugh. “No you’re not. A perfect gentleman would never insult my cooking, so you must be an imposter.”
Dante chuckled, and Jordana did, too, enjoying the lighthearted moment with him.
“I won’t be an aspiring actress forever, you know. One day I’m going to be a world-famous movie star and you’re going to regret the way you treated me.”
“Stop calling yourself an aspiring actress.” His voice
was stern. “You’re an actress. Period. You’ve been in dozens of commercials, and actively pursuing your dreams for years...”
Enthralled by the sound of his voice, she forgot about lunch, and soaked up every word that came out of his broad, sensuous mouth. Her arugula salad was dry and drowning in honey dressing, but Jordana was having such a good time with Dante she didn’t complain when the waitress returned to check up on them.
“Moving to LA to follow your dreams takes guts and determination. Don’t beat yourself up because you’re not a household name yet.”
“That’s what Waverly said. It took her sister five years to find an agent, and another three years before she landed a movie role. But I hope it doesn’t take that long for me because I’m starting to lose hope in the process.”
“Don’t.” His tone was firm, convincing. “Be positive. You’ll make it.”
“Seriously, Dante? You really think so?”
“Absolutely. There isn’t a doubt in my mind. You have star written all over you, and it’s just a matter of time before you’re discovered, and Hollywood comes calling.”
Jordana wished she shared his confidence, but after countless auditions and rejections, her future seemed more uncertain than ever.
Dante’s cell phone beeped. He put down his fork, picked up his iPhone and swiped a finger across the screen. “This will only take a minute.”
Jordana finished her food, and then excused herself to use the ladies’ room. Returning minutes later, she was surprised to find Dante still typing away on his phone. Sitting down, she stared at him, hoping he’d put the device away, but no luck. “Did you come here to have lunch with me or play on your cell?”
He glanced up from his phone. “Sorry, but Lourdes is being a pain in the ass, and if I don’t put my foot down she’ll think it’s okay to inconvenience me whenever the mood strikes.”
“Dante, don’t do that.”
Wrinkles furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t do what?”
“Disrespect your ex-wife. She’s the mother of your child, and bashing her isn’t cool,” she said, noting the scowl on his lips. “What’s wrong? Why are you guys fighting?”
“She wants me to pick up Matteo tonight, instead of tomorrow morning.”
“Why is that a problem? Do you have plans after work?”
“No, but that’s not the point. It’s the principle. I don’t change the schedule at the last minute, and neither should she.”
Jordana shrugged. “Life happens. Things change. And considering you only see Matteo once a week you should be thrilled to spend some extra time with him.”
Dante winced, and then shook his head. “I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like an ass.”
“Don’t thank me,” she joked, winking. “It was easy!”
Dante threw his napkin at her, calling her a no-good know-it-all, and Jordana laughed.
“I better get back to the sweatshop before my boss reams me out for being late.”
“Tell Mr. Lundqvist lunch was a rousing success, and that you secured a sizable donation for Saint Jude’s Hospital. Tell him the check will arrive early next week.”
“Thanks, Dante. Your donation, whether big or small, will help change lives.”
He opened his wallet, took out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and dropped it on the table. Jordana wanted to argue, to remind him lunch was her treat, but he sent her a chilling look, one that caused the baby-fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.
“FYI, there’s nothing more emasculating to a man than seeing a woman reach into her purse and pull out her wallet, so don’t even think about it.”
Dante strode around the table, pulled out Jordana’s chair and helped her to her feet. Feeling his hand on her hips shouldn’t have excited her but it did. His woodsy, musky cologne went straight to her head, causing her skin to tingle and her legs to wobble. Strong, take-charge types had always been her weakness, and Dante knew how to treat a woman right.
He should, said her inner voice. He’s probably had more lovers than a British boy band!
“I’ll walk you back to work.”
“Do I have a choice?”
His eyes narrowed, and Jordana knew she didn’t. Walking back to LA Marketing Enterprises, she told him about activities happening around the city that weekend. The Cinco de Mayo parade scheduled for next Friday, and kids movies showing at the IMAX theater.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You always have great ideas for things to do with Matteo.” Staring down at her, he flashed a broad, devilish grin. “You’re a keeper, Jordana. If I’m still single at fifty, I’m going to marry you.”
Jordana patted his cheek. “If you’re still single at fifty you need a shrink, not a wife!” Smirking, she tossed him a wave over her shoulder, strode confidently across the street and disappeared inside her office building.
Chapter 5
Dante turned left on Sunset Plaza Drive, spotted a child standing alone on the sidewalk and frowned. Convinced he was seeing things, he shook his head, but the image remained. Leaning forward in his seat, he peered out the windshield of his Porsche. He scanned the kid from head to toe. Curly hair. Batman-themed shirt. White shorts and Nike runners. It was Matteo. His eyes widened in alarm, then narrowed. What the hell? Was Lourdes out of her damn mind? Why would she let Matteo play outside alone?
Gripping the steering wheel, Dante stepped on the gas. The car zoomed down the street, shot through the air at the speed of light. Lourdes lived in a quiet community teeming with mansions, sports cars and socialites, but that didn’t mean the neighborhood was safe. Every day on the evening news there were stories of children being victimized and abused, and Dante didn’t want his four-year-old son in harm’s way. He’d never forgive himself if Matteo got hurt, and shuddered to think what would happen if his son had crossed paths with a criminal while playing alone outside. Unfortunately, Dante knew all too well how quickly life could change.
Thoughts of Lucca filled his mind, and sadness pierced his heart. Six years ago, his nephew died in a tragic pool accident at Emilio’s Greensboro estate, and to this day his brother blamed himself for what had happened. Years later he’d found love with Sharleen Nichols, a bubbly, effervescent life coach who’d helped him overcome his grief. But the accident had changed Emilio forever, and Dante didn’t want his family to suffer the loss of another child. Lourdes accused him of being overprotective, of “babying” Matteo, but he didn’t care what she thought. He knew what was best for their son, and this time he wasn’t backing down.
Dante parked on the cobblestone driveway, and threw open his door. He scooped Matteo up in his arms, and hugged him tight. “Hey, little man. What are you doing?”
“Collecting rocks. I’m going to build a fort.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“On the phone with her boyfriend.”
Which one? he thought sourly. Since their divorce, Lourdes had dated one man after another, including several of his business rivals. Dante didn’t care what she did, or rather whom she did, as long as she took good care of his son. Though he suspected she was spending more time with her suitors than with Matteo, and that didn’t sit well with him. “Ready to go?” Dante asked.
“Can we go to the zoo? I want to see the elephants and hippos.”
“Not today. Daddy has work to do tonight, so we’re going to hang out at the house.”
“Please,” he whined, clasping his hands together. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Dante shook his head, refusing to even consider it. He hated public places, and just the thought of going to the LA Zoo made him break out in hives. It was crowded and noisy, not to mention smelly. Dante could think of a million things he’d rather do on his day off. Besides, he had a mountain
of paperwork waiting for him in his home office, and emails to answer before the end of the day. “Maybe next week.”
“You always say that,” he said, poking out his bottom lip. “When are we going to do something I want to do? When are we going to do something fun?”
“Tomorrow, I promise. We’ll go swimming, play video games and make homemade pizza for dinner. How does that sound?”
Matteo shrugged his bent shoulders, kicked a rock across the driveway.
“Let’s go grab your bag.”
Finding the front door unlocked, Dante pushed it open and strode inside the foyer. The scent of nicotine polluted the air. Framed photographs of Lourdes adorned the magenta walls, colorful sculptures beautified end tables, and potted plants and flowers gave the three-story house an exotic look. Walking through the main floor, in search of his ex-wife, Dante noticed shoes, toys and books strewn about, and suspected Lourdes had fired her housekeeper.
“You’re late.”
Dante turned, saw Lourdes propped against the breakfast bar, and wondered what he’d ever seen in her. Looking every bit a diva in full makeup, a white, off-the-shoulder blouse and skinny jeans, she sauntered into the living room on six-inch heels. Lourdes had tanned skin, dyed blond hair and, thanks to her plastic surgeon, an hourglass shape. She was twenty-eight years old, but acted like a spoiled teenager. For that reason, he had to protect his son from her, no matter what. “Matteo, Mom and Dad need to talk.” Dante led his son over to the winding staircase. “Go upstairs, and grab your overnight bag.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me!”
Matteo ran up the stairs.
“We agreed you wouldn’t smoke in the house.”
Lourdes shot him a blank stare, looking at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “I didn’t agree to anything. This is my house, not yours, so quit bossing me around.”