The notion intrigued him.
As she turned to pull out a chair for him she caught the way he was looking at her and immediately a red-hot wave of embarrassment seared through her. She’d imagined she could feel his eyes on her, assessing her from top to toe as they walked through the restaurant, but she’d told herself not to be silly. Now she was sure he had been looking at her, weighing her up with that gleam in his dark eyes as if she were some sub-species worthy of amusement.
Obviously he thought she was a real plain Jane. Not that she cared whether he found her attractive or not. She didn’t have time for such things, but strangely it still hurt.
‘I’ll get a waitress to take your order,’ she mumbled.
‘No.’ He detained her before she could move away, his manner firm, as if he were used to issuing orders and having them obeyed. ‘As I said, I’m in a hurry. So you can take my order.’
She watched as he reached for the menu that was sitting on the table. Part of her wanted to just walk away and ignore the command. But for the sake of good customer relations the sensible side of her wouldn’t allow it. ‘OK…’ She tried to snap back into work mode and forget everything else. ‘I can recommend the chef’s lunchtime specials. The Penne Arrabiata and the cannelloni.’
‘Is that so?’ He looked up at her with that gleam in his dark eyes again and she could feel the precious grip she had on her composure starting to slip. Probably recommending Italian dishes to an Italian wasn’t her best move.
‘They are very good.’ She tried to angle her chin up further. She had the utmost confidence in her chef. ‘Better than my Italian pronunciation of them, I assure you.’
He laughed at that. ‘Actually, I didn’t think your Italian pronunciation was too bad. You just need to roll your tongue around the words a little more.’ He proceeded to pronounce both dishes again in a slow smooth tone that made her blood start to heat up to boiling point. How did he manage to make two ordinary dishes from a menu sound like some kind of prelude to lovemaking? she wondered distractedly. ‘Well…I’ll…I’ll bear that in mind,’ she retorted stiffly.
‘Yes, you do that.’ Once more there was that glimmer of amusement in his eyes and then he returned his attention to the menu.
She knew her manner was uptight, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. He was having the strangest effect on her. He made her feel gauche and unsure of herself…and he made her aware of herself as a woman…
The knowledge trickled through her like ice.
Antonio glanced up and caught the vulnerable light in her green eyes. It was only there for a second before it was hidden behind a sweep of long dark lashes, replaced by that wary, guarded look of hers.
‘So have you made up your mind?’ she asked him, now fiddling nervously with the pair of glasses that sat perched on the end of her nose.
For a second he was distracted from thoughts of food as he wondered what had prompted that expression in her eyes—strange really, because he wasn’t interested in her. She certainly wasn’t his type.
He snapped the menu shut and handed it back to her. ‘Yes, I’ll go with your recommendation and have the Penne Arrabiata.’
‘And to drink?’ She pushed the wine list in his direction.
‘Water, thanks, I need to keep a clear head for business this afternoon.’ ‘OK.’ She started to turn away from him but he detained her. ‘By the way, is your boss in today?’ he asked idly.
‘My boss?’ She looked back at him with a frown.
‘Yes. The owner of the establishment,’ he enunciated clearly.
‘You’re looking at her.’
The surprise on his handsome features amused her.
‘You’re Victoria Heart?’
‘That’s right. Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?’
‘No, not really.’ For a second his eyes held with hers. For some reason he’d expected her to point out the woman now standing by the front reception area. ‘You’re younger than I expected you to be.’
‘Am I?’ She looked at him in puzzlement. ‘I’m twenty-three. Sorry…but why are you interested?’
‘Just curious.’ His mobile phone rang and he took it out to answer it. ‘Thanks for the lunch recommendation.’ He gave her a brief smile and turned his attention to the call.
She knew she was being dismissed and she would gratefully have hurried away, except before she could move she heard him say, ‘Yes, Antonio Cavelli speaking.’
Antonio Cavelli. She stood rigidly where she was. Was this the Antonio Cavelli who had purchased the hotel next door to her? She didn’t pay much attention to gossip sheets, nor did she get much time to watch TV programmes, so she really wouldn’t know him if she fell over him. But now she came to think about it she had heard that the multimillionaire was very attractive, very sought after by the opposite sex.
As she still made no attempt to move away, he covered the receiver of his phone and looked up, ‘Thank you but I would like my lunch as quickly as possible.’ His voice was curt.
‘Yes…yes, of course.’ Pulling herself together she hurried across to place his order with the kitchen.
It was quite a relief being within the warm busy hustle of the kitchen.
‘Everything all ready for your meeting with the bank, Victoria?’ Berni, the head chef, asked her as he put two plates down on the counter top, ready for one of the waitresses to collect.
‘Yes, all the paperwork is in order.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve been running a highly successful business here for the past few years. They can’t say that you don’t know what you are doing.’
‘No, they can’t say that.’ Victoria smiled. When Berni had first come to work for her a year and a half ago he’d treated her with a kind of wary disdain. Then one day a few members of staff hadn’t turned in and she’d rolled up her sleeves and worked alongside him. Since then they’d rubbed along together very well. And telling her she knew what she was doing was indeed an accolade coming from the temperamental chef.
‘I’m sure it will all be fine,’ he said blithely now.
The words made the tension that had been escalating inside her all morning twist. She didn’t want to tell Berni that she wasn’t quite as optimistic as him. His wife had just had a baby and he needed this job—but then so did all the other members of her staff. Not that the bank would care a damn about that. Neither would they care that she was a single mother of a two-year-old little boy and that she would be practically destitute if the business went under. All she was to the bank was a number on a sheet of paper.
Berni was right, her business had been very successful, and the bank had got more than their pound of flesh out of her in bank charges and interest over the years. But all they would look at now was the fact that her takings were down and her expenditure was significantly up, thanks to her new landlord—Lancier. So she had a horrible feeling that her visit to the bank today wasn’t going to be pleasant. And given the present economic climate the odds were against them extending her loan.
Which meant she either sold up to Lancier or went bankrupt.
The very thought made her feel sick. She’d rather have sold to a flesh-eating monster than to the company who had deliberately tried to squeeze her out. But if the bank said no, then Lancier’s offer was her only alternative.