Sure, she could go back to Nonno and tell him she couldn’t handle it. But that would feel like throwing his generosity back in his face. Her grandfather had believed in her enough to let her take over from him and run the business. And he was seventy-three, now. It was time he enjoyed his retirement, pottering around in the garden and meeting his friends in caffès instead of having all the stress of the business on his shoulders. Just as he would’ve done years ago, had her parents not been killed in that car crash. She sighed. No, handing Tonielli’s back wasn’t an option.
She couldn’t ask Amy for advice, either. Sure, her former boss would help—but Carenza knew that Amy had just gone through another course of chemotherapy. The last thing Amy needed right now was this kind of stress. So Carenza really couldn’t lean on her, either.
There was Emilio Mancuso, who, according to her grandfather, had been acting as the manager of the business for a while, but Carenza didn’t feel comfortable with him. She couldn’t put her finger on why—he’d always been perfectly polite to her, if a bit condescending—but there was something about him that made her feel wary. She didn’t want to ask him for help. All her instincts told her that would be a bad idea.
None of her friends her own age ran a business, so she couldn’t ask them for advice.
Which left …
She sighed. Nobody.
You have no experience and the business is in a mess.
Dante Romano was right about that.
It needs turning around.
He was right about that, too.
And I have the knowledge and the staff to do that.
The obvious answer was to sell the family business to him. But, if she did that, she’d be letting Nonno down. Breaking the family tradition. The last generation of the Toniellis, selling out. How could she do that?
Unless …
She smiled wryly. No, that was crazy. He’d never agree to that.
How do you know unless you ask? a little voice said inside her head.
Maybe. But was he as good as he said he was? Could he help her fix the business?
She pushed the papers to one side and drew her laptop closer, so she could look him up online. Dante Romano. Interestingly, there were no paparazzi shots of him with beautiful women. Or men, for that matter—but her gaydar was pretty accurate. That zing of attraction she’d felt towards him yesterday had been mutual, judging by the way he’d looked at her across his desk.
No stories about an acrimonious divorce, either. Hmm. So it looked as if Dante Romano steered clear of relationships and focused on his work.
A workaholic, then.
She looked him up on the business pages. Make that a very successful workaholic, she corrected herself. He had a chain of six restaurants at the age of thirty—pretty impressive, given that he seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. A little more digging gave her the information that he had a solid track record of buying up businesses and then turning them round. And there was a new rumour in the business world that he was going to franchise his restaurants. Carenza didn’t know much about franchising, but she had a feeling that it meant going national or even international—so Dante Romano would be way too busy to date anyone, right now.
Not that she was interested in his love life. At all. Because she wasn’t going to act on the attraction between them. Right now, she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. She wanted to concentrate on the family business—on feeling that she could do something worthwhile. Get her self-respect back. But would this franchising thing mean that he’d be too busy to help her? And, even if he wasn’t, would he agree to be her mentor—to help her get the business back under control?
It was a risky strategy, she knew, but she had no other real choice. And there was only one way to find out if he’d help her.
Given that he was a workaholic, it was a fair bet that Dante would still be at his office. Her hand was shaking as she punched the number into the phone. ‘Come on, Caz. Don’t be such a wimp,’ she told herself as she pressed the last digit. But with each ring of the phone, her nerves increased. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe he wasn’t there. Maybe she should just give u—
‘Dante.’ His voice was crisp, clear—and every coherent thought went out of her head.
‘Hello?’
Get a grip, Caz, she told herself and took a deep breath. ‘Signor Romano? It’s Carenza Tonielli.’
‘How can I help you, Signorina Tonielli?’
If he was surprised—or if he’d expected her to call and say she’d changed her mind, once she’d had a proper look through the books—it didn’t show. He was polite, formal and absolutely expressionless. Which unnerved her even more.
‘I, um, wondered if we could talk. There’s something I wanted to run by you.’
‘Where and when?’
He certainly didn’t waste any time. Maybe that was why he was so good at business. ‘My office?’ As for when …
‘When would be convenient for you?’
‘Now?’
‘Now?’ She almost squeaked the word into the phone. Whoever had a business meeting at this time of the evening?
Then again, she didn’t need any more time to prepare. There wasn’t anything she could add to make her case. ‘OK. Um, do you know where my office is?’
‘Yes.’
Stupid question. Of course he did. He’d been planning to buy the business. No doubt he’d met her grandfather here. ‘Good. I’ll, um, see you in a bit, then.’
‘Ciao.’
Her hand was still shaking slightly when she put the phone down. Well, she’d done it now. She was going to have to go through with it. Anyway, what was the worst thing that could happen? Just that he’d refuse. And if he did that, she’d still be in the same position she was in now. It wouldn’t make things any more difficult. So it was ridiculous to feel so nervous about seeing him.
She busied herself shaking coffee grounds into a cafetière and boiling the kettle. She’d just rearranged the cups on the tray for the third time when she heard the knock at the shop door.
‘Thank you for coming, Signor Romano,’ she said as she let him in and locked the door behind him.
‘Prego.’ Still perfectly polite and formal. And his face was even less easy to read than his voice. Maybe she should’ve asked him over the phone, instead. It would be a lot easier without those piercing eyes watching her every movement.
‘May I offer you some coffee?’ she asked as she led him through to her office.
‘Thank you. No milk or sugar.’
Easy enough. She could do this.
Except her hand shook as she brought his cup over to the desk, and she spilled coffee all over his suit trousers.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—’
He cut her off with a shrug. ‘No problem. It’ll come out in the wash.’
But he was unsmiling. Grim, even. And her heart sank. Why had she ever been daft enough to think he was going to agree to this? It wasn’t just a risky strategy, it was an insane one.
‘So what did you want to run past me?’ he asked.
She placed her own coffee very carefully on her desk and sat down. ‘I’ve looked at Nonno’s books.’
‘And? ‘
‘And you have a point. I admit