Right. That was ridiculous. Calm and Marco Dirici were not words to be used in the same sentence. Ever.
The events of the last evening fluttered through her mind as she went downstairs to pour herself a cup of coffee. Her anger flared in response. The nerve of that man. She had been so surprised at the offer he’d been willing to extend to Curtis. Marco wasn’t terribly flexible by nature. For a brief instant she had deluded herself that he may have a heart.
But then he’d turned on her. Which made no sense at all. She’d simply been trying to thank him. Marco had to care a little about her feelings to have made the offer he did.
Or so she’d thought. Until he had turned surly and accusatory again.
She gulped down several swigs, not even bothering to season it with her usual packet of raw sugar.
What did it matter anyhow? It wasn’t as if she had to bother trying to figure out Marco or his mood swings any longer. She’d spent enough time over the last three years trying to do that. Every time he went away on an extended business trip with barely a goodbye, she had tried to determine what she might have done to upset him. Or the times he returned and retired to his own suite with barely a nod in her direction.
She slammed her mug down on the table. The few times he had spoken to her it had been to issue an ultimatum or question her about this or that. Where had she been? Who had she seen?
My attempt to legitimize my son.
His words shouted through her mind. That was how he’d referred to their marriage. And even though she’d known that was all their union had been about, the way he’d said it so casually had sliced through her heart.
The shrill ring of the kitchen phone broke into her thoughts. She hadn’t even had half a cup yet, wasn’t really awake enough to talk to anyone. But she had to answer it before it woke Enzo.
“Hello,” she said.
“Brianna Dirici, please.” Brianna gripped the phone tighter. She recognized the deep accent immediately. And it was as welcome as ice cream on a hot day.
“This is she.”
“Ms. Dirici. This is Chef Ziyad of the Ruby Room on the Upper East Side. I’m calling regarding your expressed interest in a cook’s position.”
Of all the places she’d applied to, this one was her top choice. The Ruby Room attracted the kind of clientele every chef longed to cook for. Dare she hope?
“Yes?”
“I imagine you are still in the market for a position?”
Was she ever. “That’s correct.”
“Ms. Dirici, we might have an opportunity for you.”
Yes! “Please, call me Brianna.”
“Very well then. Brianna. Your reputation indicates a specialty with ethnic mix cuisine.”
“It’s what I’ve spent the bulk of my career working on, Chef Ziyad. Spanish tapas for the most part.”
“And I understand you’re quite skilled with puff pastry.”
“Mainly Mediterranean appetizers.”
“Well, we attract quite a number of international diners. And I’m looking to expand our mezze menu. Would you be able to come in and discuss all this?”
Brianna cleared her throat. It wasn’t wise to sound too desperate. Never mind that she was actually jumping up and down in her kitchen. “Whenever you’d like, Chef Ziyad.”
“Excellent. I’ll give you my assistant’s information. Please call him and set up a time.” Brianna took down the information and hung up. A huge grin settled on her face. She’d done it! And it had taken less than a day.
“So there, Josef Ansigne,” she said aloud. “Who needs you?”
Her gaze fell to the piece of paper Marco had left with his numbers on it. She walked over and picked it up. He’d indicated that his cell phone would be the best number to call first. She ran her finger over his writing, outlining his sharp, bold strokes.
If theirs was a real marriage, her husband would be the first person she’d call to celebrate the good news. She couldn’t help but imagine how good it would feel to have Marco say he was happy for her. That he was proud of her.
She put the slip of paper back down.
It wasn’t a real marriage. And Marco wanted nothing more from her than for her to live in Italy and care for their son while he himself went about his own life. Far from celebrating such news, Marco would be upset about the development.
She should have her head examined for having such fantasies. The time for hoping for anything meaningful with Marco was over. All she had to do where he was concerned was get through the next few days until he finished whatever he had to do. Then he could go back to Italy. Then they could get their divorce.
Somehow the utter giddiness of just a few short seconds ago had fallen away completely. She glanced at the clock above the oven. Nine o’clock. Enzo had slept in long enough. If she didn’t go wake him now, his whole schedule for the day would be off. By evening she’d have a cranky, sore little tyrant on her hands.
She started up the stairs to go get him. Any further celebrating would have to wait.
* * *
Marco continued to stare at the column of numbers in front of him. The same column of numbers on the same screen he’d been staring at for the last fifteen minutes. Finally, in disgust he pushed his chair away from the desk and swiveled around to stare out his floor-to-ceiling office window at the traffic outside. Forty-Fifth Street was fully alive. Pedestrians were out in droves cutting through rows of stationary cars.
For someone who prided himself on his concentration skills, Marco certainly didn’t feel focused today. He’d wasted the better part of an hour accomplishing next to nothing.
He rested his head back and stared at the sky. The sun had abandoned it hours ago. Thick rolling clouds littered the horizon. A faint haze of drizzle curtained the atmosphere.
All in all, the day had changed to match his mood completely.
What in the world was he doing here? Nothing in the paperwork or the operations needed immediate attention. If anything, his managers were going to great lengths to pretend he wasn’t in the way. His unexpected visit had cut into various meetings and several executives’ schedules. He was merely hampering business.
That made him angry. That reminded him of the reason he was in New York in the first place. Brianna.
The woman was a thorn in his side. The plan had been so simple. Go to New York. Check on Enzo. Come to a fair agreement regarding his son and all the other loose ends that unraveled at the end of a marriage. It all brought him back to the same question. Why was he still in New York?
Because he was a jealous, mindless fool. Over a woman who was never really his. If he witnessed one of his friends in the same situation, he knew exactly what he’d do.
The phone rang and he snatched it to his ear. “Marco Dirici.”
“I know who you are. At least I think I do.”
His grandmother. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Hello, Nonna.”
“I’m your nonna in name only, I see so little of you.”
“You usually can’t wait to get rid of me.”
“You know that is absolutely not true.”
“There are times I wonder.”
She snorted. “How is our little bambino, eh? I’ve so missed him.”
At the mention of his son, warmth spread through Marco’s chest. “He’s wonderful, Nonna. You should see how