THIRST

by Deborah Bladon

I don’t need a drink. I need a business partner.

  “Your offer is very generous, Rhoda,” I say with a smile. “I’m just not in a position to give up that much equity.”

  She picks up the martini glass to raise it in the air. “From where I’m sitting, you’re not in a position to keep that much equity.”

  Touché.

  She has a point. It’s valid, but if I hand over sixty percent of my company to her, she’ll have controlling interest. I didn’t work this hard to give up so much.

  “I’ve already spoken with my suppliers and distributors. We can start production at several hundred units a day in a factory that I know does quality work.” She winks at the bartender when he drops off my soda water. “Our handbags will be everywhere.”

  That’s not my end goal.

  I don’t want to water down my brand so much that it loses its charm. Right now it’s a boutique, personalized offering. I know that I can’t sustain that.

  If I want to keep it on the same path, I need to hire people who understand the materials and can craft them into the bags that I design.

  I’ve never pictured an assembly line of my purses being made. To me, the vision has always been about a studio that houses women and men who are artisans. Together, we’d make the bags, using the same type of industrial sewing machine that I work on now.

  In my wildest dream, I’d have a small storefront where I’d sell the finished products.

  “What’s Rocco offering you?” she questions before taking a sip of her drink.

  Kisses that curl my toes.

  I won’t make that confession to Rhoda because it will cloud everything. Instead, I stick to the script I’ve been playing over and over in my head all day. “Rocco is still preparing his offer.”

  One of her long, red fingernails taps the bottom of her glass. “Rocco’s hot as hell, isn’t he?”

  I scratch the back of my neck. This little black dress I chose to wear today is a new design from Sophia. I have no idea what the material is, but it’s been irritating my skin since I put it on. “He’s a good-looking man.”

  “Don’t let that blind you.” She grins like a Cheshire cat that just trapped a mouse. “I would never call him ruthless, but when it comes to business, he’ll do what he can to seal the deal.”

  What happened between Rocco and me last night was all pleasure. There was no business involved.

  I haven’t heard from him since I got on the elevator in my building. He didn’t try and influence me to skip this meeting.

  “I’m not ready to seal the deal with anyone.”

  Rhoda lifts her eyebrows. “Fifty-eight percent equity?”

  I shake my head. “I want controlling interest.”

  “Smart girl.” She downs the rest of her drink in one large gulp. “I’m going to reconsider my position on this. When will Rocco’s proposal be in your hands?”

  “I’ll let you know when I receive it and we can go from there.”

  She runs her hands over the crisp white blouse she’s wearing. “You remind me of myself a very long time ago. I held tight to my convictions and look where it’s gotten me.”

  I look down at the file folder that contains her offer. “We’ll talk soon.”

  She glides to her feet, slinging her designer bag over her shoulder. “You have my number. Call me anytime.”

  As if on cue, my phone chimes.

  I tug it out of my purse as Rhoda makes her way to the door.

  I smile when I glance down at the screen and read the text. The words are simple, but the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

  Rocco: I need your help. My grandmother’s birthday is coming up. She needs a new handbag so show me what you’ve got.

  Chapter 33

  Rocco

  “Don’t welcome her to the family, Marti.” I squeeze my grandmother’s hand. “She’s a potential business partner.”

  “Or wife,” she coughs out the word.

  I arch a brow. “Business partner.”

  “What does this potential business partner look like?” She skims the palm of her hand over her hair. “Is she pretty?”

  Beautiful. She’s captivatingly beautiful.

  I keep those words to myself and smile. “You’ll see for yourself any minute.”

  Her gaze darts to the entrance of the restaurant. “I’ll cook her dinner.”

  I look down at the empty bowl in front of me. Marti served me a healthy portion of risotto as soon as I sat down.

  Food wasn’t what I came here looking for, but I ate it.

  I’ll always eat what my grandmother cooks for me because I know damn well that a day will come when I won’t have that privilege anymore.

  “Dessert,” I suggest. “Everyone loves your tiramisu.”

  “Your mama loved it most of all.” Her smile softens. “She ate it almost every night when she was pregnant with you.”

  I’ll never tire of her stories about my mom, even though I’ve heard each of them thousands of times.

  “You miss her, yes?”

  She’s asked me that question already twice this week. It comes up multiple times every week.

  My answer is always the same. “Very much.”

  “She’d want you to be happy, Rocco.” A long sigh escapes her. “She’d want all of her boys to be happy.”

  We all are. Luke, my youngest brother, is a fireman. Nash runs his own ad agency. None of the Jones men are headed down the aisle, but there’s still hope. Marti clings to it. She’s always telling us that she wants to see at least one of us in a tuxedo taking our vows before she takes her last breath.

  “Happiness comes in many forms.” It’s my standard line for her. It never appeases her, which is why her response to it is always the same. She counters with a comment about true love and how nothing can replace it.

  “What about that form?” Her hand lifts in the air.

  I turn in the direction she’s pointing. Standing in the doorway of the restaurant is the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about.

  “That’s her,” I whisper. “That’s Dexie Walsh.”

  ***

  “Your Rocco’s grandmother?” Dexie narrows her eyes. “You’re Martina Calvetti.”

  “Marti,” my grandmother corrects her with a soft touch of her hand to Dexie’s chin. “You’ll call me Marti.”

  “Marti,” Dexie repeats it back slowly. “I had no idea that Rocco was related to you.”

  “He’s my daughter firstborn. He’s my Gaia’s son.” Her hands leap to the middle of her chest. “God rest her beautiful soul.”

  Dexie’s quiet for a moment before she looks to me and then Marti. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Marti drapes her arm over Dexie’s shoulder to comfort her. I’ve seen it before. My grandmother puts everyone’s needs before her own; regardless of how well she knows them. “Time doesn’t lessen a mother’s loss, but it pushes me forward. I have a family to love.”

  Dexie nods.

  “My grandson tells me you’re here to talk business.” Marti motions to the chair she was just sitting in. “You’ll sit and talk. I’ll bring you wine and dessert.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Dexie says quietly. “A glass of water would be just fine.”

  “Water, wine and dessert.” Marti tugs on a pink-streaked strand of Dexie’s hair. “I like this. I thought about it, you know, at one time.”

  Dexie’s face brightens. “You thought about pink hair?”

  “Blue.” Marti touches the front of her hair. “A streak or two, but what great-grandmother parades around looking like a peacock?”

  “You’d pull it off,” I interject. “Do it, Marti.”

  “You do it,” she bounces the words back to me with a wink. “Don’t color your hair blue, but take a chance. You know what I mean.”

  I don’t have to read between those lines. She likes Dexie.

  “Dessert, Marti,” I urge her on. “We’re going to talk business.
You’ll make that special dessert.”

  “I’ll be back.” Picking up my empty plate, she shakes her head. “There’s more to life than business, Rocco. Don’t you forget.”

  Dexie watches her walk away before she lowers herself onto the chair. “Your grandma is amazing.”

  I take the seat next to her. “I know it.”

  She pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. She looks stunning tonight, dressed in a simple lacy black dress and yellow heels. The neckline of the dress dips low enough to reveal a small mole below her left collarbone.

  “Are you looking for something premade for Marti or a custom piece?” She fishes in her red handbag. “I’ll show you my available inventory. I have pictures of almost everything on my phone.”

  “You met with Rhoda.”

  Her hand slows. “I was with her when you texted me.”

  I assumed as much, which is why I was surprised when she answered my text quickly, agreeing to meet me tonight.

  I told her I was here, at Calvetti’s.

  Before I could type out the address, she replied that she was on her way over.

  “How did that go?”

  She rolls her eyes. “The hot bartender got more of her attention than I did.”

  “Hot bartender?” A smile creeps over my lips.

  Her gaze lifts to meet mine. “I have a feeling Rhoda chose that bar for our meeting because of him.”

  “Would you go back for another drink because of him?”

  It’s a question an insecure college kid would ask his girlfriend, so why the fuck is it coming out of my mouth?

  “I might.” Her eyes gleam. “There’s something about nerdy, muscular types.”

  “Is there?” I lift both arms over my head, flexing my biceps. “Have I mentioned to you that I graduated summa cum laude?”

  Her gaze skims my black T-shirt before her eyes land on my right arm. “You graduated with honors?”

  “I was the captain of the chess team.”

  “You weren’t.” She shakes her head, her eyes now pinned to my left bicep.

  “I was.” I finally lower my hands to the table. “I ran the debate team too.”

  “Damn,” she drawls through a grin. “I had no idea you were such a nerd.”

  I laugh aloud. “Now you know.”

  She lifts a finger to her chin. “Something tells me that there’s a lot more I don’t know about you and most of it will surprise me.”

  She’s right. There’s a lot she doesn’t know about me. The surprise is that a part of me wants to tell her everything.

  Chapter 34

  Dexie

  “You two are conspiring.” Marti takes a seat next to me, across from her grandson. “What’s going on here?”

  The woman must be a mind reader because I was vigilant about not talking about her upcoming birthday gift whenever she was within earshot.

  Rocco didn’t specifically say that her gift is a surprise. I assumed that.

  “Nothing gets past you, Marti.” Rocco reaches to cradle her hand in his. “I heard you tell Gina that the strap on your purse broke again.”

  “That’s not news to me.” Her brows jump expectantly.

  “Dexie makes beautiful handbags.” He gestures toward the red tote hanging from the back of my chair. “I’m going to get you a new bag from your birthday.”

  My assumption about it being a surprise was way off base.

  “No.” Marti shakes her head adamantly. “I’ve had that bag forever. I’ll tape it back together again.”

  “Tape,” I say aloud, even though I didn’t mean to.

  Marti nods. “Tape does the trick.”

  Tape can destroy the structure of leather. It weakens it and fades the color.

  “It’s time to replace your bag.” Rocco leans back in his chair. “Let me do this for you.”

  “Let us do this for you,” I interject with a smile. “You can tell me exactly what you want, Marti. You design it and I’ll build it.”

  That sets her up and out of the chair.

  I look to Rocco for reassurance that I didn’t just piss his grandmother off.

  He smiles, giving his head a curt shake. “She’ll be back. Give it a minute.”

  I take a sip of the water that Marti brought when she dropped off a piece of the most delicious tiramisu I’ve ever had.

  I’ve never ordered dessert when I’ve dined here. I’ve also never met Marti. I’ve seen her bustling around the place, but until tonight we’ve never spoken.

  “She likes you,” Rocco assures me.

  I should tell him that I like her too, but I stop myself. I don’t know where I stand with Rocco. The kiss we shared last night was intense and the flirting tonight has been fun.

  I still have an important decision to make regarding my business. After my meeting with Rhoda, I’m beginning to wonder if Rocco is the person who will help make my professional dreams a reality.

  “This is it.” The sound of Marti’s voice startles me.

  I look to my left to see her standing with a worn brown leather bag. She drops it in the middle of the table.

  “I’ve had it for a long time.” She lowers back onto the chair next to me. “A very long time.”

  I hear the quiver in her tone before I see the tears in the corners of her eyes.

  This purse means much more to her than Rocco realizes.

  “May I?” I ask as I inch my hand toward it.

  She nods in silence.

  I pick it up and examine the corners. If nothing has escaped through the small hole on the right side of the bag, I’d be shocked.

  The gold-plated trim has worn away to reveal green metal underneath. Half of the clasp is missing and both straps are held onto the bag by duct tape.

  “Can you make something similar, Dexie?” Rocco asks.

  “I don’t want similar.” Marti squeezes my forearm. “I want the same.”

  I lock eyes with her, the depth of her pain is apparent. Her eyes are the same color as Rocco’s and as clouded with unexpressed grief as his are.

  His mother must have been an incredible woman.

  “I understand,” I say with a reassuring squeeze of her hand. “I can make something identical.”

  “Let her take it, Marti.” Rocco’s voice is steady. “Dexie will take good care of it.”

  “The best care,” I reassure her with a smile. “I promise.”

  She dumps the bag onto the table, sending lipstick tubes, a smartphone and a mountain of papers flying everywhere. “Take it.”

  ***

  An hour later, Rocco and I are standing on the sidewalk outside my building. The Uber ride here from the restaurant was the first chance we had to be alone, and that was wasted because I had to take a work call. Rio Dirks finally got back to me about our upcoming photo shoot.

  “Do you want to come up?” Rocco nods toward the door that leads up to his apartment. “You can teach me a thing or two about poker.”

  Or you could teach me a thing or two about great sex; correction, mind-blowing sex.

  We haven’t slept together, but the man exudes raw energy that is palpable.

  I have to try and ignore it tonight.

  “I have a lot of work to do.” I push Marti’s bag up my shoulder. “I’ve fallen behind lately. I have a few clients waiting for their orders.”

  “Understood.” He shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks for meeting me tonight and for taking such good care of Marti’s prized possession.”

  I swallow. “I should probably go up.”

  He steps closer, his eyes skimming my face. “Kiss me goodnight, Dexie.”

  My teeth latch onto my bottom lip. A kiss with him makes me feel things I’m not ready to explore. It reaches beyond the physical need that it ignites in me. I like him. I want to spend time with him. I want to know him.

  His hand leaps to my cheek. “What I’d give to feel you bite my lip like that.”

  A blush races up my skin. “One
kiss?”

  “For tonight,” he whispers over my skin before he presses his mouth to mine.

  The kiss is slow and sensual. The noise of the city filters away and all I can hear is the hammering beat of my heart.

  His tongue parts my lips, the kiss deepens and I moan from the pent up need that washes over me.

  That morphs into a soft groan when he slides his lips over my cheek and down my neck.

  “Until tomorrow,” he says in a low tone.

  I stare at him under hooded eyes, my breath catching somewhere between my heart and my lips. “Tomorrow.”

  “You know where to find me if you need me.” He pulls the last two words over his tongue in a raspy growl.

  Exhaling, I step back and lower my gaze. I need him now. He has to know that. My kiss said it all.

  “Goodnight, Dexie.” He brushes his lips over mine for one last chaste kiss.

  “Goodnight,” I mumble before I turn and walk to the door.

  Chapter 35

  Dexie

  I step into my apartment and flip the switch to turn on the overhead lights. Darkness has blanketed the city and if I’m going to get any work done tonight, I need as much light as possible.

  The lamp in the corner just won’t cut it.

  Resisting the urge to look toward Rocco’s apartment, I toss my bag, Marti’s purse and my phone on my bed.

  I stare at the worn leather bag that Rocco’s grandmother took into her hands one last time before we left the restaurant.

  When she shoved it back at me, I could see the tangled emotions on her face. I wish I knew more about the story attached to the purse, but I don’t know her well enough to pry.

  All I know is that she’s expecting a replica of the bag for her birthday.

  Turning on my heel, I head to my clothing rack and yank a short pink T-shirt dress from one of the hangers.

  The constant itchy sensation from the lacy dress I’m wearing has reached the point of being unbearable.

  I make a mental note to tell Sophia that it gets two thumbs down from me.

  Making my way to the bathroom, I slide my hand over the back of the dress. I grab the zipper pull to open it.

  The sound of my phone chiming stops me in place.

  I sigh. I still haven’t talked to Sophia about what she witnessed last night. She’s called me four times today and sent me at least ten text messages.