Blair is still talking to Graham about some of the business she’s had to turn away, but when she hears Anthony’s comment, her attention is caught. “You’re really an astronomer?”
“That’s right,” Anthony murmurs, focused on his computer.
“You sure don’t look like one.”
“What do I look like?” he asks, still concentrating.
Graham grins. “Professor Heartthrob, or at least that’s what I think she’s trying to say.”
“You’re a professor?” Natalie asks. For some reason the notion is alarming. Even though she knew he wasn’t really a model or a movie star, she never expected this.
“Meet Professor Novello,” Graham tells them with a flourish. “Anthony teaches astrophysics at the University of Washington.”
“Wow,” Blair says. “I never would have guessed that. You look so young.”
“I’m not tenured yet,” Anthony tells her.
Blair is still studying him. “I’ll bet your classes are jam-packed.”
Graham laughs. “I’d say every pretty girl on campus is suddenly interested in astronomy.”
Natalie expects Anthony to make some flippant remark about ‘fighting them off with a stick,’ or ‘more than he can handle,’ but he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he clears his throat. “Would you mind getting me your cake waiting list, Blair? I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind.”
“Uh, sure.”
While she’s in back getting the list, Natalie wonders if she’s misjudged Anthony. Maybe he’s not really a hound dog. As she’s thinking this, she hears Star Wars music blasting from his cell phone. In context, that music is kind of cute.
“Hi, Nicole,” Anthony answers. He listens, nodding for a moment and then chuckles. “Sure, that’s no problem. Seven is fine. Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”
Graham meets Natalie’s gaze and smiles. Neither of them says anything. Natalie somehow refrains from rolling her eyes.
Nicole? Justine? Serena? How does he keep track of them all? Professor or not, he’s obviously exactly what she thought.
When Blair comes back, she hands Anthony the blue three-ring binder she keeps track of all her wedding cake orders with. When he opens it, she shows him the waiting list.
Anthony makes a note on his computer and then turns to both of them. “I thought I’d accounted for every variable, but you two pointed out something I hadn’t considered. I’m going to enter this in and we’ll see where we’re at.” He looks at Blair. “Would you mind adding the approximate price of each wedding cake on that list?”
Blair takes a seat across from Graham. “I can do that.”
“And Natalie, would you start keeping track of any jobs you have to refuse as well? I’ll need those numbers.”
Natalie leans back in her chair and lets out a heavy sigh. “I suppose I could do that.”
Anthony starts shutting down his computer. “Is there a problem?”
“The problem is I don’t like it. The software, the pie charts—any of it.”
He stiffens. “This is how I conduct my business.”
“You come in here all the time, so you’ve seen with your own eyes how busy we are. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“No, it doesn’t. I need hard numbers, not speculation.”
She thinks about how as a single parent now she’ll need more money to keep her house. “You’re just wasting our time. We’ve already told you we’re bursting at the seams and we turn away business every day. Who cares what the exact numbers are? We make more than enough in profits to pay for the lease on the space next door.”
“I care.” Anthony speaks in a cold voice. “You can think whatever you like. The fact remains that I own this building, so I’ll be the one to decide whether I lease that space to you.”
Natalie’s eyes lock on to Anthony’s. He’s still wearing the nerd glasses and it gives him an owlish appearance. His eyes are intelligent and she can see she’s made him angry.
“Come on, Natalie,” Blair says. “I think we should at least give his method a try. And besides, it’s not like we have a choice.”
“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Anthony says.
Natalie throws her hands in the air. “But this whole thing is ridiculous!”
“You want to hear ridiculous?” Anthony shoves his laptop back into his satchel. “I’ll tell you ridiculous. You own a bakery called La Dolce Vita and you don’t sell a single Italian pastry!”
When he pronounces La Dolce Vita he slides the words together, rounding the syllables in a way that makes her suspect he speaks fluent Italian.
“Then why do you bother to come here at all?” Natalie counters. “Especially if you dislike it so much! It can’t be just because you own the building.”
Anthony stops what he’s doing and pushes his glasses on top of his head. He glances out the front window and then back to her. “Your espresso is excellent, I’ll give you that.”
Natalie can’t help her nod of approval. She’s very picky about coffee herself. “It’s Lavazza. I have to special order it.”
“I know, I recognize it.” Which surprises Natalie. “And as I mentioned, those cookies of yours aren’t half bad, either.”
His compliment is a peace offering and she knows it. But she doesn’t want a peace offering. She doesn’t want his charm or humor. All she wants is his signature on a piece of paper that says they can expand, but he won’t give it to her.
Anthony stands up and slips his satchel over his head, so the bag settles against his left hip. A lock of dark wavy hair has fallen across his forehead and Natalie tries not to notice he’s the hottest college professor she’s ever seen in her life.
He turns to Graham. “I think we’re done here, aren’t we?”
“Yes.” Graham looks at Blair. “I’ll call you later?”
She gives him a flirtatious smile. “Sounds good. We could check out Santosa’s, if you like.”
Natalie watches the two of them in amazement. Clearly, Blair and Graham are making a love connection.
She glances over at Anthony and their eyes meet. Quickly they both look away from each other.
Don’t worry, I don’t want you either.
After the men leave, Natalie finds herself face-to-face with a furious Blair. “What the heck is wrong with you?” she yells. “Were you trying to piss Anthony off? Because that’s exactly what you were doing!”
“He’s being a jerk.”
Blair gives her a level stare. “He’s not the one being a jerk, Natalie.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you know.”
“He was twenty minutes late and then all he has to show us is some dumb computer program. I’m sorry, but my life is not dictated by a computer algorithm.” She crosses her arms.
Blair sighs. “Look, I’m not crazy about it either, but Graham says Anthony’s not going to back down on this. Besides, I think he is trying to help us.”
“I doubt it. All he cares about is cold facts. Didn’t you hear him? He’s Mr. Logic. And what’s up with you and Graham, anyway?”
“Just dinner.”
Natalie raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, so I kind of like him.” She smiles a little. “He’s cute, don’t you think?”
“He’s cute, but he’s the enemy’s lawyer.”
Blair tilts her head. “You need to chill. Can you believe Anthony is a professor? Guess I was wrong about him.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I said he was no genius. He teaches astrophysics, so he’s obviously smart.”
Natalie stands up. “I don’t like him. And I don’t care how smart he is. Some people are smart, but dumb as donuts.” She looks at the clock and realizes she needs to get busy with those white chocolate truffle cakes. “Although,” Natalie bites the corner of her lip, “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but he’s right about one thing. With a name like La Dolce Vita, we should have some Italian pastr
ies on our menu.”
“Have you been dieting?”
It’s been a week since their meeting with Anthony, and Natalie is sitting at one of the counters in the back kitchen studying the notebook where she keeps all her master recipes, trying to find a good Italian dessert. She puts her book down and looks up at Carlos. Over the years people have sometimes asked her if she’s losing weight, but it’s always polite small talk she wishes they wouldn’t bother with.
“I think I might have lost a little,” she admits.
Carlos assesses her with a quick sweep from head to toe. “I can really see it, especially in your face. Plus your clothes look baggy.”
“Really?” Natalie sits up a little straighter and smiles shyly. “I’ve been sort of dieting for a while now, though I didn’t think it was noticeable to anyone.”
“Oh, it’s totally noticeable.” He puts the empty cake plate he was carrying down near the large sink and walks back over to her. “Well, I guess this explains all those non-fat lattes.”
“You’re the first person to say anything. This is the longest I’ve ever stuck with a diet.” She leans toward him confidingly. “It’s been really tough. I’m worried I’m going to slip up, especially at work.”
He lets out a sigh. “Tell me about it. Working in a bakery with all these carbs is complete torture.”
Natalie is surprised. “But obviously you’re not dieting. You’re already thin.”
“I’m not dieting per se, not to ‘lose weight,’” he makes quotation marks in the air with his fingers, “but I’ve been trying to eat better. Ryan is a personal trainer and he’s got me watching my carb intake. And let me tell you, he’s a slave driver.”
“Your boyfriend is a personal trainer?”
Carlos nods. “You didn’t know that? I brought him to that picnic a few months ago.”
Natalie vaguely remembers Ryan. A short, handsome young guy, who, as she recalls, did look remarkably fit.
“Of course, we’d just started dating then. He hadn’t started putting me through my paces yet.” Carlos laughs. “Now he’s got me eating healthy and working out every day. I barely recognize myself!”
“I’ve been exercising, but all I’ve managed so far is the elliptical. I’m just not sure what else to do.”
“You should give Ryan a call. I’m sure he can help you figure it out. He works at Lou’s Gym downtown, but goes to clients’ homes as well.”
“Really?” Natalie had never imagined herself with a personal trainer before. It sounded like something reserved for celebrities or fitness fanatics. “Would I have to go to a gym?”
“Not if you don’t want to. Hang on a second, I’m going to get you one of his cards.” Carlos leaves for a moment and comes back with a business card. “He’s really good and has all sorts of different clients.”
“You said he’s a slave driver, though?” Natalie takes the card and stares at it as if it might start ordering her to do push-ups this instant.
“Honey, he’s tough, but he’ll whip you into shape, too.”
“I don’t know.”
Carlos shrugs. “No pressure. It’s just something to consider. Especially if you get bored with the elliptical.”
She nods. The truth is she’s very bored with the elliptical and wants to learn how to use the other equipment in that fancy home gym. “Let me think about it. There’s been a lot of stuff to deal with lately.”
“That reminds me. How did that meeting go with Espresso Breve last week? Everyone’s buzzing over it. We can’t believe he owns this building and he’s a professor.”
“Believe me, Blair and I were just as surprised.”
“Is it true he won’t let you guys expand? He always seemed pretty nice.”
Natalie scoffs. “Don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s totally full of himself.”
“Really?”
The kitchen door swishes open behind them and Carlos looks up in surprise.
“He’s got this stupid computer program that defies all common sense. It’s unbelievable.”
“Uh.” There’s an odd expression on Carlos’s face. He starts to shake his head at Natalie then motions with his eyes above her.
“I hate to say it, but he’s basically an asshole.”
Carlos is shaking his head vigorously now and Natalie turns to see who’s behind her.
Adrenaline spikes through her.
Anthony is standing there, and he doesn’t look happy. His brown eyes meet hers. “Who’s an asshole?”
“It’s nobody,” Carlos says quickly. “Just one of the delivery drivers.”
Natalie sees that Anthony isn’t listening to Carlos, though, and is staring directly at her. She knows she should take the lifeline Carlos has thrown her and tell him it’s the delivery driver.
“It’s you,” she says, unable to stop herself. “You’re the asshole.”
The kitchen grows quiet behind them as Natalie’s words carry.
Anthony’s jaw tightens. “Is that so?”
She knows she’s being wildly unprofessional. There’s a strange recklessness coursing through her. It’s as if an obnoxious alien has taken over her body.
“Why mince words?” she says. “You know where I stand.”
His eyes remain locked on hers, and she’s surprised to discover that he’s difficult to read. Unlike their last meeting where he was obviously angry, today he’s keeping it close to the vest. It fleetingly occurs to her that he’d be a good card player.
“Is this how you talk to all your customers?” he asks mildly. “I can’t believe you have any left.”
Her cheeks grow warm. “You’re not a customer.”
“Aren’t I? I’ve spent plenty of money here, and as I recall, I bought a cake recently.”
“Our customers don’t want to put us out of business.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m saving you from making a huge financial mistake.”
Natalie shakes her head. “No, you’re standing in the way of our success. Don’t kid yourself about that.”
“I never kid myself. And I’m never wrong.”
Natalie rolls her eyes at his arrogance. Though she’s surprised at the steel she senses from him. She glances over at Carlos, who is watching quietly. The whole kitchen appears to be listening in stunned silence, and Natalie gets an uneasy glimmer of the mortification she’s going to feel when she reflects on this conversation later.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asks Anthony.
“I came by to get the numbers from you regarding the jobs you’ve turned down this week.”
“You don’t need to come into the kitchen for that.”
“I was looking for you. This seemed like a reasonable place to check.”
Embarrassed, Natalie realizes he’s right and stands up. “I started a notebook. It’s by the cash register.”
“You know, it doesn’t have to be this way between us,” Anthony says when they’re standing out front. He watches as Natalie searches for her notebook. He still can’t believe she called him an asshole right to his face. Could she be any more unpleasant? He’s dealt with tantrums from students and obnoxious colleagues, but few of them have ever insulted him so directly.
For a moment her eyes meet his and he sees a flicker of uncertainty, but then she looks down again.
“Here’s the notebook,” she says, holding it out.
He takes it from her and flips to the page with the list. It appears they’ve turned down two small catering jobs, though it doesn’t look like much money was lost. If these are the kind of numbers she plans to convince him with, she’s in for an unpleasant surprise.
“And there’s no way you could have completed these jobs?” he asks.
Natalie gives him another one of her scathing looks. “Of course not. Do you think we turn down business on purpose?” She seems to think of something else for a second, but then continues to make her case, going on about their lack of ovens.
Anthony s
tudies her as she talks. Her hair is pulled back into another severe ponytail with only a few gray hairs managing to spring free. It suits her stubborn personality.
He sneaks a peek at her body when she looks away. Like last time, she’s wearing dark shapeless clothes, except today she has on a white apron dusted with flour and chocolate. It’s hard to tell for sure, but he suspects she’s curvaceous.
“Do you have everything you need?” Natalie asks, pursing her lips.
His attention returns to her face. And then there’s that mouth. It still amazes him that an overbearing woman could have such a sensual mouth. He wonders what it would take to make it say nice things instead of calling him names. For a crazy instant, he imagines kissing Natalie. That would certainly put her mouth to good use. What would she do if he tried? Slap him or call him an asshole again. She’d acted so nervous around him last time that he’d figured she was attracted to him, but now he isn’t so sure.
“So, have you decided to add any Italian pastries to the menu?” he asks.
Natalie doesn’t reply, and he senses she might be embarrassed.
“Because I thought it was a good suggestion,” he continues. “You guys should at least sell Tiramisu. It’s one of my favorite desserts.”
Her blue eyes widen, but she still doesn’t say anything.
“My family is Italian, so I’d be happy to offer ideas. My biggest advice is to lay off all the sugar. Italian desserts aren’t as overly sweet as your American ones.” He adds that last part mostly to irritate her, and he can see it worked. She looks pissed again. Good. That’s what she gets for calling him an asshole.
“You know, you’re the only one who’s ever complained about my cake being too sweet.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“And since Americans like sweet desserts, those are the kind I bake. I have to create recipes that sell, though if you continue to box us in it won’t matter.”
He opens his mouth to start lecturing again on how his program works, but then notices the dark circles under her eyes and worry lines on her forehead, and decides to back off. She looks tired and stressed. He recognizes all the signs of someone who’s overworked, having seen plenty of it in his own family growing up.
Year of Living Blonde (Sweet Life in Seattle, Book 1) Page 9
