by MK Meredith
“So you’re familiar with the hotel business as well? That’s perfect. You can see then why it’s so important I hit the ground running.”
His brows pulled up, but he didn’t answer.
“How long are you in town?” She rocked back and forth on her heels. Every second that ticked by was another lost.
“Around a month.”
“What will it take to extend a helping hand? I’ll make it worth your while.”
He stepped toward her. “I like the way you negotiate.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head with a quiet chuckle. “Our accountant will make it worth your while.” Enough of this. “Look, you’re in town, you know the people, and I need a translator in order to make the impossible possible, not today, not tomorrow, but yesterday.” The offer was ballsy and the man hardly looked like he needed a second job, but he’d already shown how effective he’d be. Taking note of the lobby, she shuddered to think of the state of the guest rooms, and the impossibility of her situation tightened the muscles in her neck.
“I’d heard the American was in town, but no one had mentioned how straightforward she was. I like it.” His mouth definitely curved into a devilish grin now.
“I don’t have the time to scour Ferrara for a translator, so if you’re open to it, love…” She held her breath. If he agreed, she could at least get started with her new plan since it seemed the director had jumped ship.
He tapped his fingers on the registration counter. “Fine. You’ll need all the help you can get. Not everyone’s enamored with the idea of an American hotel in Ferrara. It’s a tight-knit, loyal community.”
Swift relief rushed through her, and she squeezed her nails into her palms to keep from performing a double fist-pump. The quicker Ferrara got to know her, the sooner they’d be open to helping her, and the better she’d be able to launch this grand opening before hightailing it back to her palm trees and salty breezes.
Returning his grin with one of her own, she nodded.
He froze, staring at her intently, but she stepped back to the counter and grabbed her phone. She opened a memo app, then looked up at him, waiting.
Something flashed in his eyes, but he casually walked to her side, stealing her air. She tilted her head, finger poised over the screen keyboard. “What’s your schedule like? I’ll plan my needs around you.”
He licked his lips, then chuckled. “Music to my ears: efficient, right to the point. I can respect that.”
God. That accent. Her toes curled in her Louboutins.
Glancing past her to the open space of the lobby, he seemed to consider his options, then focused back on her. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you the times.”
She tried to resist the way her knees wanted to buckle in relief. “Thank you.”
He winked. “Let’s wait and see if you still feel that way in a few days. I never promised to be easy to work with.”
But the warmth in his eyes made promises she wanted him to keep, and she sucked in a breath. Get a hold of yourself, woman.
“If we’re going to work together, you have to get me up to speed. We need to sit down and talk.” He tapped the top of her phone.
She bit her lip. Of course he was right. And being a local businessman, he could probably answer many of the questions she had already listed in her memo app. “Agreed. Do you know where we can find some good biscotti?”
Chapter Two
Oh, he knew where she could get a good biscotti all right. In fact, there was nothing he wanted more than to show this tall, lithe American exactly how good. But Drago pushed down his baser instincts. Now was not the time. First he needed to set his plan of running his new friend out of the country in motion, or at the very least making sure she changed the grand opening date of Huntington House. His family’s inn depended on it.
It was a shame, though. A no-expectations, no-commitment night under the sheets, on top of the sheets, and maybe on the floor with her was exactly what he needed to blow off some steam.
“I know the best place,” he answered Chase. “Follow me. Though, since you’re in Ferrara, you should really try panpepato.”
“Pan pep what?” Her gloss-slicked lips pulled up in a grin. He liked the shape of her mouth with its upturned corners. It looked like she was always smiling a bit.
“It’s a dense chocolate and almond cake. Nothing like it.” His nonna made the best, and the inn was known as the place to get it.
Tucking her small bag under her arm, she moaned. “Sounds divine. I have a huge sweet tooth. So, yes to the biscotti and the pan pep—”
“Panpepato.”
“I’ll let you say it.” She winked.
He liked her playful side as much as he disdained her spoiled side. She was forward and confident and not afraid to say what she wanted. Must be easy to have that kind of bravery, since she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, instead of having to scrape and fight her way to the top.
They made their way toward the front of the hotel, and he called out a few instructions to Chase’s staff. Finish setting up the lobby, but cooperation ends there—unless he was with her. A few nods and grunts confirmed his instructions. She wouldn’t succeed with her grand opening, but he’d make sure it looked like she could with him by her side.
He and Chase slipped through the large entrance doors to the sidewalk outside.
She turned to him, and her short black hair glinted in the sunlight. She reminded him of the American cartoon character Betty Boop, but tall and willowy. Her large eyes assessed him, then with a slight dip of her chin she said, “I do appreciate your help. And I’ll take you up on all the desserts.”
He shifted from one foot to the other as his slacks lost the roominess the relaxed fit had promised.
She lifted a hand. “But since I basically bullied you into helping me, it’s my treat.”
Oh no, the treat was all his. He was on a mission to save his grandmother’s inn, and he couldn’t do that if someone else was helping Chase. This “job” had been his plan from the beginning. The best way to work undercover was to be invited, and the best place to hide was in the open. But he’d let her think she was in control. For now.
“If you insist.”
She nodded. “I do, love.” Moving through the front doors, she asked, “Do you have work today?”
If she only knew. “All the time.” I’m working right now. “But I make my schedule. The nice thing about being the boss.” He winked.
She grinned. “Of course you’re the boss. Now, then. You promised me the best biscotti in town and chocolate cake like nothing I’ve ever had. That’s a tall order.”
Those damn eyes. He wanted to see that expression from over her shoulder again and again, but on her hands and knees and with a lot fewer people around. “I always deliver.”
What the hell was it with her? Americans didn’t normally do it for him. His taste ran more along the lines of a delightful Swedish woman, or maybe a Parisian woman, any time, any place, and preferably on a beach.
That was his goal, anyway. If all went as planned, he’d be prepared to start cutting back hours and moving forward with travel by the end of the year. His portfolio was bursting at the seams as it was, now that he owned over seventy-five companies. He wasn’t known as the Dragon in the European corporate world for nothing. He devoured small companies like dragons did fair maidens. No guilt, no shame; simply business. And he was the best. At thirty-three, he’d been to more countries than most people would visit in a lifetime, and he owned more companies than most people owned socks. Going slow and taking it easy was not his way of doing things.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he stepped up beside her. “This way.”
As they walked along the brick road, he breathed in his Ferrara. He loved this town, the community, the lifestyle. People really knew how to live here. His city was full of Renaissance charm, and he never stopped discovering something new around every corner. It made
his time away more difficult than he’d imagined, but necessary nonetheless.
Chase texted furiously on her cell, and he couldn’t help the frown that pulled at his mouth. She was missing his home city. Typical. The town where she was intent on setting up shop wasn’t really important to her at all. Her nose was so far into her phone, he was surprised she hadn’t walked into a bicyclist already.
This was the exact reason he couldn’t let an American hotel’s opening affect his grandmother’s inn. Americans didn’t believe in tradition, didn’t respect history, and certainly wouldn’t do justice to the needs of Ferrara.
Not to mention Huntington House would put his grandmother out of business entirely. Casa di Nonna had to open this month or not at all—and everything had been coming along just fine until he’d heard the Americans had planned their opening for the exact same week. Overshadowed by Huntington House’s publicity and fanfare, his grandmother’s reopening would barely be visible, and she couldn’t afford to sit around until her client base noticed her again.
The inn had been in the family so far back they’d lost count. A better grandson would have seen the problems a long time ago, but he’d been too busy with his own life to notice his grandmother’s. And when he’d tried to simply give her the money to keep the inn afloat, she’d refused. “It’s your business sense and time I want, Drago,” she’d insisted. “Nothing else.”
And time was the one thing he couldn’t give her, at least not more than a few weeks a year. His wanderlust and his job wouldn’t allow it.
He cracked his neck from one side to the other. This was his chance to make up for all of that. “Here we are.”
Chase snapped her head up and dropped her phone in her bag. “What? Ohhhh.” She breathed the word, and he liked the sound of it. “This is beautiful.”
His favorite coffee and pastry bar graced the corner of a quaint little intersection boasting old-world cobblestones and lush hanging plants. The sign hung above a door that stayed open during mild weather and beckoned travelers inside during the cold.
As they made their way to a tall bistro table in the sitting area outside, she closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma of fresh-baked pastries. He pulled out a chair and held it while she slid up on the seat. “I’ll go put in our order.”
She nodded and pulled her phone out again. “Grazie.”
“Chase.”
Glancing up, she paused.
“Ferrara is a beautiful town. You should really see it someday.”
Her brow furrowed, then she shook her head, replying to an email or text in a flurry of her long, delicate fingers.
He supposed he should be grateful. Her dismissal of his city made his job easier.
Inside the bar, he ordered two house specialty biscotti and two caffès from the tall counter.
“Signor De Luca, how nice to see you again.”
Drago kissed the weathered cheeks of Signora Accosi. The tendrils escaping her thick salt-and-pepper braid brushed his cheek while a hint of cinnamon tickled his nose.
“You remind me so much of your father,” she said, then cast her eyes down to her hands and bit her lip as if she’d been caught swearing at the cathedral.
Everyone had always told him how much like his father he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the man, though he received a call every few months. The only real memory he did have was of his father walking away from him with a briefcase in his hand and a fedora atop his head. Which was why Drago didn’t do commitment. He’d never do that to a kid, and with his genetics, the only way to ensure that was to steer clear of having a family entirely.
He held her by the shoulders kindly. “I have a favor to ask you. I shouldn’t, but it’s for Nonna.”
The bakery owner’s eyes twinkled. “Anything for you, my boy.”
“I’m determined to make sure Huntington House can’t open on schedule, so Casa di Nonna has enough time to get back on its feet again.”
“Good,” Signora Accosi said. “What can I do?”
He pointed out the crosshatched windows. “See the beautiful woman sitting outside? She’s the American setting up the new hotel. We need to make sure she doesn’t want to stay, so they’ll have to reschedule the opening.”
“She looks like a sweet woman.”
Drago nodded, taking in the tanned, smooth skin of Chase’s calf as she casually swung her crossed leg back and forth. “I think she may be. But we don’t have room for sweet, not when Nonna’s inn is at stake.”
“I don’t know, my boy. What does Nonna think?”
“She doesn’t know because she’d never agree. But this is the only way to save the inn, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”
Signora Accosi’s sweet smile still held a punch, and he kissed her forehead. The town would do anything for his grandmother. He was counting on it. Grabbing the order, he headed back out to Chase.
One business at a time, he’d make sure Ferrara ran her out all on its own.
As he approached the table, Chase threw him a brilliant smile, white teeth in a perfect row framed by luscious lips. Her skin reminded him of caffè con panna but with extra cream. His fingers itched to touch it, to see if it felt as soft as it looked.
Goddamn. He cleared his throat.
“Biscotti now, panpepato later. You are about to die and go to heaven.” He placed the sweet, crisp biscotti in front of her along with her caffè, then took the chair across from her.
“The best in Ferrara?” she asked.
His grin stretched across his face slowly. “Second-best.”
“You promised the best.”
Every muscle in his body tightened at the tone in her voice. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure if she was aware of the breathy note when she spoke sometimes, but damn if every fiber in his body wasn’t.
“Soon.” And he meant it. He might need to run her off and cancel her grand opening, but if she was up for it, he’d be damned if he didn’t have a taste first.
Lifting the cookie from her plate, she wrapped her lips around one end and sank her teeth through with a crunch. “Oh. My. God.” Chewing, she rolled her eyes back in a fake O face, then washed the cookie down with a tentative sip of her caffè.
He sipped from his own cup, settled by the strong bite of espresso. “As your translator, I’ll be able to show you all the best places in Ferrara. You’re going to need the information for your concierge. Huntington House plans to cater to a high-end clientele, right?”
She nodded. “Research has already been done.”
“Research. Due diligence. Sure. I guarantee your research techs missed half of the best places.”
Narrowing her eyes, she sat straighter in her chair. “Love, I’ll have you know we have the best people in the business. Huntingtons don’t cut corners.”
He mirrored her position. “Maybe not, but if they aren’t from Ferrara, they don’t know. And tell me, do you call everyone ‘love’?”
One quick dip of her chin confirmed his statement. “A habit I formed living abroad and haven’t been able to break, so I quit trying. Did you feel important for a second?” She winked to soften the blow.
He laughed. “You can make me feel more important by letting me help you with the opening beyond translating.” Which would make his job a hell of a lot easier.
“I appreciate the offer, but I learned a long time ago to depend on myself. This is my baby. I just need to make sure I understand what it needs.” Something flickered in her gaze, but she blinked a few times and it was gone.
God, she was a tough one. But that was fine. He loved nothing more than a good challenge. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not with more than my pastry selection and knowing your native language.” She threw him a look, then continued. “That can’t surprise you. I doubt you trust many people yourself.”
She was no dummy, which left his pants tightening again. Che cazzo.
“I don’t trust anyone.” And he meant it. Save for his gran
dmother, he couldn’t name one person in his life who actually followed through on their promises.
“Well, Signor De Luca, that’s one thing we have in common, then. So you can understand why I’ll go through my business for any other help I need. I have limited time to get a lot of work done.”
“And you’re used to getting your way.”
She quirked a perfectly shaped black brow. “And you aren’t?”
“I’ve worked my fingers to the bone and earned that expectation.”
Every muscle in her body stilled, and she stared at him. “Oh. I see. And I haven’t, is that it?”
He shoved his frustration down with the last bite of his cookie. Baiting her wouldn’t help at all. His knee ached to bounce and his fingers itched to tap, but experience taught him to control his body’s reactions. Slowly releasing a breath, he simply gave her a smile. People who knew the Dragon didn’t tell him no, but she didn’t know him. So he’d forgive her transgression. File it as on par for the American-heiress stereotype.
It didn’t matter anyway. Business was business, and he always won. In truth, he’d have been disappointed if she’d handed anything over to him. He couldn’t respect anyone that ignorant.
She carefully brushed a few crumbs from her dress and stood. “Speaking of time, we’ll have to cut this conversation short. Thank you.” She looked around the outdoor space, her glance bouncing from bicycle to bicycle, then to the hanging plants along the windows of the bakery. “I will put this place on the list.”
Adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, he watched her march down the main street of Ferrara toward the Huntington House. Her heart-shaped ass popped from side to side with each step. Cazzo.
Most women clamored for the chance to have him around. Chase’s refusal to take him further into the fold made his mission that much more fun.
Once she ventured out on her own, Ferrara wouldn’t seem like such a friendly place. She’d be so thankful to have someone who carried as much sway as he did with the locals that she’d reconsider.
