The Offer She Couldn't Refuse

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Why?” His voice, silky, had just a touch of seduction about it. Demi found it annoyingly unnerving. He racked up another strike against him. “Afraid it might tempt you to sell?”

  Which was exactly what he knew it would do. Extrapolated, it was the kind of offer that might tempt the pope to sell the Vatican.

  The new expression on her face was not the one he’d anticipated. The woman looked furious. He had never seen anger look quite as formidable. Or as appealing. Though it had absolutely no effect on the reason he was here, Jared suddenly realized what the clichéd phrase concerning a woman looking magnificent when she was angry actually meant. Because Demetria Tri populous looked magnificent. Her cheeks took on a flush and her eyes blazed with a hypnotic green fire. Even her hair seemed to swirl about her face like black, brooding storm clouds.

  Everything about her was alive and vital. And damn captivating.

  Because people were listening, she didn’t curse his soul and his damned offer to the lowest depths of hell. But she thought about it.

  As she wet her lips to cut the dryness, her eyes fired twin bolts aimed at his arrogance. “You couldn’t possibly offer me enough money to tempt me, mister—what the hell is your name, anyway?”

  He met her ire with calm, which provoked her even more. “Panetta. Jared Panetta.” As quick and as smoothly as a magician, Jared reached into his pocket to produce his business card and held it out to her. “My pager number’s on the card. You can reach me anytime.”

  Seeming to oblige him, Demi put out her hand. But just as the card touched her fingertips, she smugly withdrew it. The card fell to the floor, silently telling him what she thought of him, his card and his company.

  “I won’t be needing your name, your pager number or your card,” she told him flatly. Her mouth hardened into the most tempting line he’d ever seen. Jared had never felt so stirred by a challenge. “Or you.”

  The look in his eyes said “Want to bet?” as plainly as if he’d said the words out loud. Demi had the momentarily unsettling feeling that he was serving her notice. On more than one level. Demi squared her shoulders, as if to shrug the feeling off.

  Not about to be plowed under, Jared rose to the obvious challenge. He left the card lying on the floor. To scramble in front of her and pick it up would be a tactical error, a sign of weakness.

  Besides, if he left it there, she could pick it up later. He was betting she would. No one walked away from the kind of money that was sitting on the table, no matter how gorgeous they appeared when breathing fire.

  “I’d consider that statement very carefully if I were you.”

  She was so angry, she realized that she was almost shaking. With almost superhuman control, she composed herself. He’d probably think she was trembling because she was succumbing to him. That was undoubtedly how he ran his deals when it came to women. Oiling them to death with his charm and his looks. Well, he’d just met his Waterloo.

  “There is nothing to consider, Mr. Panetta. Aphrodite is not for sale. Not today, not tomorrow and not at any price.” And that, she thought, should be that.

  She made it sound as if she was talking about the goddess rather than a small restaurant that Winfield’s researcher said was bogged down in a temporary cash-flow problem. You’d think she would jump at the chance to get out, save her skin and make some money while she was at it. Obviously the woman didn’t have the brains she was born with. But, he thought almost involuntarily, she certainly seemed to have improved on everything else she was born with.

  He noticed that it was getting rather warm in the restaurant.

  Jared refocused on her words, and not the way her breasts rose and fell as she delivered them. “Ms. Tripopulous, everything has a price.”

  “That is your first mistake.” The fire in her eyes temporarily left, giving way to frost. She looked at him coolly, her eyes passing over him as if he were nothing more than an insignificant insect she was debating whether or not to waste her energy and time squashing. Never mind that he was a handsome insect who seemed to disturb her almost more than the situation warranted. “I’m sure it won’t be your last, but it’ll be the last mistake you’ll commit here.” With that, she made her exit.

  No retort came to his lips. He watched in silence as the kitchen door swung shut in his face.

  Unwilling to make the long walk to the front door with several sets of eyes watching him—and, more importantly, completely unwilling to be so cavalierly dismissed by a woman who barely came up to his shoulder—Jared pushed open the swinging door and followed her into the kitchen.

  Demi threw the plate with Jared’s half-consumed dessert on the nearest counter and swung around when she heard him enter. Couldn’t this guy take a hint?

  Hands on her hips, she barred his way any farther into the area. From the corner of her eye, she saw her cousin look up in surprise. “Nobody’s allowed back here except employees, Mr. Panetta.”

  “So hire me,” he retorted.

  Jared pulled up abruptly as his words echoed in his head. She was making him lose his composure. That had never happened before. Nobody ever got beneath his skin like that. Mentally, he took hold of himself. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything by relating to her on a personal level. She wasn’t a woman, she was an owner, someone to be cajoled, to be convinced. Any other thoughts floating through his head were superfluous and only got in the way.

  He banked them down.

  Demi’s eyes narrowed. “My brother’s a cop,” she warned.

  His easy manner once more in place, Jared shrugged. “Mine’s an assistant D.A. We should have a party sometime and have them meet.”

  She lifted her chin. If he didn’t know better, he would have said there was a look of smug triumph on her face. “Maybe someday, but you can meet mine now.” She gestured toward the door he’d just used. “He’s standing right behind you.”

  Guy stepped forward as Jared turned to look. Demi thought of a lone sheriff loping his way across Main Street in a grade B Western. Guy would have probably liked that image.

  Guy raised an eyebrow. “Trouble, Demi?”

  The smug look on her face deepened as she kept her eyes on Jared. “I don’t think so. Mr. Panetta was just leaving. Weren’t you, Mr. Panetta?”

  He had no intentions of going anywhere. “Jared,” he corrected.

  In his experience, people had more trouble saying no when they were on a first-name basis with a person. He flashed an easy smile at Guy. Maybe her brother had some influence over her. It was worth a shot. Besides, he made it a point to try to get along with people whenever possible. Life was easier that way.

  Jared put out his hand. “I’m with Winfield, Inc.”

  Guy shook his hand because, Demi’s opinion not withstanding, there was no reason to be rude. Yet.

  “So I gathered.” Guy nodded toward the dining room and the scene that had just played itself out on the other side of the door. “I also gathered that Demi told you she wasn’t interested in your company’s offer.”

  Jared was amicable, but firm. He’d been sent to negotiate and that was what he had yet to do. “How could she not be interested in something she hasn’t heard yet? The offer I have in my pocket supersedes the one she received in the letter.”

  The smile on Guy’s lips was full of pity. Who better than he knew that Jared was hitting his head against a stone wall?

  “Demi makes her mind up quickly. And then you’d have more luck single-handedly moving Mount Rushmore to Brooklyn than changing her mind once it’s made up. Demi’s a very stubborn woman.”

  She’d had just about enough of this conversation. Demi glared at both men. “Demi is also very much alive and shouldn’t be talked about as if she were dead or in some other room.”

  Yes, she certainly was very much alive, Jared thought, as appreciation for what he saw once more sneaked into his consciousness.

  Shifting gears, he looked into her eyes. The thought that he should anchor himself to something to keep
from falling in crossed his mind. Her eyes looked bottomless. As did her ire.

  “My point exactly. So, if you’ll just give me a few moments so that I can talk to you, I’m sure you’ll see that—”

  Demi shook her head and turned away from him. This had gone on long enough. She had a restaurant to run and an inventory waiting to be done. “Sorry, can’t spare it. I’m very busy.”

  He could be just as tenacious as she was. “Ms. Tripopulous—”

  With the same effortless movements that made him a good cop and quick on his feet, Guy placed himself between his sister and the man from the restaurant chain. There was no malice behind his smile, just quiet authority. “She said she’s busy.”

  Demi’s head jerked up. There he went, playing the big brother role to the hilt. Did Guy think she was helpless? With a sweep of her hand, she pushed him aside. “I can handle my own battles, thank you.”

  The next moment, the sound of the rear door opening and then closing again caught Demi’s attention. She hoped it was Lena, back from her break, and not who she was afraid it was.

  One glance over her shoulder told her the woman striding forward was not Lena.

  Sharp, pale green eyes quickly assessed the situation and parties involved. A smile lifted the corners of a mouth that was quick to soothe, quick to counsel.

  Her eyes on the stranger, Antoinette Tri populous pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. “Demetria, who is this man?”

  Demi and Guy’s mother took careful measure of the stranger in their midst. Liking what she saw, she swiftly tailored the man to the exact fit of a potential future son-in-law.

  Demi suppressed a groan. She knew that look in her mother’s eyes. It was there every time Antoinette saw a living, breathing male over the age of consent. Of the old school way of thinking, her mother didn’t think a woman was whole until she was part of a man. No amount of arguing could sway her from that antiquated position.

  Demi moved closer to Guy. “With her, I need help,” she whispered.

  The look he gave her said he’d think about it. Frowning, Demi went through the motions of a halfhearted introduction.

  “This is Mr. Panetta, Ma.” She gestured at him carelessly, as if he wasn’t worth the effort it took to speak. “He was just on his way out.” Demi looked at him pointedly. Eventually, he was going to have to take the blatant hint. “Weren’t you, Mr. Panetta?”

  “So soon?” Antoinette asked, disappointed.

  Any ally in a storm, Jared thought as he smiled broadly at the older woman. He moved to Antoinette’s side, taking her hand in his and shaking it warmly. “Actually, I can spare a few more minutes.”

  “Wonderful.” As if they were old friends, Antoinette slipped her arm through his. Making people feel at home had been second nature to her for over thirty years. “You will have to excuse Demetria. She gets a little testy after working so hard.” Antoinette shook her head sadly. “It is only eleven and she has already put in a full day’s work.”

  She inclined her head toward him as if to share a confidence. Jared noted that there was hardly any gray in her hair. Maybe she didn’t spend all that much time with her daughter.

  “Do you know that she’s been working at the restaurant since she was a little girl? Oh, not full-time, of course, but every moment she could spare, she was here, helping. Learning.” Antoinette beamed at her daughter, the source of both her pride and her despair. “A woman could not ask for a better daughter. And she cooks—” Rather than describe any particular dish, she kissed her fingers, then sprang them apart, as if she was releasing a font of exquisite tastes upon the world.

  Usually, this kind of thing was just embarrassing. This time Demi added annoying to the tally. Trying to hold on to her temper, she said very evenly, “Ma, you don’t have to try to sell me to him.”

  Antoinette looked shocked at the accusation. “Ah, I am not selling, Demetria, I am extolling your good points.” Eyes that saw far beneath the surface of things looked at Demi pointedly. “They sometimes get lost when you open your mouth.”

  Helpless with frustration, Demi turned to her brother. “Guy?”

  He figured he had let her twist in the wind long enough. “Ma.” Guy carefully extricated his mother’s arm from Jared’s. “Theo said he wanted to see you.”

  Antoinette cringed in resignation at her father-in-law’s name. “What does that old man want now?” With a shake of her head, she preceded Guy out the door.

  “I owe you,” Demi whispered to him as he began to follow his mother out.

  Guy grinned at her. “And don’t think I won’t collect.”

  Antoinette glanced over her shoulder before she disappeared into the dining room. “Don’t leave, Mr. Panetta, I will be right back.”

  Mercifully for Demi, the door swung shut. Then it was just her, the loathsome stranger and George. George didn’t count.

  Jared smiled at the closed door. “She’s quite a lady.”

  In a way, Mrs. Tripopulous reminded him of his own mother. There was that same warmth. He’d mistakenly believed that all women were born with it to a greater or lesser degree. It had taken Gloria to show him how deluded he’d been.

  The next moment, he was surprised when instead of commenting, Demi took hold of his arm and began leading him away from the door. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “We aren’t, but you are.” She was prepared to drag him if she had to, but he came willingly enough, an amused expression on his face she found particularly annoying. She had no doubt that he used his looks to his advantage. And to her disadvantage if she let him. “Out the back way. Before my mother gets back and posts our banns.”

  He would have found that amusing if it didn’t seem as if it contained more than a kernel of truth in it. Still, he did have a goal to accomplish. “But we haven’t talked yet.”

  She didn’t stop until she was at the rear entrance. Still holding on to his arm in case he had any thoughts about doubling back, she replied, “Yes, we have. And if you can’t remember the gist of our conversation, I can sum it up for you in one word.” Demi pursed her lips together. “No. If you want the long version, just play the word over and over again in your head. Eventually, you’ll get the idea.”

  He’d been told no by people before and always managed to break them down. This was just going to be a little trickier.

  “You could retire a rich woman. Do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

  “I am doing what I’ve always wanted to do. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m too young to retire.”

  Oh, he’d noticed all right. Noticed every damn thing about her, from the set of her mouth to the way her eyebrows rose and disappeared beneath her hair, bringing the dark bangs down until they were almost hanging into her eyes.

  Why was she being this pigheaded about even talking about the sale? Most women he knew would like nothing better than to sit back and enjoy a wheelbarrow full of money that was being dumped into their laps.

  But if it was work she was after, he could guarantee her that, as well.

  “If you wanted to continue working here, we could easily make arrangements to that effect. You could stay on and manage the restaurant for us under Winfield’s supervision for a very handsome salary.”

  Satisfied that he had neatly touched all the bases, he waited to hear her agree.

  Was this man an idiot, or was he deliberately doing this to annoy her? Didn’t he understand anything about family pride, about building something you could look back on with complete satisfaction? You couldn’t do that with a bank account unless you had coins for blood.

  The short laugh was filled with disdain. “Run my own place under Winfield’s say-so?” She’d sooner run the business stark naked. “I don’t think so. I don’t need his say-so. I’m running it just fine without him.”

  Jared played one of the aces he held in his hand. “You’re losing money.”

  He realized he’d made a tactical error as soon as he saw the expression on her face.
She looked as if she’d been slapped.

  How dare he throw that up to her? “Temporarily,” she snapped. “And I’ll thank you not to poke your nose into my business.” Indignant pride filled her voice. “Besides, we’ll come around again.”

  He indicated that he had no doubts about business picking up once more. But how long before that happened? And could she afford to wait?

  “Winfield is large enough to absorb the costs until you do.”

  She didn’t care if Winfield had pockets that could hide Jabba the Hutt. He wasn’t going to get her restaurant into them.

  “Very big of him,” Demi said coldly. “The answer is still no.”

  Although her stand was definitely a roadblock to him, Jared had to admit that he liked her style. Still, he had to point out the obvious. “Are you big enough to absorb the costs?”

  She thought of the note her father had taken out on the restaurant years ago. The one that was coming due all too soon. Somehow she’d find a way around it. And none of it concerned this man in her kitchen who was rooting for her to fail.

  “This interview is over, Mr. Panetta. Now, maybe you didn’t notice,” she said, her voice becoming overly sweet, “but Guy, like all policemen, is wearing a gun. The safety’s on right how, but, unlike the ownership of this restaurant, that’s not a permanent thing.” Rocking forward on her toes ever so slightly, she looked him right in the eye. “Did I also mention that I know how to fire a handgun?”

  He had no idea whether or not she was serious, but something told him not to push it. Especially when she continued.

  “Ever see a bullet wound, Mr. Panetta? It’s a lot more gruesome than what you see on TV.”

  The door on the opposite end of the kitchen swung opened. Guy poked his head in, looking around for them. George pointed toward the rear.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  Demi took the opportunity to open the rear door. “Everything’s fine, Guy. Mr. Panetta was just leaving.” She placed her hand squarely on his shoulder. This time she didn’t bother waiting until he took her hint.