“Give it up, Elliot,” Michaela whispered. “Stop trying to get a rise out of him.”
“A rise is exactly what I was hoping for. Party pooper,” Elliot grumbled, not bothering to hide his sly grin.
Michaela left in search of Lisa. When she passed by the reception desk, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of “the succulent lamb chop” sitting in the desk armchair, hunched over, with Francine massaging his broad shoulders.
“Paolo? What are you doing here?” Michaela asked, not thrilled to see Francine’s hands all over him. The expression on the receptionist’s face was positively dreamy.
“Maki! I was just asking for you.” Paolo peered at her from his bent head position. His hair fell forward, shading his face in ebony layers.
Michaela regarded him dubiously. “While you were getting a massage?”
“Poor Paolo has a stiff neck. I was helping him get the kinks out.”
“Looks like your hidden talents are wasted at the front desk,” Michaela observed dryly.
Francine didn’t respond. She just kept digging her hands into his shoulders, eliciting contented groans from Paolo.
“Yes, right there, Francie,” he said. “Thatta girl. That’s the spot.”
Michaela couldn’t believe that after all the commotion this morning about his sister going into labor, Chef Casanova found the time to flirt with “Francie” and be massaged too!
“How is Claudia? Why aren’t you at the hospital with her?” Michaela asked, giving him a pointed glance.
“It was false labor. She wasn’t even dilated. That’s why I came looking for you. We can meet tonight,” he said, sounding quite pleased with himself. He closed his eyes as Francine continued to work on him. “Yes, right there, Francie.”
Francine smiled smugly. “Okay, gotcha. I’ll concentrate there. Just tell me how hard and for how long.”
Michaela didn’t care for the way the two of them were enjoying the impromptu massage, oblivious to how inappropriate they looked. At this point, she didn’t feel like meeting with Paolo, but she reminded herself of her greater goal—winning Miami Spice.
“So, we’re back on for tonight then? No more unforeseen interruptions?” Michaela asked.
“I’m all yours,” Paolo said amiably.
“Good, then please be on time. We don’t have a minute to waste,” Michaela said, all business.
“Hey there. What’s going on?” Lisa called out, approaching them from the massage area. “Since when are you a masseuse, Francine?”
Francine’s hands dropped to her sides as she gave Lisa a sheepish grin. “Paolo’s neck is in bad shape and he’s in pain. I thought I’d ease it a bit until he could make an appointment with you.”
“Paolo, you deserve a proper massage. Why don’t you schedule one with me?” Lisa suggested with a friendly smile.
“I think I will. My neck is stiff and sore.” He groaned as he got up from the chair and joined them in front of the desk. “It’s been a crazy day. I’ll try to squeeze in some time for a massage soon.”
“Yes, please do. Francine, the phone’s ringing,” Lisa said.
Francine returned to her chair and answered the call.
“Thanks, Francie. It feels better already,” Paolo called out, his dimples deepening on either side of his sexy mouth.
When Paolo aimed his killer smile at Francine, her whole demeanor brightened and she ended the call fast. “Anytime, Paolo. Really…anytime at all!” She had the nerve to send him a seductive wink from beneath her lowered eyes.
“I was on my way to see you just now,” Michaela said to Lisa.
“Don’t worry, we can chat later,” Lisa replied, giving Michaela a private look. “I have a client arriving for her appointment now.”
“Okay, sure,” Michaela said.
“Bye, Paolo. I hope you feel better soon,” Lisa said before turning to leave. “In the meantime, alternating hot and cold compresses will help your neck. And you might want to take an anti-inflammatory like ibuprofen.”
“I will, thanks,” he said.
When Lisa left, Paolo took Michaela’s arm and led her away from the reception desk toward the glass doors at the entrance. “What time should I come back here?”
“Actually, I’d rather you come to my place…if you don’t mind.”
“¡Perfecto! I don’t mind at all.” He seemed to love the idea. Of course, he would. Paolo liked to keep everything on a personal level.
Just as Paolo leaned forward to kiss her good-bye, his iPhone buzzed and he answered it right away.
“Bernice! How are you?”
He looked heavenward with exaggerated patience. “Sí, sí, of course, my dear. Don’t worry. Your dinner party will be perfect. Remember, you have hired the magnificent chef,” he said, winking at Michaela.
Oh, brother, she had forgotten about his business card with “magnificent chef” under his name. Enough was enough; she needed to get back to the kitchen. Michaela waved at Paolo and turned to walk away, but he pulled her back.
“Don’t go yet,” he said, covering the mouthpiece so Bernice wouldn’t hear.
“I have to. The kids just got here for their lesson,” she said, waving at the fifth-graders as they walked in an orderly line, led by their teacher, the effervescent Miss Devereux. Ketsia Devereux, their young Haitian teacher, adored food. She was all smiles from the moment she arrived at the spa kitchen until she left with her little charges and a delicious meal to enjoy later.
Michaela walked toward the children and began greeting them. Just as she was about to usher them into the kitchen, Paolo ended the call with Bernice.
He ambled over to Michaela and kissed her on both cheeks. “Ciao, querida. See you tonight.”
Paolo’s comment was met by squeals and giggles from the children.
“Is that your boyfriend, Chef Willoughby?” asked Ruffi, the tallest and most outspoken.
“Mr. Santos is a colleague, not my boyfriend,” Michaela said.
“Aww, too bad,” was the collective response from some of the girls.
“Yeah, it is too bad. Maki wishes things could be different,” he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to say he also wished things could be different.
“You wish,” she called out as she watched him saunter away with a self-satisfied swagger.
Paolo turned once more and sent her a brazen wink.
Later that afternoon, Michaela and Lisa sat at the far end of the spa juice bar drinking mango peach smoothies.
“I swear I never get tired of mango and peach together. Talking about an interesting combination…how did everything go last night?” Lisa asked.
Michaela glanced at the server who was busy filling take-out orders for a group of teenage girls. “It was a disaster,” she said in a low voice. “Paolo stood me up at the restaurant and then later showed up at my apartment. He seemed to think nothing of changing our plans at the last minute.”
“How inconsiderate,” Lisa said between sips of her smoothie. “What happened next? I hope you gave him hell.”
“I tried. But once he apologized we began to get along until Tiffany stopped by.” Michaela set her glass on the counter and grimaced. “Unfortunately, I totally ruined the meal.”
Lisa’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way. You’re a perfectionist! How did that happen?”
“I burnt it.” Michaela shook her head. “I don’t want to go into details, but it was awful.”
“I can imagine. How did Paolo react?”
“He was really nice about it. He even cleaned up the mess in the kitchen.”
“So he does have some good qualities.”
“Yes, I’m seeing a side of him that’s thoughtful and considerate. He’s also fun to be with.” Michaela made a wry face. “That is, when he’s
on good behavior and not teasing me or being unreliable. He has interesting layers to his personality. Even though he’s cocky about his talents, he listens and is understanding. He’s also very caring toward his sister.”
Lisa studied Michaela with a bemused smile. “Sounds like Paolo has won you over.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Michaela felt a moment of panic. Lisa was right, Paolo was winning her over, but she didn’t want to admit it—to Lisa or herself, and definitely not to Paolo. “Let’s not forget he has the reputation of a major player. There’s no doubt he is hot, but I already had my heart broken by another player. I can’t afford to let down my guard and trust him.”
“Stay strong then. That sexy Argentine is hard to ignore, much less turn down.”
“Jeff had the same magnetic appeal at first. I’d be a fool to open myself up for that kind of hurt again.”
Lisa looked bewildered. “In the player department, no one can compete with your ex. Do you really think Paolo is like Jeff?”
Michaela thought about it. “No, he’s not like Jeff. Paolo isn’t heartless. He was very sweet when he found out about my weight problem as a kid. He didn’t tell me to ‘get over it’, like Jeff used to. Come to think of it, Paolo is nothing like Jeff.”
“It sounds like Paolo is into you. I know you two are competing, but maybe it’s worth giving him a chance.”
“He’s hard to resist,” Michaela admitted with a sigh. “And he does act as though he’s attracted to me. But I don’t know if it’s sincere. Lisa, what if he’s trying to sidetrack me from winning the competition? I can’t allow myself to trust him.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Wear a chastity belt, I guess,” Michaela quipped.
Lisa made a mock sad face. “Aw, too bad. Just think of the fun you’ll be missing.”
Chapter Nine
Michaela leaned against the kitchen counter of her apartment and closed her eyes as she listened to the opening notes of her favorite Yo-Yo Ma CD. His rendition of Bach’s “Unaccompanied Cello Suites” was the perfect panacea to bolster her for the evening ahead. She hadn’t been able to put her conversation with Lisa out of her mind. As much as she hated to admit it, Paolo was getting to her. No banter and no alcohol for her tonight, she vowed. She would have to stick to business.
Michaela glanced at her wristwatch again. In ten minutes, Paolo would be arriving—if he showed up on time. Everything was set. Even Baby had been fed and was happily asleep in his cage on the patio. She’d gotten a lot done today, considering the disoriented state she had woken up in. Tonight’s meeting would go just fine, she told herself, as she went over the menu in her mind. The strawberry soup was chilling in two crystal bowls topped with a dark green mint sprig. Baby artichokes nestled beside tiny polenta cakes waiting to be drizzled with her warm vinaigrette. Before the main course, they would cleanse their palates with lemon-Frangelico sorbet decorated with a tiny slice of pear. Then she would serve the aromatic lavender-crusted roasted rack of lamb accompanied by wild mushroom risotto, infused with a touch of cognac. She was getting hungry just thinking about it.
She peeked into the refrigerator and felt proud when she gazed at the glossy white, raspberry-filled meringue torte decorated with violets and fresh raspberries—the crowning touch to her meal.
The doorbell rang and Michaela glanced at her watch. Five minutes before seven. Surprised by Paolo’s promptness, she rushed toward the door as she patted the sides of her hair held half up in a clip. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Paolo’s broad shoulders filled her doorway. He looked casual, yet nicely dressed, in a white linen shirt and tan pants.
“Hi,” Michaela said, enjoying the feel of his strong hands as they closed over her bare shoulders and drew her in for a kiss on each cheek.
His admiring gaze swept over her sleeveless silk tank tucked into a flowing maxi skirt. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you.” Might as well look good, it gave her an edge of confidence. Who was she kidding? She’d purposely worn the outfit because she wanted him to think she was pretty.
“Purple suits you, princesa,” he teased.
“Why thank you,” she murmured. “Come in.”
He followed her into the living room and handed her the bag he was carrying. “I brought you a little something.”
Paolo didn’t seem to believe in arriving empty-handed. She had to admit it was a nice quality.
“You shouldn’t have.” She glanced inside. “Champagne and figs?”
“Sí, Calimyrna figs. They’re shipped to the restaurant from California.”
“Yum.” The combination of champagne and figs conjured all kinds of sensual images. Don’t go there, she told herself. That was exactly what he had planned. She could bet her best knives on it.
“Shall we have some champagne then?” she asked, moving away from his exhilarating scent of soap and subtle citrus cologne.
“Absolutely. It’s already chilled.”
She carried the bag into the kitchen and took out the bottle and figs. Turning toward the cabinet behind her, she nearly collided with Paolo’s solid chest. “Oh, excuse me. I need to get the champagne flutes.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, opening the cabinet door and setting two flutes on the counter. His warm smile made her stomach flutter. “After last night, I know my way around your kitchen.” With a deft movement, he uncorked the bottle and it let out a loud pop. Sparkling bubbles of pale yellow nectar fizzled merrily as Paolo filled the long flutes.
The champagne looked too enticing to pass up. “I’ll have just one glass,” she said.
He handed her a glass with a surprised look. “Why just one?”
“We have work to do.”
“We can still enjoy it,” he said, raising his glass in a toast. “Salud, dinero y amor. Health, money and love,” he translated.
Michaela clinked her glass with his and took a long sip. When he lifted his glass to his lips, she noticed he was moving with stiffness in his shoulders and neck. “Are you still in pain?”
“Yeah, a bit,” he admitted, wincing when he attempted to shrug his shoulders. “Crazy day at the restaurant. I took some ibuprofen but it barely helped.”
“Oh, too bad. When I injured my shoulder last year playing tennis, I took a painkiller that worked like a dream.” Truth was, when she had found out about Jeff’s cheating ways, she had gone to the tennis courts and banged so many balls against the wall pretending it was Jeff, she’d ended up with a painful, pulled ligament. “I think I still have some in my cabinet. Do you want to take one?”
“Sure, thanks,” he said. “I’m sore from my neck down this shoulder. It feels like someone’s stabbing me there.”
“Sounds awful. Let’s eat now and then you can take the pill. It’s best taken on a full stomach.”
Paolo placed his hand on Michaela’s waist and squeezed softly. “Aren’t you going to finish your champagne?” he asked with a disarming smile. His gaze slid over her with a languor that left her breathless. Tiny tingles teased the flesh beneath her skin where his hand lay.
She cleared her throat and looked away from his hypnotic eyes. “No, thanks. No more for me.”
“C’mon, Maki. Live a little.”
Paolo’s mocking tone prompted her to take an extra large sip of champagne. She almost choked when the tiny bubbles burst in her mouth and tickled her nostrils. She erupted into a coughing fit.
“You okay?” Paolo patted her back with his large hand.
“I’m fine,” she choked out between sputtering coughs. “Drank too quickly…went down the wrong way.”
The feel of Paolo’s warm palm lingering on her back made her pulse race. Michaela rested her hand on her chest as she cleared her throat. Paolo’s gaze dipped to the neckline of her blouse where her hand lay. He stopped patting her back and began a slow rub instea
d.
“You can stop now. I’m not coughing anymore,” she managed in spite of her pounding heart.
Paolo followed her into the dining room and gave a nod of appreciation toward the table. “Looks great, Maki. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me.”
“No trouble. I love everything to look nice,” she said, pleased he had noticed. She wished it didn’t matter so much that she wanted to impress Paolo. “Presentation makes everything taste better.”
“True,” Paolo agreed amiably.
The dining room table was draped in a luxurious, muted gold Florentine tablecloth and accentuated with coordinating napkins bordered in dusky rose and bronze. Michaela’s fine ivory china sat atop antique bronze chargers. Sleek crystal goblets and a glowing hurricane lamp lent elegance to the room.
For the next half-hour, she sat across from Paolo as they ate and discussed her meal. She basked in his many compliments. He took obvious pleasure from the food and its presentation, asking questions about the ingredients and preparation. His easy-going manner made her relax and enjoy his company.
“I’ll serve dessert and espresso in the living room and then we can discuss the show,” she said.
“Okay.” He winced when he got up with his plate in hand. He was moving stiffly and she suddenly remembered she hadn’t given him the painkiller. “Leave everything there, Paolo. I’ll clear it. Why don’t you go to the couch and I’ll bring you the painkiller now?”
“Good idea.”
Michaela went to her bathroom cabinet and just as she was reaching inside to take out two prescription bottles and check the labels, the doorbell rang. She grabbed both medicine bottles and headed toward Paolo in the living room.
“Don’t get up. Stay there. The pain pill is one of these bottles,” Michaela said, handing him the little plastic bottles before hurrying to answer the door.
“Thanks. Which one?”
“Not sure. Read the labels first and take only one with a full glass of water.”
Michaela peeked through the peephole. Oh no, Aunt Magda! Normally, Michaela would have invited her in, but not today with Paolo in her living room. Immobilized, Michaela stared into the peephole. Stylishly dressed in a royal blue fitted dress, Aunt Magda fidgeted from one high-heeled pump to the other and fanned herself with her hand.
Grill Me, Baby Page 9
