The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo

by Michelle Douglas

  None of her positions, however, had carried the title of restaurant manager. ‘I see you recently completed a small business course?’

  ‘My long-term goal is to open my own café.’

  ‘That’s ambitious.’

  ‘I think one should dream big, don’t you?’

  He did.

  ‘What do you think you can bring to the advertised role, Neen?’

  Her eyes danced again. ‘Besides honesty, grit, a sense of humour and integrity, you mean?’

  She was right. He opened his mouth. With a superhuman effort he snapped it shut again. He still had one more applicant to interview. And he wasn’t given to impulsive gestures or decisions.

  She sobered. ‘I’ll work hard, Mr D’Angelo. That’s what I have to offer you.’

  The way she said it made it sound like the most valuable thing in the world. And it occurred to him that perhaps it was.

  ‘I’ve been acting manager on numerous occasions at most of the establishments I’ve worked for, but it has never been part of my job description. I want the experience your job will provide me. In return for that I will work hard. And I won’t let you down.’

  He believed her. There was just one final question. No, two. ‘Why are you currently unemployed?’

  She hesitated. ‘There are personal reasons.’

  He leaned back and waited to see if she would tell him.

  She stared at him as if assessing him, as if weighing whether he needed to know the truth and if she could trust him with it. Eventually she lifted one shoulder. ‘Earlier in the year I was left an inheritance. I planned to put the dream of my own café into action at once.’ She smoothed her hair back behind her ears. ‘The will, however, is being contested.’

  She didn’t need to tell him what a blow that had been. He could see that all too clearly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She lifted her chin. Her cool blue eyes were veiled. ‘These things happen. Until it’s sorted out it seemed wise to find another job.’

  She obviously wasn’t the kind to sit back and wring her hands. He had the distinct impression that, like him, in times of stress she liked to keep busy.

  He picked up his pen and tapped it against her file. ‘One final question. Would you be prepared to sign a two-year contract?’

  ‘No.’ She spoke without hesitation.

  The weight slammed back to his shoulders. The day went dank and grey.

  ‘I would be prepared to sign a twelve-month contract.’

  It was something, he supposed. But it wasn’t enough. It was a shame, because on every other point Neen Cuthbert had been perfect.

  * * *

  The next morning Rico sifted through his shortlist of three applicants. He rang the nominated referees for his first two choices.

  He discounted the most experienced after speaking to the man’s former employer. ‘Talented pastry chef with five years’ worth of managerial experience’ did not make up for ‘hot-headed and temperamental’. Hot-headed and temperamental were the last things this project needed. He needed a manager who would create a nurturing environment.

  Nurturing and no-nonsense. Which immediately brought Neen Cuthbert to mind.

  He thrust her out again and checked the references for his other shortlisted candidate. They were impeccable.

  On impulse he seized Neen’s file and rang her referees too. Their testimonials were glowing. If he didn’t give her the job they’d take her back in an instant. ‘I want the experience.’

  Rico chewed the end of his pen. He paced the length of his office. This job was too important for him not to get it right. He strode back to his desk and set Neen and the other applicant’s résumés side by side. Neen’s rival had a fraction more experience, but...

  Why on earth was he dithering? Helen Clarkson was prepared to sign a two-year contract. Commitment!

  He swept the applications up and shoved them back into his folder, then strode out into the outer office. ‘Lisle, can you phone Helen Clarkson and offer her the position? If she accepts she’ll—’

  ‘I just got off the phone to Helen. She’s accepted a position in Launceston.’

  She’d what? What about all her talk of commitment?

  Lies. All lies!

  Neen hadn’t lied.

  ‘Fine!’ he snapped. ‘Offer the position to Neen Cuthbert. Tell her she’ll need to come in and sign the contract one day this week.’

  ‘Roger, Rico.’

  He slammed back into his office. He had a mountain of paperwork to get through and grant acquittals to write. Not to mention grant applications. Securing funding for his projects was an ongoing challenge and not something with which he could afford to fall behind.

  An hour later he threw down his pen. Too much of this bureaucratic red tape always set his teeth on edge. He strode to the door and flung it open. ‘Did you get onto Neen Cuthbert?’ he barked at Lisle.

  ‘She was delighted to accept.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘She lives in Bellerive, doesn’t she?’

  Lisle flicked through her files. He could have told her not to bother—he’d practically memorised Neen’s file down to the last detail.

  Lisle held up the file. ‘Yes, she does.’

  He took it. ‘I have a lunch appointment with the manager of Eastlands Shopping Centre.’ He was trying to convince the man—so far unsuccessfully—to sponsor a programme to provide traineeships for unemployed youth in the area. ‘While I’m on that side of the harbour I’ll drop the contract off to Ms Cuthbert.’

  Lisle handed him a copy of the contract without a word. She’d grown accustomed to his bull-in-a-china-shop approach long ago. ‘You know Harley’s job is going to be advertised next week, don’t you? You should think about applying, Rico.’

  ‘I’m more use on the ground, Lisle.’

  ‘You’re wasting your talents.’

  ‘I’m happy where I am.’

  He was making a difference. A real difference. And happiness didn’t come into it.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Monty, give it a rest,’ Neen muttered under her breath. She reached over and ramped up the volume on the radio in the hope of drowning out the dog’s great booming bark.

  She’d get complaints from the neighbours if this kept up, but...

  Her hand tightened around the red pepper she’d started to dice. She just needed half an hour to get the worst of tonight’s dinner prepared and then she’d let him back inside. Without her full attention he’d wreck her apartment. Knowing she was inside, however, he was obviously intent on barking...and barking...and barking until she did.

  She knew he was lonely. She knew he missed Audra. She knew he simply craved some company. Poor dumb dog. If he could be trusted just to sit at her feet and chew a bone...

  She glanced around at her chewed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life furniture and shook her head. She opened the kitchen window instead. It looked out over the courtyard. ‘Hey, Monty!’

  He came charging up. Barking, barking, barking.

  ‘If you keep up with that kind of nonsense,’ she chided, ‘how will you ever hear what I have to say?’

  He quietened for a moment. The radio blared. She dragged in a breath. For good or ill, she had a way with dogs. ‘What we need to work out is the kind of home that would be best for you. Do you have any thoughts on the subject? I’m thinking no small children, as you’ll only knock them down, and—’

  He started barking his head off again. She continued to slice the onions, cabbage and red peppers for this evening’s stir-fry.

  ‘What I was thinking was a lovely big property where you could run about to your heart’s content, and...’

  He didn’t stop barking. He no longer looked at her, just barked and ba
rked. Her chopping slowed. She glanced at him again. In fact, he seemed to be barking at a point behind her and—

  Her nape prickled. In the reflection of the window, something moved.

  Whirling around, she held the knife out in front of her, every muscle tensed and readied.

  A broad male figure loomed in the kitchen doorway. Adrenaline flooded her. Her heart clawed up into her throat. She gripped the knife harder.

  The figure raised his hands very slowly in a gesture of non-aggression and then he backed all the way down the hallway and out of her house until he stood on the other side of her screen door. Only then did her pounding brain recognise who it was that stood on the other side. Rico D’Angelo. Her new boss.

  Her heart didn’t stop hammering. Her hands didn’t unclench.

  Rico raised a hand and knocked. She didn’t hear it. Undoing her fist enough to reach out, she turned off the radio. ‘Quiet, Monty!’

  Amazingly, the animal obeyed her.

  ‘Neen, I’m sorry I frightened you.’

  She suddenly realised she was still holding the knife. With burning eyes she threw it into the sink. She gripped her hands together at her waist and tried to stop their shaking, tried to swallow the lump lodged in her throat. The lump dislodged itself to settle in her chest.

  ‘Mr D’Angelo.’ The shaking wouldn’t stop. ‘I...uh...come in.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I just wanted to drop this off.’ He held up a sheaf of papers.

  Monty promptly started barking again and her head throbbed in time with each booming sound. God, how to explain? She pressed her shaking fingers to her temples.

  ‘How about a walk? I take it that’s Monty, there? It sounds as if he could do with one.’

  Gradually, little by little, her heart rate started to slow. ‘I’m sure you’re busy.’

  ‘I dropped by so we could discuss a few things and to get your signature on the contract.’

  The normality of their conversation after her over-the-top reaction finally returned her pulse to normal.

  ‘I know I should’ve rung first, but I had an appointment in the area so I thought I’d drop by on the off-chance you’d be home.’

  She needed to get out of the house. She needed to find a sense of equilibrium again. ‘If you’re sure you have the time?’

  ‘I have the time.’

  ‘I’ll just get Monty’s leash.’

  She clipped the lead to Monty’s collar, led him through the house and locked her front door. She averted her gaze from the carport opposite and her car, with its four slashed tyres. She hoped her enigmatic employer hadn’t noticed them. She bit back an oath, her hand tightening on Monty’s lead. Mr D’Angelo must think he’d employed an utter fruitcake!

  ‘I’m pleased you accepted the position of café manager, Neen. I have great hopes for the café and I know you’re the perfect person to head this up.’

  His smile was too kind, too compassionate...too knowing. His tone too well modulated. She bit back a sigh. ‘You saw the tyres, didn’t you?’

  Monty chose that moment to try and yank her arm out of its socket. Without a word, Rico reached across and took the lead from her. He smelled of cold air and peppermint.

  ‘It happened today?’

  She folded her arms and nodded. ‘Which begs the question, why was I so careless as to leave the front door unlocked, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Monty?’

  She bit back a sigh. ‘It was all I could do to stay on my feet when I returned from the supermarket. Monty is always so...so delighted to see me.’ She could have sworn that she’d locked the screen door, but she mustn’t have. So foolish.

  She closed her eyes and hauled in a breath. Ever since she’d received the news that Grandad’s will was being contested, her head had been in turmoil. Not to mention her heart. Her concentration was shot to pieces. It had to stop! She had to start paying attention again. She had to.

  ‘Have you reported the incident to the police?’

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed and risked glancing up at him. ‘Mr D’Angelo, I’m very sorry for...um...’ Her stomach churned. What if she had stabbed him? ‘I’m a bit jumpy at the moment.’

  She made him stop when they reached the end of the block.

  ‘Monty, sit.’ The dog stared up at her with his big dopey eyes. She made a hand signal. ‘Sit.’ He continued to stare at her. She folded her arms and looked away. Eventually he sat. ‘Good boy.’

  She fondled his ears and then nodded to Rico. They set off across the road and then turned right towards the park and Bellerive beach.

  ‘He’s improving,’ she murmured, more for something to say than anything else.

  ‘Look, Neen, I’m the one who should apologise. I shouldn’t have come in like I did and I’m sorry I startled you.’

  His eyes were dark, almost black. She didn’t doubt his sincerity for a moment.

  ‘I knocked and knocked, and I could see you at the end of the hallway. I called out...’

  ‘But between Monty and the radio—’ and her own too-busy thoughts ‘—I couldn’t hear you. It’s not your fault, Mr D’Angelo. You don’t need to apologise.’

  ‘Rico,’ he ordered.

  The name suited him in one respect, with his dark Italian good looks, but Rico sounded breezy and carefree. She wasn’t sure she’d ever meet anyone less carefree in her life. He was a man on a mission—an important mission. And, like most do-gooding types with a quest to save the world, he carried that world around on his shoulders.

  They might be broad shoulders, but nobody could carry around that kind of weight forever.

  He suddenly stopped and swung to her. Monty strained on the lead. It could pull her completely off balance, but it barely seemed to register with Rico.

  ‘Look, I couldn’t help noticing that yours were the only tyres slashed. Is something up, Neen? Is there something I ought to know?’

  A weight pressed down on her chest when she realised she’d have to tell him—in the interests of his staff’s safety. It grew heavier when it occurred to her that in their interests he might in fact retract his job offer.

  For a moment she could hardly speak. The sun that glinted off the expanse of water in front of them dimmed. Finally she gestured to the remaining distance between them and the beach. ‘Let’s go down there and let Monty tire himself out.’

  When they reached the sand Rico’s hand hovered uncertainly on the lead’s catch. ‘Are you sure he won’t run away?’

  No, but... ‘He’ll stay on the beach,’ she promised. She’d learned that much.

  Without further ado he released Monty and the giant dog charged helter-skelter straight into the water, spraying it in all directions.

  Rico shook his head. ‘You’re going to have sand everywhere when you get home.’

  ‘Sand is something I can vacuum up. And it’s preferable to him chewing the furniture. An hour of this and he’ll be a relative lamb for the rest of the afternoon.’

  He turned to her, hands on hips. She shrugged. There didn’t seem much point in delaying the inevitable conversation.

  ‘The slashed tyres aren’t an isolated incident. The police are aware of the situation but there’s not much they can do.’ She pulled in a breath. ‘Four months ago I broke up with a man who, it appears, can’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘And he’s persecuting you? Threatening you?’

  She lifted one shoulder. ‘I have no proof that today’s tyres are his handiwork.’ But she knew in her gut it was. ‘I’ve taken a restraining order out on him.’

  And she still couldn’t believe she’d left her front door unlocked!

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘NEEN?’

  Rico touched her arm and Neen started. He immedia
tely backed up, his eyes darkening. She wanted to reach out and tell him it wasn’t him, but...

  But what? Was she going to let Chris turn her into a timid mouse? Was she going to let his behaviour rule her life?

  She leaned across and clasped Rico’s arm. ‘I’m sorry. I was a million miles away.’

  Beneath the crisp cotton of his business shirt, his arm was firm and warm, vibrant, and her fingers were curiously reluctant to release him. For a few precious seconds the solid feel of him reminded her there was more in this world than her worries and troubles.

  And while she continued to focus so closely on her troubles she was missing out on a lot of those other things—on laughter and friendship and...and simply being young. She’d applied to manage Rico’s café hoping it would provide her with some much-needed distraction. Eventually Chris would get bored and give up. She crossed her fingers.

  In the meantime she would not sit around and spin her wheels while she waited to see what the outcome of Grandad’s will would be. She’d get experience, she’d become even better at her job and...

  She swallowed. And she wouldn’t focus on her sense of betrayal. That was what.

  Rico watched her through narrowed eyes that saw too much. She tried to find a smile. ‘It’s been a while since there’s been an...incident. I’ve obviously become careless.’ She frowned. ‘But...’

  ‘But?’

  In the spring sunshine his hair gleamed dark, but she could pick out the deep auburn highlights that threaded through it. While he’d shrugged out of his business jacket, his tie was still perfectly knotted at his throat. She shoved her hands into her pockets to stop herself from reaching out and loosening it.

  ‘Let’s walk for a bit,’ she suggested, because standing there staring at him seemed suddenly absurd. Besides, the sand was packed tight from the outgoing tide. He shouldn’t get too much sand in his beautifully polished leather shoes.

  He fell into step beside her. ‘What were you going to say?’

  She shrugged, trying to replay that moment when she’d returned home from the supermarket. She’d unlocked the door...Monty had barrelled into her...she’d pulled the screen door shut so he couldn’t escape and...