Chapter 7
Antonio
Cuss wordsgenerally aren’t my thing…but, holyfuck,she’shot.
Maybe this is a bad idea. Clearly, I’m far more suited to have an Ugly Betty type of a PersonalAssistant.
Not GoddessDaniella.
“What?” she says as if she can read mythoughts.
But, thank God, shecan’t.
“What…what?” I respond—a dismal attempt at being coy. I look away for a minute and push the start button of my car, trying to appear un-captivated. Then my gaze gravitates right back towardher.
She fastens her seat belt and delicately parts her lips. “You had a strange expression on yourface.”
“I was merely waiting for you to fasten your seat belt,” I lie. “You know…safetyfirst.”
Seductive cat-shaped eyes glare at me. “Right.”
She smells of flowers, lavender, and butterscotch candy. The same bewitching scent I impulsively inhaled when she was standing next to me this morning on theMetro.
I’m starting to believe I just might be in some serious troublehere.
While cruising along Sunset Blvd, the atmosphere between the two of us is stoic. I’m sure, like me, Daniella’s paralyzed by her own thoughts of how this interview will turnout.
“Is this your car?” she asks, abruptly breaking thesilence.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t itbe?”
“Well, we did collide on the Metro thismorning.”
“Yeah…” I run my fingers through my hair. “That was based on abet.”
She shifts in her seat, now facing me with her arms folded. “A bet?” She lifts abrow.
I let out a subtle chuckle. “Yep. Something called wager-fest. My buddy and I do it every year. This year he bet me I would never ride the Metro. So I did. This morning. And of course, I won thewager.”
Daniella nods. “I see. So our bumping into each other, inthatmanner, was completelyfortuitous.”
“May not have happened any otherway.”
“Maybe so. But it would have been far more worthwhile if you weren’t eating thatdonut.”
“Or if you weren’t texting and walking. They issue tickets for that sort of thing now.” Ilaugh.
She giggles and it’s the first time I’ve seen her flash asmile.
And it’s utterlybreathtaking.
As soon as I pull to a stop in front ofFornaio, a red-vested valet rushes to open the passenger door. He helps Daniella out, and she stands alongside the curb, twirling a strand of her long ebony locks around her finger as she waits for me to joinher.
She looks nervous now, which selfishly puts me a little more atease.
“I’ve never been here,” she reports in a stern voice, now fidgeting with a largeenvelope.
“What’s inthere?”
