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Glancing at my watch, I let out a huff. “I need to get back to my desk.”
“Whoever the guy is, he’s lucky. I hope he realizes that.”
I hope so too. My history with men hasn’t been stellar.
“You’ll let me know how the date goes?” she asks with a grin. “I don’t need all the behind-the-closed-door details unless you feel like sharing.”
Laughing, I start toward the corridor that leads back to my desk. “It’s going to be our first date. Nothing will be going on behind closed doors, Bronwyn.”
“It might,” she calls after me. “You wouldn’t be buying new lingerie if there wasn’t a chance for some action.”
Smiling, I tug on one of the sleeves of the cream colored cardigan I’m wearing. I’m buying lingerie because I want to. Lowell will see it when I’m ready. I haven’t decided when that will be yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.
Chapter 6
Dominick
I watch Arietta take a seat at her desk. I should thank her for the work she did to get the food delivered to the conference room this morning, but I won’t.
She was assigned a task that she completed.
I pay her to do that. Any accolades above and beyond that are unnecessary.
Judd considers his executive assistant, Bronwyn, a friend. Daniel views his right hand man, Paul, the same way.
Crossing the line between business and friendship muddies the waters. I can count my friends on one hand, two of them being the men I own this firm with. I’m satisfied with that.
Arietta glances in my direction. “Do you need something, sir?”
I’ve never needed anything beyond food, sleep, and a roof over my head. I’ve wanted things. I’ve craved experiences, but need is a beast I’ve been able to steer clear of.
“I take it that your fellow employees enjoyed the food?”
She smiles. Why the hell do I want to smile back at her?
I’ve seen this woman smile at me hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Something is different about it now. Or perhaps it’s my reaction to it. If that’s the case, I have to ignore the desire to respond to her smile with one of my own.
“They loved it.” She claps her hands together. “I trust that you were satisfied as well?”
My mind twists those words into something that has absolutely nothing to do with food because that’s not how I find satisfaction.
I drop my gaze to the purple eyesore she’s wearing that she considers a dress and the pale cardigan that covers it.
“It was fine, Arietta.”
When I glance back at her face, the smile is still there. It’s less vibrant, more restrained, but it’s just as genuine as it always is.
“Is there anything pressing you need me to do?”
“Reach out to Mrs. Blanchard,” I direct. “In the event she answers, invite her to tea at the Waldorf the day after tomorrow. The afternoon works best for me.”
Her eyes stay glued to my face. “You have back-to-back meetings booked the day after tomorrow.”
“All of which can be rescheduled to accommodate Mrs. Blanchard.”
Arietta knows about the woman I’m trying to snare in my net. Since her financial advisor is retiring, Clarice is on the hunt for another. I’m going to land that account, regardless of what it takes.
“You’re determined to get her to sign with Modica, aren’t you, Mr. Calvetti?”
Surely, that question is rhetorical, so I don’t answer it. Instead, I watch as Arietta tugs on the sleeve of the cardigan that is swallowing her small frame.
“She will,” she announces with a nod of her chin. “I’m confident she will, sir. “
“I’m the only man for the job. The sooner Clarice realizes that, the better.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” she offers.
“Call her, Arietta.” Pushing back from my desk, I move to stand. “Call and arrange that meeting. Or at the very least, leave a message asking Clarice to contact me.”
I feel her gaze pinned to me as I breeze past her desk on my way to the elevator.
“You’re leaving?”
I turn back at the sound of her voice. “I’m meeting someone for lunch. Don’t interrupt me. If anything pressing comes up, call Mr. Corning.”
Without batting an eyelash, she smiles again. “Of course, sir. I hope you enjoy your lunch.”
I won’t.
***
When I enter the crowded diner, I spot the man I’m meeting right away. His left knee is bouncing up and down as he sits in an old wooden chair. His right hand is tapping an uneven beat on the circular table he’s next to.
Anyone watching him might think he’s anxious to eat his lunch, or a nicotine craving is hitting him hard.
I know better.
Taking a deep breath, I approach him.
Once he catches sight of me, he rises to his feet. His outstretched arms are an invitation I’d prefer to decline, but persistence is part of his DNA. If I don’t accept the embrace, he’ll push it until I do. I learned that when I was a kid and he’d come over on Saturday nights with his wife to play cards with my folks. His friendship with my dad reaches back to their grade school days.
