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“Yeah, but … her father is an ambassador. Can’t Daddy take care of her roadblocks?”
Dane’s head dipped and he kissed the tip of my nose. “Baby, this is no big deal. And besides … wouldn’t you want me to help someone in need, if I could?”
Another technicality he had me on. He’d given Kyle a job, after all. Had written a huge check to get my mother off my back—and save my dad’s reputation. I could only imagine the other countless times Dane had come to someone’s aid. Hell, he’d rescued me from numerous threats that went well beyond my mother.
“I concede,” I said on a yawn.
“When it comes to Mikaela,” he whispered against my hair, “you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Bax.” He kissed the top of my head.
I grinned. And fell asleep while snuggled alongside him.
* * *
Unfortunately, my contentment wasn’t meant to be.
As I double-checked invoices to sign off on before sending them to Accounting for payment processing, there was a knock on my opened office door.
“Season’s Greetings!”
The very distinct, sensual Italian accent made my head snap up from my laptop.
There, in my doorway, stood Heidi Klum.
Well, Mikaela Madsen, but whatever. Same, same.
She smiled brightly, all pearly white teeth and just so striking from head to toe, I could see why every man in her life fell so easily at her feet, eager to do her bidding. I’d probably fall, too, if I possessed the right equipment and the little head/big head mentality.
“Hey,” I said as I closed the top of my computer and gestured with my fingers for her to enter. “Nice to see you.”
“It’s been much too long, darling.”
I was thrown by the accent—Mikaela was American. I surmised all the time she spent with Fabrizio in his village outside of Florence lent to her international mystique. Still, the accent seemed so out of place. Yet chances were good I was the only one who noticed.
She crossed the vast space I occupied on the fourth floor of 10,000 Lux and set an elegant, elaborately designed gift bag on my desk.
I stood and came around to meet her for the double-cheek air-kiss thing she liked to do.
She studied me a moment, then said, “You look fabulous. Did you do something different with your hair?”
“Just pulled it up,” I commented. It was all meticulously styled, every strand in its proper place. While Mikaela’s was the perfectly mussed high ponytail only some women could achieve. That back-combed look that made it seem as though she’d merely rolled out of bed and wrapped a few strands of long hair around the thick mass to contain it, but which likely took a good hour to get just the right tousled look. A style I could never pull off.
“So, you’re back from Italy,” I mused, hoping my tone sounded neutral. Not bitchy. Not too nice. Just … indifferent. Like hers. “I hear you’re good to go on the shop in Old Town.”
“Everything’s being delivered in the next few weeks to set up, and our first shipment is due any day after that. Every variety of gourmet olives, meats and cheeses, oils, and the absolute best-of-the-best Italian wines—all imported from Brizio’s village. Italy on Your Doorstep … That’s our name.”
“Very nice.”
“I brought you samples,” she said, indicating the bag with one slender, beautifully manicured hand. “I’m dying to get a review from you. Dane says you’re a fantastic cook.”
I gave her a curious look. Had he told her about us? Did she know we were married?
I mentally shook my head. No. He’d been specific about the small circle we kept our secret within. I couldn’t believe he’d spill to Mikaela without telling me.
So I merely played along.
“I’ve been learning from the chefs downstairs.”
“Smart girl. They’re very talented. And you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.…” She gave me a coy look, then added, “You do know Dane’s favorite dish is duck with glazed carrots and zucchini salad, right? I picked up a great recipe in Paris while I was at Le Cordon Bleu for a time.”
