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“What’s so important about this dress?”
“Melanie needs it for this thing she’s got next week.”
“What thing?”
“Some party or other. Some big investor is plugging our losses, and she’s going to impress him with new ideas and a tit-flashing dress.”
“You’re losing money?”
“A ton of it. I’d be surprised if we’re still in business at Christmas unless we make some real changes.”
“Changes?”
I let out a groan. “Not that you care, but Melanie’s so stuck in her ways. This year sales have plummeted because she’s unwilling to take risks. She just keeps sticking with safe designers, and trust me, safe equals dull. The readers are all getting turned off and looking elsewhere for the innovation we’re not bringing to them.”
“So what you need,” he begins when I finally stop for breath, “is for the magazine to take on board some new ideas.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You got any?”
“Only a file this thick in my desk drawer.” I hold two fingers an inch apart. “But Melanie never listens to any of us little people. It’s her way or the highway, and the highway doesn’t pay anywhere near as well as putting up with her crap until I have enough saved to go my own way.”
3
Bex
* * *
The car comes to a halt. “We’re here,” he says as his door is opened for him a moment later. He steps out, holding a hand toward me. “Shall we?”
Fuck me, he looks good in the golden glow of morning light. I let him help me. His hand feels warm, the fingers softer than I was expecting. His fist is huge, swamping my own as I climb out. I wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of that hand. But to feel it brushing lightly on the back of my neck?
He glances down at my feet. “Let’s hope they don’t throw us out when they see your sneakers.”
“Will you knock it off about the shoes?”
“I swear on my soul that from now on my tongue will be as tied as a pair of laces.”
“You’re asking for a boot up the ass, aren’t you?”
I get a grin from him. “Heel,” he says, clicking his fingers and pointing at his feet. He walks into the restaurant while I resist laughing.
I follow inside to find him greeting Antonio Garibaldi himself.
I stand back for a moment, looking at the two of them. Antonio, like everyone else he meets, defers to him. Why is that? The most famous chef in Rome, and he’s bowing to Hunter. Not just once but twice. “So good to see you, Mr. Lombardi.”
“Call me Hunter, please.”
It can’t just be because of how handsome he is. I mean, sure, he looks good but this amount of respect? It’s like he’s royalty or something.
“Hunter,” Antonio shakes his hand over and over again. “How have you been?”
“Good, thank you. How’s little Kirsty?”
“Out of hospital and getting used to the wheelchair. Thank your father for everything, won’t you?”
“I’m hoping you’ve got a private booth available this morning. I’ve brought a guest with me.”
