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“Was he here yesterday?” There’s a pang of something in my stomach at the thought of Gianni coming into the shop on my day off.
“Yes.” Lewis doesn’t attempt to hide the contempt in his voice as we hover outside the door. “Piero’s wife went into labor, but there were complications.”
“Complications?”
“I don’t know the details, but I think she had to have a C-section.”
“Is she all right?”
“I think so, but she’s still in the hospital. She had a girl.”
“Oh, that’s sweet.”
“Unfortunately, it means Piero must take some time off, so we have his lordship overseeing things in the meantime.” The flash of his teeth is enough to show his annoyance.
“He was his cheerful self then?” I ask. Lewis tuts.
“I can handle his bad mood. It’s him poking his nose into the way I run the shop that I can’t deal with. Piero is happy with the way I manage things and knows I’m capable of doing the job, but this guy seems to think otherwise.”
“He’s very controlling,” I add, remembering how he admitted he hates to delegate.
“You can add paranoid to that as well.” I nearly miss this as Lewis speaks without moving his lips.
“Paranoid?” I pause. My hand is already pushing against the glass, and the door creaks in its frame. Lewis shakes his head, signaling that whatever he’d said didn’t matter as we step into the shop.
I’m glad Lewis is with me, as hopefully, it will take the edge off the awkwardness. But as we make our way into the shop, I suddenly feel clumsy and out of place, like I’ve been caught in the men’s restroom. But I shouldn’t have been so worried. Gianni raises his head without even glancing my way, his eyes straight on Lewis.
“Lewis, I need a word.”
I almost feel the rush of air expelled from Lewis as he stops. I glance behind me, hoping to catch Gianni’s eye, but he’s already looked away. My blood is simmering. He can’t even look at me.
I walk into the office, breathing an enormous sigh as I head to my locker. I fumble with the key, struggling to work the tiny mechanism as I try to steady my hands. How on earth will I function if Gianni is in the shop? I haven’t even made eye contact, but the sheer thought of him is enough to set my mind racing. I’m furious with his lack of communication. I may as well have been invisible when I arrived. But I’m also acutely aware of the shape of his body beneath his suit, his cologne in the air, and the ferocity that seems to ooze from him. How can one man push so many emotional buttons? I prise the locker door open, hanging onto the flimsy metal as I contemplate how to keep my head together.
The slam of the office door makes me jump, and for a second, I think it is Gianni. I think he’s here, and he has closed the door to grab me, throw me up against the desk, and do to me what he should have done the other night. But I’m greeted with a furious Lewis.
His face is red, and his shoulders tense as he drops his bag behind the desk. He glares at Gianni’s smart, compact leather briefcase on the small desk. Lewis’s eyes seem to bore into it, reminding me of a superhero with laser vision.
“If I survive another day of that guy, it will be a miracle,” he mutters, stuffing something into his pockets before returning to the shop.
I look back at my locker, wondering what transpired between the pair to make Lewis so angry. As I pull my spare apron from the back of my locker, trying to untangle the long pieces of material, the door closes again, but softly this time. I pull the apron over my head, wrapping the ties around my waist as I turn, expecting to see the enraged Lewis again, ready this time to explain. However, Gianni stands before me, his hand still resting on the door handle, his shoulders rising with each breath he takes.
I gulp, not sure if I’m supposed to say anything. Even if I am, I don’t think I can muster anything coherent.
“Chloe, I need to talk to you.”
I finish tying my apron but then quickly wish I hadn’t, as I now have to think of something to do with my hands other than visualize them moving over his chest, running through his hair, and stroking the side of his face. I don’t want to put them on my hips. I don’t want to appear aggressive or annoyed.
“About?” It comes out harsher than I intended. Suddenly, I’m annoyed at him for having stayed away for so long. He waits a moment, studying me before he speaks.
“There are a few things I’m unhappy with in the shop.” His voice is distant, too efficient, too precise. It is nothing like the voice he’d used on Friday night. Then, he’d been relaxed, cheerful almost. And there’d been the moment outside the bathroom. I recall his hand upon my face and the softness of his touch, and I long for his hand to return. I’m irritated because he ignored me when I arrived and now he wants to talk shop.
“Well, that makes a change.” I’m trying to deflect my emotions with sarcasm which is probably not the best tactic where Gianni is concerned.
“I’m not in the mood for games, Chloe.” He’s so still, so professional. I want to slap him.
“Who says I’m playing?” I snarl. He glares at me. Anger brews inside me, and I can’t help myself. I have days of pent-up emotions, confusion, and bewilderment, and now he’s here all suited up and managerial.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s exasperated, and for some reason, I’m glad. Any reaction is better than none.
