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“Casa Cassi serves excellent food in an inviting environment. The only three- or four-star reviews on most of the review sites are related to the service, and we’ll change that over the next two weeks…”
Gina speaks with confidence, addressing the staff with authority and respect. The room is silent, everyone hanging on her every word. Including me.
Well, that’s not true; her words are just grazing my attention. It’s her grace, the melody of her voice, the charisma that captivates me, despite my efforts to ignore her.
She is wearing a light blue summer dress, one of those baggy styles that fits all sizes. Well, damn it, it fits her perfectly, hiding her curves in the most tantalizing way. As her words hum in the background of my mind, I imagine discovering what’s under the flowy fabric, bending her over the table and… fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I snap back and listen to her explaining the customer experience, from the moment someone calls in to reserve their table to the moment they leave. Why am I turned on by her poise and knowledge?
Her hair is in a short ponytail, exposing her long neck, the skin of her nape begging to be kissed. I snicker at the vision because I’m sure she would respond with her knee in my crotch. She whips around and all eyes follow. She raises her eyebrows. Fuck, I undermined her with my reaction to my own fucking depraved fantasies.
“I need to go debone the fish for lunch. Please continue.” I beeline for the kitchen with a raging erection behind my apron.
Gina recovers her composure and picks up her speech before the door swooshes closed. I dash to my office and lean against the wall. Closing my eyes, I swear under my breath.
Silently being an idiot in my head is one thing, but doing it in public is getting out of hand. I can’t hold it together any longer. Avoiding her while stealing glimpses of her is making me certifiably crazy.
I breathe heavily as if I’ve just finished a marathon. The woman is going to be the death of me. Why do I find her attractive when I know very well there is no chance there could ever be anything between us?
Or could there be? Fuck.
This is so fucked up. Why did she even take the job? Clearly she’s stronger than me. Unaffected by memories, perfectly mature and past all the shit that went down all those years ago. Why is she even in New York this long? Last I heard she was happily married.
And here I am stupidly reacting to her essence, her presence, her allure. It’s come to this—I’m hiding in my office while she commands my staff. Skulking in my own kitchen because the rhythm of her speech and her beautiful fucking nape give me a boner.
The clicking of heels alerts me. I try to regulate my breathing and regain my usual, grumpy composure.
I turn to block the doorway and face Mila’s arched eyebrow. I’m not sure if she’s trying to scare me or portray annoyance because on that sweet face her effort is kind of funny. I don’t get to react, anyway.
“I don’t know what the fucking deal is between the two of you—” she accuses.
Yeah, neither do I, frankly.
“Just do your job, okay?” I retort, knowing that won’t help alleviate her suspicion or concern. And judging by the semi in my pants, she should be concerned.
“The job aside, I’m Gina’s best friend, and I don’t take it lightly when someone fucks around with my friends. The tension between the two of you is so palpable it may just burn the house down.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I know exactly what she is talking about and I dislike it as much as Mila does, if not more. I turn around and hunt through the drawers of my desk, opening and closing them with unnecessary force. I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I don’t know what to do with my hands.
“Listen, Mr. Cassinetti, I need this job, and Gina took pity on me and agreed to work with you. You have a great restaurant here and we can bring it to the next level. But for that to happen, the two of you need to put aside whatever it is hanging over you.” With every word, she swings her petite index finger as if it was a sword. “Or here is an idea, perhaps the two of you should fuck and get it over with.”
Now that’s an idea. While I can’t believe she’s just told me that, I kind of think she is onto something. Or my dick thinks that. Fuck.
I whip around and pull a card from the top drawer.
“Let’s keep this professional, Ms. Ward, but if your colleague andfriendneeds to relieve tension, this might be therapeutic.” I hand her the card.
“If someone needs therapy, it’s you,” she spits, but then it looks like she realizes she crossed a professional line. I don’t mind, but it’s kind of entertaining to watch her fight internally to recover.
Her face rearranges in quick succession, showing many emotions before she settles—perhaps under the influence of my words—on her professional, kind demeanor.
She grabs the card and glances at it, frowning. When she meets my eyes again, there is something else I detect. Suspicion? Epiphany? Well, she could ask her friend to elaborate.
She studies me for a moment and then turns on her heels and clicks away, but before she turns the corner, she looks back.
“As long as the two of you fight this, neither of you will win or feel better.”
ChapterNine
