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I can’t blame the reaction on his closeness, his all-consuming presence.You did well.His words shine a beacon of joy through my chest.
I’m so starved for recognition that the simple comment breaks me apart and fixes me again like a magic wand. I can roll my eyes at my neediness, but praise from Giovanni Cassinetti comes only when deserved.
“Thank you,” I croak, and chance a glimpse at him.
The dimples. My core sighs, and luckily the waiter pushes the tray to me and returns me to reality.
“Let me help you, Princess.” Gio picks up the tray and saunters away.
Princess?And why am I only now noticing how sexy his ass is? The man looks too good for his own good. What was in that beer?
* * *
“A good call on those drinks last night. I think we placated them enough so today should go smoothly.” He swipes on his screen with one finger, a spoon in the other.
“Good morning, boss.” I plop on the chair across from him, last night’s mood forgotten.
He lifts his gaze. “Good morning. Could we have informal meetings like that at every location? I’ve already sent Marnie a list of their suggestions. The reasonable ones.”
He returns to his typing and eating.
“Do you ever stop working?” I ask and pour myself a cup of coffee.
“No.”
Not a morning person, I guess. Hell, Gio is not a person person, period.
“We’ll be in Santa Barbara late tonight,” I say, “but we can host a breakfast for them. The same in Sacramento. In San Francisco we can have drinks after the event.”
“Isn’t that too late, post the event?” No eye contact.
“Not if we invite them now. Besides, I’m pretty sure the other managers talked to Tully, so you need to do something. We can have breakfast there too, but I think it would be nice to wrap up the tour with a post-event party.”
“Right. Can you take care of it?” He continues typing.
I sip my coffee and pull out my phone, searching for the best locations for these events and drafting the invitation.
Ten minutes later, Gio looks up, frowning. “You’ve done it all?” He looks at his screen and back at me, apparently reading the list of venues for our informal get-together and a draft invitation from him for the employees.
“Apparently working through breakfast is a company culture.” I shrug, smiling over the rim of my coffee.
“Good. Eat something. I don’t need you to faint on me today.” He goes back to his emails, but I’d swear a smile ghosts his lips.
For whatever reason, I feel like I won a round. Though I’m not sure what the game is, and if we’re even playing one.
* * *
If Gio’s conversation with the staff last night was painful at first, it has nothing on his condescending brush-offs with the media. I’ve been operating in full-blown crisis mode by the time the third blogger attempts to take a selfie with him.
I’m half-sure these women who feature fashion and lifestyle on their accounts are hoping for a personal collection to drool over, and I’m a hundred percent sure that’s what he believes, but he has to pretend and play the game or we won’t get the exposure we’re hoping for.
“You can’t do this,” I hiss, pulling him to the side.
“I can do whatever I want.” He frowns, jerking his arm from my grasp.
“Okay, let me explain this to you in terms you can understand. The objective today is to successfully unveil new branding. These people came here to evaluate the change and hopefully transmit the success of it to the universe. It’s your job to guarantee the results.”
“No such results can be guaranteed.” He rolls his lips, unimpressed, and adjusts his cuffs.
