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Stepping back, I smiled as I looked down at her dazed face and hooded eyes. She wanted more. Good start. I gestured for her to climb into the little booth in a charming and intimate cove first and then sat on the side opposite her. The waiter brought over the best champagne they had and we glanced down at the menu. However, watching Olivia was far more appealing. She chewed at her lower lip as she scanned the French menu, and I fought the urge to scold her for making my dick instantly hard. No. Best behaviour tonight Gio.
“Is something wrong?” I asked instead. Her eyes flickered up to mine and I could see the concern on her face.
“I don’t have a clue what half this stuff is! It’s so fancy! You know you are somewhere expensive when they don’t put the prices on the menu.”
I smiled at her down-to-earth nature. It was so refreshing from the women's company I normally keep. “Don’t worry about it. I will order for us. I know what is good,” I replied, taking the menu from her hand.
She studied me carefully and I knew she had a question she was dying to ask. I waited for her curiosity to take over like I knew it would. “Exactly how rich are you? I don’t care. Obviously, I am not interested in you for your money, or I would have taken a very different tact in my interview.” I burst out laughing and she smiled, realising she had taken me by surprise. “Let me guess I only got the job because the other two women were gold diggers?”
I rotated the silver knife in my hand on the table. “Let’s just say I do very well for myself and you are correct about them being gold diggers. Or maybe it was not so much my money but my cock they were after.”
She spat her champagne as I said the word cock and coughed loudly. Her eyes narrowed slightly but in a playful way. She wasn’t jealous, merely interested, I think.
“Don't worry, bambola. Desperate isn't my type. My mind was a little preoccupied with a gorgeous brunette who insulted me in front of my mamma.” She looked smug as she sat back against the silk booth chair.
We fell into a silence again and I watched her look around the restaurant nervously. I needed to loosen her up. I needed the Liv back that I had last night. This version of her was too in her head. What was it she said was one of her worst traits in her interview? An overthinker.
“Are you looking forward to going skiing tomorrow?” I asked before taking a sip of the champagne.
She scoffed loudly. “No. I am pretty sure I am going to break a bone.”
“So, you really have never done it before? Not even dry slopes?”
She turned her head and looked into my eyes with that charming innocence they sometimes held. “I once went to a tobogganing party when I was ten.”
Chuckling, I leaned forward on the table and held her gaze. “Don’t worry. I will help you. I am a brilliant teacher.”
She rolled her eyes and drank her champagne. “I am sure you are! But that's what instructors are for.”
I frowned at the thought of another man teaching her how to ski. His hands on her hips. “Bambola, I am the only teacher you will ever need. In all things.”
That flicker of attraction and excitement was evident in her eyes before they turned into her favourite glare. “Modest as ever.”
I leaned back and smirked. Good, she was insulting me again, which means she wasn’t thinking so much. The waiter came over and took our order. I spoke to him in fluent French, which made Olivia’s mouth drop open.
“You speak French too?” she whispered across the table as the waiter walked away.
“Oui,” I responded with a cheeky grin. “And Spanish, Russian and a little Korean.”
She huffed loudly and folded her arms across her chest, looking bewildered. “Is there anything you can’t do? No one can be this good at everything. It's annoying!”
I leaned over the table and curled my index finger towards her, beckoning her to me. She sat forward and I whispered, “I can’t sing a note.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yep. Tone deaf. Don’t ever get me to sing you happy birthday, you will never look at me the same way again.”
She laughed and it sounded like a melody. “And how do I look at you?” she teased.
“Like you want to rip my clothes off and lick every inch of my body,” I winked, and her mouth dropped open.
“I do not!”
“Or like you want to wrap those tiny little hands around my throat and squeeze.”
“That’s more like it,” she smirked as the waiter placed our plates of fine cuisine down in front of us. There was always one problem with coming to these places. Each dish was bite size! I am glad we have seven of them to come.
Each course came with a different glass of wine to compliment the dish and even though I had explained they were to sip with the food, Liv was doing a great job of not leaving any to waste. “It would be a crime!” She had suggested, so I agreed and joined her by downing each one.
