would I, Fabio thought.
There was silence around the table for the few seconds it took for that precious visual to sink in, and for Fabio’s breakfast to arrive.
‘That’s not the point.’ He coughed. ‘We need to go straight back to work. And fast. One way or the other we need to have something to tell my father by the end of today. Got it, Jerry?’
‘Got it. Now, talk to me about that Greek restaurant you went to last night. I want to know everything.’
Chapter Five
‘So Rossi and Rossi are the Caruso company lawyers. Is that right?’ Bunty asked.
‘For over fifty years. Best in the business,’ Fabio replied with a small shoulder shrug and followed Bunty through the deli, which was already busy with customers, and into the kitchen.
‘No doubt.’ She flashed a half-smile at the handsome Italian who seemed to fill the space between the front door and the counter and block out the light.
Rossi. Of course.
She knew that she remembered that name from somewhere. Rossi and Rossi were the lawyers who wrote the contract that locked her and her mother into slave labour working for Luca for pennies when her father died. The Carusos only swam with the big sharks. And legal sharks did not come any bigger than Rossi and Rossi of Milan.
Shame. Fabio was even more gorgeous in daylight. Designer jeans that cupped his bottom beautifully and a simple white shirt. Carefully chosen to highlight his golden tan and the flash of gold in his wristwatch.
It was sinful to be that attractive and a lawyer.
But this flash hotshot Italian lawyer was not going to faze her. Oh, no.
She was the new Bunty now.
In control. Calm and organised. Open and honest.
‘Should I feel honoured that Rossi and Rossi sent a Rossi man to deliver my birthday card last night? Because I have to be honest and tell you that I am not feeling the love. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had no idea that the Caruso side of my family would send me anything, hence my surprise when you gate-crashed my party last night.’
‘Understandable,’ he replied and crossed the floor in a couple of long-legged strides to come and stand next to Bunty. They stood in silence for a few seconds as she rearranged the contents of her bakery shelf, his hands plunged deep into his pockets of his slim-fit denims, his gaze locked onto the floor.
‘Actually I was surprised that none of the Caruso family was there in person to help you celebrate last night. Or did I miss them?’
She snorted through her nose. ‘At my party? That would be no. We are not exactly what you would call a close family. The only connection I have with my family in Italy is through some work I do for my cousin Luca. Have you heard of him? Yes? Luca came to chat with me yesterday about working with him on his next cook book but that was it. He seemed to think that his overwhelming personal charm and a much better deal would persuade me to give some of my time to a joint project.’
‘Did his plan work?’ Fabio asked, glancing in her direction.
Bunty breathed in deeply through her nose, lifted her chin and chuckled as she walked away from him. ‘Yes. It did work. Against the odds. I am actually thinking of taking him up on the new idea. Which, believe me, is totally amazing. That boy is no fool. He knew that I wouldn’t be able to turn down the chance of having my name on a book cover next to his. I need that publicity and I need the extra cash to support my business plans. It is as simple as that. So he flattered me just enough to stop me telling him exactly into which body orifice he could insert any offer he had to make for a new contract. And left with a smile on his face.’
Fabio straightened his back and his eyebrows went skywards. ‘As bad as that?’
‘Oh, yes. Until his offer I could not think of anything that would persuade me to work for the Caruso family again.’
He turned around and his gaze locked onto her face.
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ He spread his fingertips out on the counter and bent close enough for her to almost touch the fine stubble on his chin as it contrasted with his perfect-toned, smoothly tanned cheeks.
Those deep brown eyes scanned her face for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked, laser sharp, on hers.
Suddenly Bunty felt the need to make sure that the labels on the tins and packages of amoretti biscuits were perfectly aligned.
Anything to avoid looking at the man standing so close who was working for the family responsible for her pain, and totally oblivious to all of the reasons she had promised herself that she would never work for them again.
No more birthday and Christmas cards that were never returned.
No more reminders of the bitter disappointment on her mother’s face as she was rejected time and time again when she tried to make arrangements to visit Italy for a few days’ holiday in the huge house on the lake where she had grown up. There was always some excuse why it was not convenient.
And it had broken her heart and, in the end, her spirit.
All the more reason why Bunty was more determined than ever before to create her own dynasty and food business and make her mother proud.
She was going to show them that she was just as capable as they were. Better, in fact!
Her way.
Bunty picked up an escaped piece of fusilli that Fran had missed, stood back and peered at her display from various angles. In four days she had the chance to wave goodbye to her current contract and focus on her own business plans.
But if Luca could help her to do what she wanted? Fine. If not, she would get along fine on her own.
This time she was prepared to use him just as much as he had used her skills.
Even if it meant working for Luca for another year.
Bunty swallowed down the lump in her throat.
Take control. Take control.
She turned and took one step closer to Fabio so that she was totally inside his body space before looking into those amazing caramel eyes.
A small smile creased her lips and when she spoke her voice was light and soft and totally focused on Fabio.
‘Of course, Luca might have popped back for some quick cannoli. He simply cannot resist my special recipe.’
The right-hand corner of Fabio’s mouth turned up and his lower lip twitched into the faintest smile. Oh. Perhaps he did have a sense of humour after all.
‘They must be good. Your cannoli.’
‘Very,’ she answered in a low calm voice. And blinked. Twice.
‘Perhaps I should try one?’ Fabio whispered in a voice as smooth as hot chocolate sauce poured over fresh cream profiteroles.
‘Maybe another time. Right now I need to get back to work. And no doubt you do too. Both busy people. Do we understand one another? Mr Rossi?’
‘Perfectly, Miss Brannigan.’ Then he blinked and returned her smile with a quick flick of his head over one shoulder. ‘Shall we get down to business?’
She smiled and waved her right hand with a wide flourish. ‘After you.’ She sniffed. ‘Saturday is a busy day.’
Fabio pushed open the door and followed Bunty into the kitchen. And froze. Trying to take in what he was looking at.
In contrast to the kaleidoscope jumble of textures and colours from the bright packaging in the shop area, the kitchen walls had been painted in a pale cream, which seemed to absorb the overhead light and reflect it back onto the long sealed-top worktable that ran the length of the room.
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