With a shaking breath, I glance at his face. “I’m done?”
“I don’t need you for the remainder of the day.” His gaze drops to his watch. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning.”
I heave a sigh of relief, grateful that I haven’t screwed myself out of the best job I’ve ever had.
***
My grandmother, Martina Calvetti, rushes toward me. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Dolly. Are you sick? You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Dolly. The name my grandma has called me since the day I was born. She’s told me the story over and over, and I’d happily listen to it a million times more.
When my dad put me in my grandma’s arms at the hospital, she told him it was like looking at a perfect little doll; her perfect little doll.
I glance down at the front of my dress. “Do I look pregnant to you?”
“No. You don’t have the glow.”
I shake off the comment with a smile. “I have the rest of the afternoon off. I came to bring you these.”
I swing my hand from behind my back to reveal a small bouquet of peonies. They’re my grandma’s favorite flowers.
“You’re too good to me, my sweetheart.” She plants a kiss on my right cheek.
I know she’s left a bright pink lipstick imprint. I won’t wipe it off. I live for the reminders of how much my grandma loves me.
“Walk with me. Talk with me.” She motions to the kitchen of her restaurant. “My girl looks troubled.”
“It’s frustration,” I confess. “I have to report to someone new at work.”
I leave out the part about crashing my new boss’s date a few nights ago, and I skip right over the fantasies that have been playing on repeat in my mind since I met him.
She turns to face me just as we reach the entrance to the bustling kitchen. “You’ll do the job they pay you to do. It doesn’t matter who you report to if you do your best.”
I glance at the friendly faces that cook the delicious Italian food that has been a staple of my life for as long as I can remember.
“I have time to help in the kitchen today,” I offer because being in this restaurant has always brought me peace.
“We’ll see.” She dumps the dying daisies my sister brought her last week into the trash before she plops the peonies in the same vase. “First, you’ll eat.”
Chapter 9
Barrett
I’ve never had an assistant who looked like Isabella Calvetti.
At this moment, she’s outside my office with her back to me.
That’s affording me a clear view of her shapely ass. It’s wrapped in a dark green skirt today.
The sheer black blouse she’s wearing is nice, as are the black heels that have granted her a few inches in height. It’s the skirt that I can’t tear my eyes away from. Or maybe it’s the ass underneath.
She glances back over her shoulder at me. Her eyes flit across my face. “Is there something you need, Mr. Admer?”
It’s a simple question with such a ripe choice of possible answers.
“Adler,” I correct her yet again.
She turns to face me. “Where did you put Duke’s furniture?”