Page 30 of Cinderella-ish
Chapter 14
Antonio
It’s not oftenI get to show off my liquid chef skills. My life is way too busy for anything social. In fact, Daniella is the first woman I’ve ‘brought home’ in a long time. Sure, the stories on the news and on Internet sites peg me as this modern-day Casanova type with the flashy car and swanky models at my side. But those photo and video ops are strategically planned out—campaigns carried out by Jonah’s marketing firm and his public relations team. They presume, as the CEO of a sexy lingerie line, my lifestyle should be portrayed as incrediblysumptuous.
But it’snot.
The last woman I dated was the crazy one who, after I broke up with her, rented a billboard in Hollywood displaying my home address. As it stands now, I don’t even have a date for The LingerieBall.
Daniella sits across from me at the outdoor bar in my backyard, with a pensive glow in her eyes, watching as I put on my best bartender performance—I’m Brian Flanagan and she’s Jordan Mooney—from the movieCocktail.Don’t judge me. That movie really is a dick flick disguised as a chickflick.
With a cocktail shaker in hand, I add ice, gin—only a little because I don’t want her tipsy—I am a gentleman after all—and a splash of vermouth, then place the strainer over the top. With one hand gripping the shaker and both eyes on Daniella, I shake it for a few seconds then pour the contents into a martini glass, adding what I guess to be her preferredgarnish.
Sliding the glass over to her I say, “Madam? Your drink isserved.”
She tilts her head to the side and lifts the glass to the base of her heart-shaped lips. “And just how did you know I take mine with a twist oflemon?”
“Lucky guess? Tasteit.”
Her lips grip the rim of the glass and she closes her eyes momentarily, and takes a sip. “Mmmm, Antonio. It’s quite lovely. It’s actually been a while since I’ve had a martini. You make a fine one, Mr. LiquidChef.”
“That’sSirLiquid Chef,” I tease. “I’m glad you likeit.”
After making a martini for myself, I slide onto the barstool next to Daniella and hold up my glass to hers. “Cheers to a fabulous start to our workingrelationship.”
She smiles, taking another sip of her drink before placing the glass down on the countertop. She looks down, deep in thought, her index finger tracing the rim of her glass, its fingernail painted the same pink color as hertoenails.
Her legs are crossed and being this close to her, I can’t help but notice how voluptuous theyare.
Tan. Smooth.Erogenous.
Am I a horrible boss for wanting her as badly as Ido?
Probably.
“Hey, are you hungry?” I ask, mainly to take my mind off her hotness. “I’m no Emeril Legassi but I can make a mean salamisandwich.”
She finally looks up from the glass she’s been pensively tracing, a snicker framing her face. “Salami?”
I shrug. “It’s the only thing I’ve got in thefridge.”
“You don’t have like your own personalchef?”
“Nah. No personal chef. Not even ahousekeeper.”
Daniella slides off the barstool, planting her bare feet onto the stone paved patio floor. She steps over to me and grabs a hold of my necktie, gesturing for me to stand. “Antonio Michaels, you’re not at all the man I envisioned you to be. And yes, I’d actually love a salami sandwich,please.”
“Your wish is my command. Then…we’ll definitely look at thedesigns.”
* * *
Daniellaand I chat about her relationship with Emma and Stacy while we gulp down sandwiches and the rest of our martinis. She explained the two are her only real sense of family, as she grew up in a foster home in Texas and took off for Los Angeles, with money she had saved up, as soon as she turned eighteen. I guess we both unexpectedly learned a lot about each othertoday.
“How about we peek at the designs now?” I propose, removing our plates and glasses from the table and placing them in thedishwasher.
“Yes. I’d love that.” Her eyes brighten like a little girl who received a pony on herbirthday.
“Now let me reiterate; this will be my first time seeing these designs since they came back from the factory in Milan,” I explain as I tear into thebox.
