Page 8 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

Dante was going to have to up his game if he wanted some peace and quiet any time soon.

He put his mug in the dishwasher, took a sponge from the sink, and wiped up the remains of Zoe’s crushed biscotti. If there was one thing Nonna insisted on in the kitchen, it was that cooks clean up after themselves. She’d drilled it into him so thoroughly it had become an almost unconscious habit, even without her looking over his shoulder.

When the counter was restored to its original, Nonna-approved, clean-enough-for-the-Pope-to-eat-off state, he tossed the sponge back into the sink and slumped against the counter. Now that Zoe was gone, at least temporarily, he could drop his guard, let his mask of indifference slip.

Maybe even put on some damn clothes.

The memory of her words curved his lips into a smile. As much as he hated to admit it, she amused him. She was a worthy opponent. And there was nothing more satisfying than beating someone at their best.

Make no mistake, he intended to come out on top in their battle of wills. He just wasn’t sure how. He thought parading around in his Jockeys would send her packing, but he’d been wrong. If anything, it made her dig her heels in even more.

But when Dante wanted something, he usually found a way to get it. He’d charmed his way into Oxford despite his less than remarkable academic record. Romanced more women than he could count into his bed. Convinced his grandmother to hand over her family recipes so he and his brother could capitalize on her celebrity and open their first restaurant.

This was no different.

He needed a plan. To study his enemy, learn her weaknesses, then exploit them. It worked for Sun Tsu. It would work for him, too. It had to.

And he knew the man to help him brainstorm. He pushed off the counter and headed upstairs to search for his cell phone. He spotted it on his nightstand, opened his list of recent calls, and scrolled down until he found the name he was looking for.

Miguel Suarez answered on the first ring. “Buenos dias, my friend. Unless you’re calling to cancel our poker game, then I’m hanging up on you.”

“I’m not canceling the game.”

Their rotating monthly poker game was a sacred rite. On the last Friday of the month, no matter how busy their schedules were, he, Miguel, and Xander Castellanos locked themselves away for a weekend of cards, carbs, and Cuban cigars.

The Mediterranean Musketeers, their Oxford classmates had dubbed them. They might have more distance between them now, with Dante’s business based in Rome, Miguel the head of Valencia’s largest venture capital firm, and Xander running his family’s shipping business in Athens, but their bond was as strong as when they were reckless undergraduates, more interested in girls and gambling than grades.

“Good,” Miguel said. “It’s your turn to host.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back in Rome by then.”

“Back? Where are you now?”

Dante stretched out on his bed, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Positano.”

“Slacking off at the villa, eh?”

“Trying to.” Only his family knew the real reason for his trip to the coast. “Which is why I called. I need your help.”

“Sounds serious. Let me guess. It’s a woman.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“About time you got back in the saddle. Don’t worry, you’ve come to the right place. You Italians think you have the market cornered on love. But no one knows more about the subtle art of romancing a woman than the Spanish.”

That was debatable. But Dante didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to argue the point now. Not when there was something far more pressing at stake. Like his sanity. “I’m not trying to romance a woman. I’m trying to get rid of one.”

“Wouldn’t Xander be better at that? He’s been scaring off women with his surly, bad-boy act since grade school.”

Dante sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“What’s the problem? She too clingy? Too controlling? Sex no good?”

No, no, and wouldn’t I like to find out?

“It’s not like that. I barely know her.”

“Why not do what you did with the rest of them?” Miguel asked. “Give them a peck on the cheek, a nice parting gift for their time and trouble, and walk away.”