Page 72 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

She flipped through the contents of the folder again. “I’ve never heard of Seven Hills Enterprises.”

Her boss nodded. “This will be their first venture in the states. They want to establish a presence on the West Coast.”

“I hope they realize what they’re in for. San Francisco is a tough market to crack.”

“We certainly have more than our share of Michelin-star eateries,” her boss agreed. “But they seem to know what they’re up against, and they’re proceeding with caution. We’re one of a number of firms they’ve asked to come up with some preliminary drawings.”

Zoe closed the folder. There must be some way she could avoid this project. As long as she could do it without losing her job. Again.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the opportunity, but why me?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to go with someone more established?”

“That’s above my pay grade.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean someone higher up the food chain likes you, because word came down that this job was yours and yours alone.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“Like I said, that’s above my pay grade.” He stood and smoothed his shirt before gesturing to the thick folder in front of her. “I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got your work cut out for you if you’re going to have something ready by next Friday.”

“Next Friday?” How long did that give her? She didn’t even know what day today was. They all seemed to blend into a melancholy sameness without Dante.

Zoe glanced at her desktop calendar. “That’s barely a week away.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” The gleam in her boss’s eye said he knew perfectly well he hadn’t, and he was enjoying every minute of this torture. “The client will be in town week after next. They want all the proposals in before then so they can narrow them down to the top two or three and meet with the firms still in contention.”

Damn. It was going to be almost impossible to pull something together on that demanding schedule. She’d be lucky if she managed a couple of hours of sleep a night.

After dropping that bombshell, her boss left as quickly as he had appeared. With a sigh, she closed the document she was working on and flipped the file he’d dumped on her desk back open.

An Italian restaurant might be the last thing she wanted to design right now, but damned if she wasn’t going to give this project everything she had. She had a reputation to consider. And no man—not even one as deliciously distracting as Dante—was worth risking that.

Besides, the sooner she started, the sooner she’d be finished. Then she could go back to designing townhouses and trying to forget the Italian restauranteur who took her heart, made it soar, then popped it like a balloon and tossed it into the Mediterranean.

Chapter Fifteen

“Ready for the big presentation?”

Zoe looked up from her laptop to see her boss looming in the conference room doorway. She clicked a button on her computer and let out a relieved sigh when the first slide of her PowerPoint presentation appeared on the screen across the large mahogany table that dominated the room. Technology wasn’t always her friend, but today, at least, it looked like it had decided to cooperate.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

“You’ve poured your heart and soul into this proposal.” Mr. Lafferty brushed past her and took a seat at the opposite end of the table. “If the client doesn’t like it, it’s their loss.”

He was right. She’d gone above and beyond on the design for this restaurant. And not just because it was a huge opportunity for her professionally. This project was personal. It was almost as if she’d designed it for Dante, asking herself what he would think of the layout, the color scheme, the lighting. She’d even added a subtle nod toLa Bohèmein the eclectic, intentionally mismatched vintage dinnerware.

Stupid girl. Designing a restaurant for a man who couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge her existence.

She blinked back an angry tear—crying in the workplace was definitely not part of her advancement strategy—flipped open her notebook, and scanned the outline she’d written in neat block letters. She was hoping to get through this presentation without relying on her notes, but having them handy gave her a sense of security. “Thanks, Mr. Lafferty.”

“I’ve told you, you can call me Jim.”

“Right. Thanks, Jim.”

She caught herself twirling a strand of hair around her finger and clasped her hands behind her back. Oral presentations always made her a little—okay, a lot—nervous. Especially when she had no idea who she was presenting to. She usually liked to take the client’s personal taste into account when coming up with a design concept, something she hadn’t been able to do this time. Maybe that’s why she’d done this project with Dante in mind.

That had to be the reason. Not the fact that, even though he’d shattered her into a million pieces, she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head.