know what it means.” He looked uncertain. “It means he could be an interior decorator or something. Am I right?”
Robert choked back a laugh. “I guess you could say that.”
“But Mike? I’ve known him half his life. He’s not that way.”
“When was the last time you saw him with a girl?”
Antonio toyed with the cigar as he thought for a moment. “Last year, Thanksgiving, he brought that short redhead to dinner.”
“That was three years ago, she was his neighbor’s daughter and she was fifteen.”
Antonio frowned. “How come he doesn’t look like one of those kind?”
“Pop, don’t be so old-fashioned. He doesn’t have to look any particular way. The important thing is, he can show Gina around the city without you worrying.”
Antonio chomped on the cigar, his bushy brows drawn together as he thought. “Okay, tell him to get in here.”
“OH, MAN.” Mike winced at the brass clock on his desk. She’d be here in less than an hour and he still had two reports to fill out for customs and a stack of invoices to approve. Of all the jobs the Scarpettis had asked of him, baby-sitting had to be the lowest. He’d almost told them to kiss off on this one, but then he had a staggering realization. The trust Antonio had placed in him was pretty damn remarkable.
Most of the older Scarpetti men were still old-fashioned, especially about their women, and that included Antonio. They liked their women pretty, obedient and chaste. Trusting Mike with the care of his niece was the closest Mike had ever gotten to the inner circle. In a way he felt as if he’d finally been given the keys to the house.
Too bad all his work wouldn’t resolve itself while he was playing nursemaid. He pushed the stack of invoices to the side to make room for his day planner. The way he figured it, he could still come to work early in the morning and late in the evening. Even though Antonio had instructed him that Gina was to have close supervision, Robert had given Mike a heads up on what to expect.
From what Rob remembered, Gina was a bookworm who was just as happy to spend her day in a library or sitting in front of a computer as she’d be sightseeing. She’d flip over the New York Library. Mike figured that alone would keep her busy for half her stay.
He studied his day planner, arranging and rearranging his priorities for the next week and listing them in the order they required his attention. The intercom rang, surprising him. The company’s two secretaries were at lunch, Robert was picking Gina up at the airport, and none of the other three Scarpettis working in the office bothered to use the device. When they wanted someone, they just opened their mouths and let it rip.
“Mike, Robert’s back with—” Clicks and static interrupted Antonio’s voice, and then the connection was back and he muttered, “How the hell do you work this thing?”
“Keep this button depressed.” Robert’s voice came through. “Go ahead, talk.”
“Mike?”
“I’m here.”
“Would you come to my office, please?” His abrupt change in tone, obviously for the benefit of his niece, had Mike grinning all the way down the hall.
It never failed to amaze him that the company ran profitably. Antonio was a shrewd enough businessman who kept close watch on the operation and the finances, but his refusal to modernize came at a cost. Robert understood that, but he wasn’t ambitious enough. If Mike could only get a foothold, he knew he could make some innovative changes that would make them all take notice.
Rob passed Mike as he left his father’s office and gave him an apologetic smile. Antonio’s door was already open, but Mike gave a brief courtesy knock before entering.
“Ah, here he is.” Antonio gestured him inside.
Antonio’s desk was the neatest Mike had ever seen it. Even the papers in the In box in the corner were in a tidy stack. The nude painting that usually hung on the wall behind the boss had been removed.
Mike cleared his throat to disguise a laugh. It was a perfectly tasteful and expensive painting. This Gina had to be some prim and proper—
Then he saw her. Sitting at Antonio’s conference table, bundled up in a big, bulky tan coat, her hair stuffed into an ugly knit cap. She must be roasting in this August heat, Mike thought.
“This is my niece, Gina Ferraro.” Antonio made a sweeping motion with his hand, urging Mike inside. “Mike is our distribution manager.”
“Hello,” she said in a throaty voice, her sultry accent wrapping around Mike like a cashmere blanket. She sent her uncle a quizzical look out of almond-shaped brown eyes. “I thought that was Roberto’s job.”
Antonio looked as surprised as Mike that she’d asked the question. But he only shrugged. “They share the title. But Mike does most of the work.”
Gina switched her attention back to him, but Mike was still reeling from Antonio’s surprising but astute remark. He hadn’t realized Antonio was aware of the situation.
“And now you have to baby-sit me,” she said, her lips pursing slightly in a pout as she extended her hand. “I have explained to everyone that I do not need an escort.”
“This is a big city, cara.” Antonio gave his niece a patient smile. The kind he reserved for nice Italian women from whom he expected obedience.
“Yes, Zio,” she said meekly, looking directly into Mike’s eyes as he accepted her hand. Small. Incredibly soft.
“It’s really no trouble. We have a terrific library in—”
Annoyance flickered in her eyes, and she withdrew her hand. “I have made a list of places I would like to visit.”
“Oh, okay. Sure.”
“Have you had lunch?” Antonio rubbed his meaty palms together. “Either of you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s all go to Angelo’s. You two can get better acquainted over a nice bowl of linguini and clams.”
Gina made a slight face, but then said, “Yes, Uncle.”
Mike stepped aside and waited until she stood. She was petite, about five-three in sensible black-laced shoes, the kind Mike’s grandmother used to wear.
Antonio gestured for them to precede him out the door. “After we eat, Mike will take you to my apartment so you can unpack and rest awhile. Later, if you aren’t too tired we’ll have dinner together. Okay?”
“Whatever you say, Uncle Antonio.”
“And take off that coat before you die of heatstroke and your mother makes meatballs out of me.”
She touched the top button with reluctant fingers and then slipped it free. By the time she got to the third one, the sudden tension that had coiled in Mike’s gut about knocked him over.
What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t have time to analyze this odd reaction. She was on the last button.
