Valentine is in the office,” he offered, with a touch of amusement. “Maybe you’d prefer to have this conversation with him?”
“No!” She’d met Max when she’d come for her interview. He was scary, unlike his father who was a sucker for a smile. “No,” she repeated, “I’m sure he’s busy.” “Then I’m sorry, Miss Bright, but all you have is me.”
Well, if life gave you lemons, you made lemonade. She tried the “sucker” smile.
“And you are?”
“Luc Bellisario. I may not be a Valentine, but Bella Lucia was my great-aunt, if that makes me an acceptable alternative?”
Seductive sarcasm, she noted, but then he was not just some uppity Italian waiter with a power complex. Not even an Italian restaurant manager with a power complex. He was family …
“This lunchtime I am acting manager of this restaurant,” he continued, without waiting for her to confirm that he was. “And you, Miss Bright, are not in any state to polish its floor, let alone serve food to the people who dine here.”
“Mr. Bellisario …” She pulled out all the stops, reprising the smile that had worked so well on Robert Valentine. “Luc.” Then, with a sweeping gesture that took in her bedraggled appearance, she appealed to his sense of fair play. “You don’t imagine that I set out from home looking like this, do you?”
“That,” he replied, unmoved, “is beside the point.”
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