up a few minutes ago.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“No, she’s a compulsive liar who can’t be trusted.”
“Don’t be so hard on her. Everyone has a bad day.”
Following her down the hallway, he sniffed the air. A spicy aroma tickled his nose, and his stomach grumbled. Dante hated vegan food, but the apartment smelled so good his mouth watered with hungry anticipation.
“How’s the sweatshop?” he asked jokingly. After six years of being a nanny, Jordana had quit to pursue a career in acting. But after months of pounding the pavement with no luck, she’d accepted a job at a telemarketing agency. Dante loved independent women, but it bothered him that she didn’t tell him about her financial troubles. Typical Jordana. She’d rather suffer in silence than accept help. Her I’m-every-woman attitude drove him crazy. He loved showering his family and friends with gifts, and he wanted to spoil Jordana, too, but she wouldn’t let him. “Are you still thinking about quitting?”
“Every second of every day,” she quipped, entering the kitchen. Sliding on her cooking mitts, she bent over, opened the oven and took out the casserole dish. “It’s paying the bills, so I’m trying not to complain.”
“Come work for me.” It was a struggle to be a gentleman, but Dante kept his eyes on the wall clock and off her delicious backside. He’d never seen a pair of jean shorts look better, and he liked how they elongated her long brown legs. “I could use another executive assistant, and I think you’d be an asset to The Brokerage Group.”
“I’d never fit in at your company.”
“Why not? You’re smart, and beautiful, and—”
“Curvy,” she added, with a flick of her head. “You only hire tall, thin, surgically enhanced blondes, and that’s not me. Besides, my dream is to be an actress, not an executive assistant. I suck at answering phones, and I don’t know how to make coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee. I drink tea.”
“Tea?” Jordana wore a funny face. “And you say you’re not a metrosexual? Right!”
Chuckling, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Watching Jordana move around the kitchen made Dante think of all the times he’d returned home from work and found Lourdes and Matteo baking cookies.
Memories of happier days flashed in his mind. Playing soccer in the backyard, swimming, reading him bedtime stories. Dante talked big, pretended he didn’t need anyone, but he missed having his family around. That’s why he worked nonstop and traveled as much as he did. Work helped him forget his pain, his loneliness. Feeling a pang of sadness, he shook off his thoughts and wiped at his eyes with his fingertips.
“Here,” Jordana said, raising a silver serving spoon in the air. “Try this. It’s amazing.”
The soup was thick, seasoned with Italian herbs and filled with vegetables. It smelled good, like his grandmother’s tortellini stew. Since Dante was starving, he opened his mouth wide. He puckered his lips and scrunched up his nose. Swallowing hard, he forced the liquid down his throat, then rubbed a hand across his chest to alleviate the burning sensation.
“What do you think?”
“I think you should let me take you out for dinner.”
Her face fell. “You don’t like it?”
No, but I like you. You’re sweet and considerate, and you’re great with my son.
“Oh, well, it’s your loss, because my squash soup is not only healthy but delicious.”
“I’d rather have a hundred-dollar steak.”
Jordana pointed at the hallway. “Get out, before I throw you out!”
Dante chuckled. He wanted to talk to Jordana about his argument with Lourdes, but the kitchen was small and cramped, and he didn’t want to crowd her. Matteo was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in his Batman-themed sketch pad. Seeing his son happy made Dante smile. “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to go watch the Royals game.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Exiting the kitchen, he admired the pictures hanging on the walls. The two-bedroom apartment was filled with knickknacks and secondhand furniture. But since his mother had taught him not to look down on people, he took a seat on the battered beige couch and swiped the remote control off the coffee table. Pointing it at the flat-screen TV, he searched for the baseball game on one of the local stations. His favorite sport was boxing, but since his cousin Demetri Morretti was the biggest baseball star on the planet, and also one of his wealthiest clients, Dante made a point to watch his games.
A sly grin warmed his mouth. They used to party like rock stars, but now that his cousin was happily married to his newscaster wife, Dante rarely saw him. He was looking forward to seeing his brothers and cousins at the end of July at the RaShawn Bishop Celebrity Golf tournament in Tampa. He was planning an impromptu bachelor party for Immanuel as well, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when the exotic dancers he’d secretly booked stormed his hotel suite. Immanuel was tying the knot at the end of the year, and Dante wanted him to live it up one last time before his walk down the aisle.
“I swear, if I wasn’t madly in love with my boyfriend, I’d dump him and marry you!”
Dante cranked his head to the right, and spotted Jordana’s roommate standing in the hallway. He nodded his head in greeting. Waverly Burke was a heavy-set brunette in her midtwenties who looked decades older. She liked to flirt, and seemed to get a kick out of shocking him.
“I bought LA Business magazine yesterday and almost passed out when I saw the pictures of your new Bel Air estate. I knew you were rich, but I had no idea you were that rich.” Her eyes were wide with wonder, and she spoke in a reverent tone. “I still don’t understand what you do, though. Is a real estate developer like an architect?”
“No. My job is to purchase existing and undeveloped real estate properties and sell or lease the building for a profit.”
“Sounds risky. What if something goes wrong, or the property doesn’t sell?”
“That’s all part of the job. But with great risk comes great reward,” Dante said, repeating his personal mantra. “I work my ass off to ensure that doesn’t happen, and my persistence and determination has served me well in this cutthroat business.”
“I’d say. You’re rich and famous and your mansion is bigger than the White House!”
Jordana poked her head into the room. “Money isn’t everything, Waverly. Celebrities have fears and insecurities just like the rest of us, if not more.”
That’s right, Jordana. Tell her! The more money I make, the more problems I have.
“As if. Deciding what to wear to a movie premiere is hardly a serious dilemma.”
“I was a nanny for several high-profile couples, and trust me, being an A-lister is not as glamorous as it seems. They have zero privacy, and everything they say and do is scrutinized.”
Waverly
