written all over his handsome features. But what choice did she have but to deal with him since she had absolutely no idea how to contact Chef Massimo? The only phone number she had was for this restaurant. And the email had also been for the restaurant.
“The agreement is for him to mentor me for the next two months.”
Dante shook his head. “It isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry you traveled all of this way for nothing. But you’ll have to leave now.”
Lizzie hadn’t flown halfway around the globe just to be turned away—she’d been rejected too many times in her life. Her reasons for being here ran deeper than appearing on the television show. She truly wanted to learn from the best and Massimo Bianco was a renowned chef, whose name on her résumé would carry a lot of weight in the culinary world.
“Surely you could use the extra help.” After what she’d witnessed this evening, she had no doubt about it.
“If not for this virus going around, Massimo’s would be fully staffed. We don’t have room for someone else in the kitchen.”
“Obviously Chef Bianco doesn’t agree with your assessment. He assured me there would be a spot for me.”
Dante’s eyes darkened. “He was mistaken. And now that I’ve heard you out, I must insist that you leave.”
These days she proceeded cautiously and was always prepared. She reached in her oversize purse and pulled out the signed document. “You can’t turn me away.”
When she held out a copy of the contract, Dante’s dark brows rose. Suddenly he didn’t look as in charge as he had just a few seconds ago. Funny how a binding legal document could change things so quickly.
When he reached for the papers, their fingers brushed. His skin was warm and surprisingly smooth. Their gazes met and held. His eyes were dark and mysterious. Instead of being intimidated by him, she was drawn to him.
Not that she was in Italy to have a summer romance. She had a job to do and this man was standing between her and her future. He may be stubborn, but he’d just met his match.
WHAT WAS IT about this woman that had him feeling off-kilter?
Could it be the way her touch sent currents of awareness up his arm? Realizing they were still touching, Dante jerked his hand away. He clenched his fingers, creasing the hefty document.
Or maybe it was those cool blue eyes of hers that seemed to study his every move. It was as though she could see more of him than he cared for anyone to observe. Not that he had any secrets to hide—well, other than his plans to sell the ristorante.
His gaze scrolled over the first lines of the document, pausing when he saw his grandfather’s name followed by Ristorante Massimo. He continued skimming over the legalese until his gaze screeched to a halt at the mention of a television show. His gut twisted into a knot. This was much more involved than he’d ever imagined.
“You said this was for an internship. You didn’t mention anything about a television show.”
Her lips moved but nothing came out. It was as though she wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed. If she thought he was going to make this easy for her, she’d have to think again. She’d tried to get him to agree to let her work here under false pretenses when in fact she had much bigger plans.
When she didn’t respond fast enough, he added, “How long were you planning to keep that little bit of information a secret?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Obviously I wasn’t keeping it a secret or I wouldn’t have handed you the contract.”
She had a valid point, but it didn’t ease his agitation. He once again rubbed at his stiff neck. It’d been an extremely long day. Not only was he short-staffed but also the meeting with the potential buyers for the ristorante hadn’t gone well. They didn’t just want the building. They also wanted the name and the secret recipes that put his grandfather’s name up there with the finest chefs.
Dante didn’t have the right to sell those recipes—recipes that went back to his grandmother’s time. They were special to his grandfather. Still, selling them would keep them alive for others to enjoy instead of them being forgotten in a drawer. But could he actually approach his grandfather and ask for the right to sell them? Those recipes were his grandfather’s pride and joy. In fact, employees signed a nondisclosure agreement to maintain the secrecy of Massimo’s signature dishes. The thought of selling out left a sour taste in Dante’s mouth.
“As you can see in the contract, the television crew will be here on Tuesday.” Her words brought Dante back to his latest problem.
“I also see that you’ve arrived a couple of days early.” He wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement. He was stalling. Thinking.
“I like to be prepared. I don’t like surprises. So I thought I’d get settled in and maybe see some of the sights in Rome. I’ve heard it’s a lovely city.”
“Well, since my grandfather isn’t going to be able to mentor you, perhaps you can have an extended holiday before heading back to—”
“New York. And I didn’t come here for a vacation. I came here to work and to learn.” She got to her feet. “Maybe I should just speak with one of the people in the kitchen. Perhaps they can point me in the direction of your grandfather.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
His grandfather didn’t need to be bothered with this—he had more important issues to deal with at the moment. Dante could and would handle this woman. After all, there had to be a way out of this. Without reading the rest of the lengthy details, he flipped to the last page.
“It’s all signed and legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her voice held a note of confidence, and she sat back down.
She was right. Right there in black and white was his grandfather’s distinguished signature. There was no denying the slope of the M or the scroll of Bianco. Dante resisted the urge to ball up the document and toss it into the stone fireplace across the room from them. Not that it would help since the fire had been long ago extinguished.
He refused to let the sale of the ristorante—the deal he’d been negotiating for weeks—go up in smoke because of some promotional deal his grandfather had signed. There had to be a way around it. Dante wondered how much it’d take to convince Lizzie to quietly return to New York.
“I’m sure we can reach some sort of agreement.” He was, after all, a DeFiore. He had access to a sizable fortune. “What will it take for you to forget about your arrangement with my grandfather?”
She sat up straighter. “Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“I mean that I’m not leaving.” She leaned forward, pressing her elbows down on the tabletop. “I don’t think you understand how serious I am. I’ve cut out months of my life for this internship. I’ve said goodbye to my family and friends in order to be here. I had to quit my job. Are you getting the picture? Everything is riding on this agreement—my entire future. I have a signed
