A Moment on the Lips - By Kate Hardy Page 0,32

have to make my peace with Emilio Mancuso. Somehow.’

‘Like I told you before, don’t rush into anything,’ he advised. ‘Be polite. And stay wary.’

Like Dante was, himself? she wondered. ‘Are you still going dancing with me on Saturday?’

He gave her a pained look, as if he hoped she’d forgotten about it. ‘I guess so.’

‘Good. Because, right now, I think I need that.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I know a very good way of releasing tension.’

‘Yeah.’ Except she knew he wasn’t going to let her cuddle up to him afterwards. Or let her spend the night. And she needed to think things through: how she was going to persuade Dante to let this thing between them grow. From where she was standing, she thought it had potential. Huge potential. But he was stubborn, and until she could work out why he was so resistant to any kind of relationship, she was going to back off.

Temporarily.

Didn’t they say that absence made the heart grow fonder? Maybe abstinence would do the same. ‘I’d better leave you in peace. I’ll see you on Saturday.’ She kissed him briefly. ‘Ciao.’ And then she left, before her hormones weakened her resolve and she let him carry her to bed.

Carenza had hoped that she’d given Dante time to think about them. But over the next couple of days she had a nasty feeling that she’d overplayed her hand and he was having second thoughts. Especially about going dancing with her on Saturday night. Maybe dropping into his office unannounced with a box of gianduja, with some trumped-up query, might give her the chance to remind him that she was doing the mentoring, next session.

When she got to the restaurant, the manager told her that Dante wasn’t there. ‘But Signora Ricci may be able to help you,’ he said.

Dante’s secretary, Carenza presumed. He certainly hadn’t mentioned her; and Carenza had never been to his office in conventional business hours, so of course she wouldn’t know any of his staff. And Dante Romano was the kind of man who gave information on a need-to-know basis. He’d obviously decided that she didn’t need to know anything about his secretary.

Hesitantly, she rapped on the door. ‘Signora Ricci?’

The woman sitting at the desk was in her early forties and perfectly groomed. Carenza had a feeling that she might turn out to be the dragon secretary type, who’d protect her boss from every interruption.

Signora Ricci looked up from her desk. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I was looking for Dante.’

‘I’m afraid he’s not here. I can take a message, if you wish.’

‘It’s OK. I’ll email him.’ She paused. ‘But I did bring him this.’ She handed the foil-covered box to Signora Ricci.

‘May I say who left it?’

‘I’m sorry, forgive my manners. I’m Carenza Tonielli. His, um—mentee, I guess.’

‘Ah. You’re Carenza.’

Dante had talked to his secretary about her? What had he said?

She blew out a breath. ‘I know I’m taking up too much of his time. I just brought him some gianduja to say thank you for all the help he’s been giving me. It isn’t nearly enough, but …’ She spread her hands. ‘You can hardly send a man flowers, and taking him out to dinner, when he owns a chain of restaurants, feels a bit … well … wrong.’

Signora Ricci nodded.

Was that a slight softening in her face, or was it just wishful thinking? Carenza decided to take a chance. ‘Actually, you might be the person to help me. Have you worked for him for very long?’

‘About eight years. Why?’

‘Because I’ve known him for a month now and I still don’t have a clue what he likes—I don’t even know what kind of music he listens to. I know he’s my mentor and this is strictly business, but by now surely I should know more of what makes him tick?’

‘Not necessarily. He keeps himself very much to himself,’ Signora Ricci said.

And getting information out of him was like pulling teeth. ‘I want to do something nice for him, but I don’t know what. Maybe take him out somewhere nice.’ Carenza wrinkled her nose. ‘But he hates films, so he probably wouldn’t like the theatre much, either.’

‘He hates anything that he thinks is pretentious,’ Signora Ricci said.

‘You’re telling me. You should’ve heard him about the art I was going to put in Tonielli’s,’ Carenza said dryly. ‘So do you have any idea where I can find something really good to say thank you, something he’d never think of doing for himself because—well, he always puts himself