Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian. Liz Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ against his will, his glance slid over to Minty, still enfolded in Gio’s arms. Resolutely Luca wrenched his eyes away again.

      Minty was many things but she had never been comfortable.

      ‘Okay, everyone.’ It was time to call this meeting back to order. ‘Gio, lovely to see you.’ He tried not to allow the anxiety his uncle’s appearance caused him to show in his voice. Was he eating enough? Drinking too much?

      When would he stop grieving for a woman who had been dead for six years?

      ‘As you know, I have been investigating expanding into some of the English-speaking territories,’ he began, projecting confidence as he spoke, looking round the table to catch and hold every single person’s eye. They were all nodding and smiling back at him. All except Minty, who was frowning down at her iPad. A surge of irritation ran through him. She had seemed so keen on the expansion back in his office.

      Instantly heat flamed through his body as the memory of her impulsive embrace hit him: the lean length of her, impossibly, incredibly soft; the way she fit into him, around him.

      Luca took a hurried gulp of water.

      He took care to avoid looking at Minty as he carried on, spending the next twenty minutes taking the board through the figures, projections and risk analysis of the project. They seemed engaged, approving. And so they should; Luca had been working on this for months.

      ‘Any questions?’ he finished. There were just a few hands: some clarifications, double-checking of the figures; nothing major, nothing to worry about.

      And why would there be?

      ‘Bene.’ He beamed round at the assembled company. ‘If we are all agreed, then...’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ Luca looked up in shock. She chose to speak now?

      ‘Si?’ he bit out impatiently.

      Minty smiled apologetically but those blue eyes were steely. Whatever she intended, she planned to see through. The long-buried antagonism began to force its way back into Luca’s consciousness. What act of sabotage was she plotting?

      ‘I have something to say. There’s actually a presentation.’ She gestured towards the iPad. ‘Do you all mind?’

      ‘Of course not,’ Gio broke in. ‘Help Minty set up, Luca. Let’s hear what she has to say.’

      Lips set, mind whirling furiously, Luca obeyed. To shut her down would seem churlish, as if he had something to hide. The cunning little minx: she had set him up. The clothes, the lowered eyelashes, the hair—it was all an act, just as he had guessed. Of course, he thought darkly, the leopard doesn’t change its spots.

      But what did this particular feline want this time and, more importantly, what did she want with his company?

      * * *

      Minty’s pulse was racing, her palms slippery with nervous sweat as she stood up and walked towards the head of the table, putting as confident a swagger into her walk as she could manage.

      She couldn’t let him shut her down. Not this time.

      It had taken six years, three broken engagements and the loss of everything to bring her back here. But, now she was back, she suddenly, desperately, wanted to succeed. Needed to succeed.

      She needed to show Luca she was worth more than a quiet ‘no’.

      She needed to show herself that she was worth something. Worth anything.

      One of her ex-fiancés was a musician; another a politician. They had nothing in common apart from having presented Minty with an engagement ring and then telling her she could keep it, a last act of patronising kindness as they’d walked away. But both men knew how to work a crowd. Very different crowds, true, but they both had the knack of commanding the attention of everyone in the room with the sheer power of their personality.

      It was all in the presentation.

      And confidence. ‘If you believe you can do it,’ Joe had said, ‘anything is possible.’ The trite, predictable sound bite of a politician, but Minty was going to take his words at face value.

      She could do this.

      ‘Buongiorno,’ she said and, taking a leaf out of Luca’s book, she smiled around the table, making sure she caught every single person’s eye before she moved on. Even Luca’s, although it took every ounce of determination she had to meet that burningly intense gaze.

      His eyes were smouldering gold, promising slow, painful retribution. Just like the time she borrowed his rare Batman comic and dropped it in the swimming pool. Not entirely by accident.

      Enough dwelling on the past; this was about the here and now. About impressing them, proving that she had a right to be here; that despite everything she belonged.

      ‘Expanding into the UK is a great idea,’ she began smoothly, pulling up her first slide as she spoke. ‘As you can see, the UK has been getting more and more serious about food over the last couple of decades with a much bigger variation in both restaurant types and meals cooked at home. Traditional Italian ingredients such as pasta are now a British staple.’

      She gave a quick smile to hide her nerves. Gio caught her eye and gave her a broad wink of approval and Minty’s spirits rose. She didn’t sound like an idiot.

      Confidence buoyed, she carried on, taking them through statistics on British dietary habits, eating-out spend and grocery spend. Luca lounged back in his chair, the anger in his eyes simmering down to annoyance. So far she was covering no new ground.

      Minty was fully aware of that.

      ‘The expansion as it stands is a two-pronged plan,’ she said. This was it, when she deviated from the ideas and costings Luca had put together. Butterflies tumbled through her stomach, making it hard to catch her breath. ‘Restaurants and specialist food-outlets. I’m not going to discuss restaurants, as they buy different quantities and are sold differently, but I am going to tell you why I think focussing on the specialist outlets is a mistake.’

      The challenge was thrown down.

      Minty didn’t intend to look at Luca at this point but she felt his gaze on her and, like a magnet, it drew her in. He was no longer leaning back, no longer simmering. He sat bolt-upright, those disquieting eyes fixed on her face, a tiger ready to pounce. Her mouth dry, she carried on, moistening her lips with her tongue, resisting the instincts that screamed at her to back away slowly. To stop right now.

      Too bad she always ignored her instincts.

      ‘Supplying ready-made gelato and Italian-made puddings to the UK is the right course,’ she said. ‘Although we love to talk about cooking, to watch cooking programmes and to buy vast libraries of cookbooks, most people in the UK don’t really enjoy cooking. Not day-to-day. Or people are too just too busy to cook properly. Also, at weekends they feel like they deserve a treat, a break from the kitchen, but the recession has meant that the old staples of going out or ordering takeaways are no longer weekly treats but monthly indulgences.’

      Minty took a deep breath. ‘This in turn has given rise to the gourmet ready-meal. Dine in for ten pounds for two, or kits that you put together in your kitchen СКАЧАТЬ