Dominic Moretti
Restaurant Mogul
For some reason, she couldn’t stop herself from reading through his vitals, learning that he was only a couple of years older than her and his net worth was $7.8 billion. Geez, if this was indeed the same man, why the hell would he be managing the floor at Moretti’s himself? She smiled slightly when she read, “Spouse: None.” Below the demographics, there was a section titled Movies and TV shows, in which six seasons of The Dinner Shark were pictured. More similarities . . . this had to be the same person.
At the whoosh of someone entering her cubicle, Calli turned just as Jordan flopped into the guest chair. “So, do you have a date?” she asked.
“Ha,” said Calli. “No.”
“What? I was sure Nic was going to ask you out.”
“Check this out.” Calli leaned back and indicated for Jordan to look at her computer monitors. “His name is not really Nic.”
Jordan reached for the touch screen and enlarged the images with two fingers. “Interesting,” she mused. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
“And, get this. He didn’t ask me out. He asked me if his assistant had called.”
Jordan eyed Calli blankly, shaking her head.
Calli sighed and mumbled, “Reminded me too much of DB.”
Jordan rolled her eyes, sighed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t let DB-Bennett keep interfering with your life.” Then she held out a hand, palm up. “So . . . did the assistant call?”
“No. She didn’t call me, but I think she called the receptionist here and scheduled a meeting between me and this . . . ”— Calli circled her finger in the general direction of the images on her screen—“Dominic Moretti.”
Jordan tiny-clapped and gave a wide grin, raising her shoulders. “Give it a minute, Calli.” She looked back at the screen. “He is a quite beautiful man.”
“Okay, but why a meeting? Is he looking for an investment? And for goodness sake, why is he insisting his name is Nic?”
“Duh,” said Jordan. “Famous.” She checked the time. “I have to run to a meeting. Don’t discount it.” And she was gone.
Dom
Dom slid into his M3 and gripped the wheel as his friend, Joe, settled into the passenger seat.
“So, did you get the date?” Joe asked.
“Why do you think I was asking her out?” Dom snapped.
Joe barked a laugh and held up his hands as if in surrender. “How long have we known each other? How many times have I seen you stalk a woman? You, my man, always get the girl. I just can’t figure out why you don’t hold onto any.”
“Not this time,” said Dom. While he tried to make the words sound casual, there was a bite to them and they tasted sour. Callista, no, Calli had brushed off his attempt rather easily. He changed the subject. “Why are you riding with me anyway? Where’s Betsy?”
“Oh, she had a massage planned after her aqua class. She has the car.”
“Should I drop you at your office?”
“Nah, I don’t have any clients today, so I can work from your place until it’s time for our meeting at Moffitt & Hall.”
The car fell into silence, so Dom reached for the controls and turned up the music only for Shinedown to tell him that goodbye was sometimes a second chance. Dom pressed the skip key to silence Brent Smith’s vocals. A new song started, and after a moment, The Calling sang the chorus of “Wherever You Will Go.”
Dom shook his head, reached for the screen, and switched the playlist—Workout seemed safe. AC/DC’s electric guitars screeched to life inside the car.
Joe looked at him sideways with peaked brows.
Dom shrugged, downshifted, and punched the gas.
~ ~ ~
Dom and Joe entered Moffitt & Hall and approached the reception desk. The fake redhead brushed her hair over a shoulder and looked past Joe to greet Dom. “Good afternoon, Mr. Moretti.” She slid a paper across the counter as she stood. “Your meetings today will be in the South conference room on the second floor. The elevators are through these doors. May I take your coats?” She led them to the double glass doors to her right. Opening one, she placed a hand on her slightly jutting hip and looked pointedly at Dom with a suggestive smile.
She wasn’t hard to look at, but the display was too typical, too forward. As he didn’t want her to feel wounded, Dom returned the smile and said “Thank you” as he walked through.
In the conference room, Kyle and Pauline were already waiting. Kyle had prepared his latest statements, and after a formal greeting, he got straight to the numbers. Pauline listened intently, asking questions from page to page. Dom struggled to pay attention. He glanced down at the agenda that the redhead had given him.
1:00–2:15Kyle Newman
2:15–2:30Break
2:30–3:30Callista Lindley
His brow grew heavy. Apparently, Pauline had scheduled time, but he couldn’t figure out why she’d called the office. He’d instructed her to arrange for coffee. He slid the paper over to Joe and pointed. Joe nodded and leaned in, whispering, “Second chance? Maybe that song on your playlist was kismet.”
Chapter 10
Calli
Calli’s phone buzzed, and she fought the urge to look at it during the meeting with the hedge fund manager. “Thank you for your time today, Mr. Donaldson,” she said.
“Of course,” came the disembodied voice on the other end of the line.
Calli had worked with Mr. Donaldson for ten years but had never met the man. He seemed older and wiser, and he was always ready to crack a terrible joke. That was her life in this industry . . . dealing with some old geezers who worked magic with numbers and dollars. She sighed and lifted her phone to read the text.
Her shoulders fell when she saw Bennett across the screen. Reluctantly, she tapped the message.
Bennett:Hi Calli
Bennett:I have a favor
Of course, he does, Calli thought.
Me:Hi Ben what’s up
Bennett:Zoe and I would like to take Jackson and Kent to Santorini for Christmas
“No!” Calli screamed at her phone though he couldn’t hear. Maybe she should be thankful that he couldn’t hear. She looked around the office to see if anybody else had noticed her outburst. She sighed her relief after taking inventory of the empty desks surrounding her cubicle.
“No. Fucking. Way!” she said aloud again. Then she took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, and stared up at the foam-tiled ceiling. Why does the ass always put me in shitty situations like this?
Gathering herself, she typed back.
Me:that is not part of our agreement
Me:i have Christmas this year
Me:you have Thanksgiving
Bennett:The agreement says that you’re supposed to be reasonable in accommodating requests that are an exception to the rules.
Me:that’s not reasonable Bennett
Me:An extra weekend is reasonable
Bennett:Zoe’s parents are going to Santorini with us, and I would like the boys to spend time with them
“Why the hell would they want to spend time with her parents?!” Good thing no one was around to hear her one-sided fight. Instead of replying with that, she tried to keep things civil.