I ignored his jab and leaned away from him, feeling exposed and three steps behind. “How do you know I want a job?”
“You looked around when you entered the place, but you stopped as soon as your eyes landed on me; you just fixed me a whiskey sour with amaretto; and you have the tip of your resume hanging out of your purse.”
Jesus Christ, he had made me as soon as I’d entered the room. Did he notice these details about everyone or was it just me? I bit back a scoff at my arrogance. Surely it wasn’t just me, but the alternative was almost unbelievable. I was a trained FBI agent, and even I sometimes missed things. Granted, Wilks usually assigned me to such insignificant cases, I had virtually no experiences I could brag about.
I studied his eyes, wondering what they took in. “Are you always this observant?”
“Only when I’m breathing.” He finished his drink and slid the glass my way, a silent demand for me to make him another drink.
I wondered if he was accustomed to ordering people around or if he just thought he could with me. Either way, the assumption that I would be at his beck and call pissed me off enough for me to not pour him another drink, though I should have for the sake of my cover.
He took in my defiance without concern, and when his mouth curved up into a scoff, I braced myself for the impact of his impending words. “Do you always force yourself on all your potential employers?”
He was trying to make me sound pathetic, and it worked. Christ, I hated his guts. Meanwhile, he remained indifferent, barely gathering the energy to spare me a glance in between sentences.
“No.” I swallowed my irritation and tried to salvage this impossible situation, reminding myself how much I wanted to prove myself and get better assignments. “But I’m an opportunist. I see an in, and I take it.”
“And I’m your in?” He let loose a mocking laugh. “For what? The job?” His warm whiskey breath caressed my ear as he leaned closer and whispered, “Or something else?”
I placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him away. He didn’t budge an inch. I pushed again. Still no movement.
Lowering my hand, I racked my brain for a way to save face and came up empty. “The job. I got your attention, didn’t I?”
He leaned back of his own accord, his face instantly serious. “There aren’t any bartending openings here.”
He was lying.
We both knew this.
The fact that I had to make him the drink he’d been waiting for was proof of that, but this was just another test. For what? I didn’t know. I just had to hope for the best.
I tucked a strand of hair from my face and leveled him with a determined stare. “Make one.”
“Why should I?”
“I did you a favor.”
He scoffed. “Chasing off a mafia bunny? Hardly a favor. Unless you’ve taken a bullet for me, I don’t owe you a thing.”
Like I’d ever take a bullet for him.
“You’re a real piece of work.” The words slipped out.
What the hell. Stop talking, Ari, I begged.
“As if I give a fuck.” He turned to me, stood up, and inched closer until his chest brushed my arm. “The door’s that way. Drink’s on you.”
My jaw dropped. He wanted me to pay for a drink that he drank in a bar that he ran? He was unbelievable.
He placed his finger underneath my chin, pushed upward until my mouth shut with an audible snap, and started to walk away. Instinctively, I grabbed his arm, my fingers unable to wrap fully around the sheer width of his forearm.
The warmth of his skin burned my palm. He could have easily pulled away, but he didn’t. He stopped; turned to me; carefully removed my fingers from his forearm like I’d caught an infection I didn’t know about; and with a hand on each side of my bar stool, leaned forward, capturing both of my eyes with his.
I could feel his breath on my lips as he spoke. “I don’t hire people I don’t know, Ariana De Luca”—he emphasized my last name—“so why the fuck do you think I would make an exception for you?”
He said it like I was a curse.
Like I was nothing more than a nuisance.
Like the dirt on this floor held more worth than I did.
A lesser woman would have cowered. She would have cried ravaged tears. She would have weakened beneath the insults that cut deeper than words, carried by his supremacy and cemented by his self-righteous authority.
Instead, I steeled myself and inched closer until I could feel his lips feathering mine. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, the first reaction from him that hadn’t been birthed from his inexplicable disdain for me.
“I’m the best.” My voice barely reached a whisper as I reveled in his scent and the intoxicating notes of bergamot, blackcurrant, and Moroccan jasmine. Something this sinful shouldn’t have smelled this delicious. “And this isn’t your goddamn bar. So, you have fun explaining to your boss why you let the best slip through your fingers, while I have fun getting a job at your biggest rival. I hear The Dominic has a bullshit-free working environment.”
I grabbed my purse, threw a couple hundred-dollar bills on the bar counter, and turned to leave, allowing my entire body to brush against his as I left. It was a badass exit as far as I was concerned, and I was proud of myself even if I was leaving without a job. I’d probably get pushed to desk duty for this, but at least I had my pride. Well, what was left of it.
He stopped me when I stood no more than a foot away, his hand placed on my hip. I didn’t dare turn around. I could feel his breath on my neck as he closed the distance between our bodies.
With his front pressed entirely against my back, he brushed my long hair behind my ear and whispered into it, his voice full of condescension. “Silly, misinformed girl, L’Oscurità is mine in all the ways that matter. If you think you know a thing about me, you’re more foolish than I already think you are.”
For a split second, I wondered what had happened to him that taught him to treat people like this. I swept the thought away as soon as it came, chastising myself for thinking sympathetic thoughts in the first place.
Pressed completely against him, I felt unnerved. But I was too stubborn to allow his insult to go unanswered. "Back left corner. Blue button down. Black jeans. You're serving a Brillat Savarin with a Mourvèdre when a Counoise would work better. White dress, blonde hair at my six o'clock is eating her braised and confit lamb with a glass of Viognier when a Meritage is more appropriate.”
I leaned back, pressing myself harder against him until I could feel his erection firmly against my back, and I was sure he could feel every curve of my body. It was erotic, sexy, and so fucked up, I refused to process it. “I could continue, but I’ll spare you the depths of your inadequacy. But have fun with your restaurant. Great place you have here. It certainly doesn’t need me.”
I jerked away from his touch, forcing myself to ignore the brutal beating of my heart and the breaths that struggled to flee my lips. I had hardly walked two steps from him before he called after me.
"Wait," he demanded, and like a glutton for punishment, I did. "Saturday. Three o'clock. I have no tolerance for tardiness."
And just like that, I had a meeting with the most petrifying man I had ever met. I had a feeling that Bastiano Romano could ruin me if I let him.