Christmas with the Boss (The Fiore Family Book 2) Read online

  I look over to where John and I sat on our date, but the table is gone. “What happened to the table?”

  “Remodeling. So did you bring the information?”

  I close my eyes and slap my forehead. “Shit. I can’t believe I left it in the car. Let me go get it.” I stand, but he grabs my hand and stops me. My pulse ratchets up. I wonder if he can feel it with his thumb against those veins. I look up into his eyes, and I swear I read more there than I should. “I’ll be quick,” I insist.

  He shakes his head and finally releases his grip. “No. We can talk about it later. Besides, I need your help on something.” Fabio’s voice lowers on that last bit.

  “Okay. Is it a state secret?” I ask, hoping to ease the tension simmering between us. He smiles, about to answer when the same waiter from the other night appears, halting all conversation.

  “Sir, can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asks, and Fabio looks to me.

  “Just some water,” I say. I know it’s his job to be expedient, but it still irritates me.

  “A scotch please.” The man nods and leaves us.

  “So, where were we? Oh, yeah. State secret? No, but it’s regarding my brother, Franco, and your sister,” he says, piquing my interest.

  I lean in and blurt out, “Oh goodness, did you find out about her crush?” I press my hand to my mouth, realizing I shouldn’t have said that.

  “She has a crush on him?” A smile spreads across his face.

  “Well, I know she used to.”

  “Wow. This is even better.” He rubs his hands together maniacally.

  “So the day I took your sister to the hospital, it wasn’t me who noticed she’d been hurt. My brother called me.” I immediately jump to the memory of another Instagram post that I’d first seen that model and him having dinner together. There were two women and two men in the picture with Fabio next to her. The next time the model posted with him it was of her at the restaurant with an engagement ring.

  “Yeah? Was he there?” Does he hide out in the ceiling?

  “No. Never. Franco never leaves his home. He’s afraid of anyone seeing him, mainly your sister, so he watches her on the cameras. He’s madly in love with her.” My eyes roam around the room and notice several cameras.

  “Not enough, obviously,” I scoff. She’s been thinking about him for years.

  “No. He’d die for her, but he’s just afraid of the rejection once she sees him.”

  “Is it bad? The scarring, I mean.” Does he look like Freddy Kruger or something? Although, somehow I doubt Isabelle would care because she’s in love with the man. I’m sure of that.

  The waiter returns with our drinks, and we sit up straight. I take a sip, waiting for him to leave, but he asks, “Would you like to order?”

  “The special?” Fabio asks. I don’t know what it is, but I nod anyway.

  “Very good. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “Sorry about that. As for my brother, you know how it is. You’re your own worst critic. In fact, he has a few scars, most unseen, but he lets them win.” So he’s defeated, sad, and obviously longing for Isabelle.

  “She doesn’t think I notice it, but Isabelle mentions him all the time,” I add, hoping to help them both.

  “Well, we need to end this stalemate. I don’t think he’ll improve without her. The entire family’s worried.” My heart breaks for him and his family. They’ve been through so much over the past two years, and it has to be tragic that Franco has isolated himself out of fear of not being worthy.

  “What do you want me to do?” If this makes them both happy, I’m all for it.

  “Nothing much, but here’s the plan.”

  I listen while he explains. When he pauses, I ask, “That sounds great, but how will I get out of going with her? We spend every Christmas together.” It’s not like Isabelle to agree to it without feeling guilty.

  “You can tell her you have a meeting with a client and so you can’t go on ahead, but you’ll meet her that night. I’ll pick you up after your meeting and bring you to the castle.” He takes a drink and then waits for me to respond. Can I handle being in a car with him for that long?

  Nodding, I agree. “That sounds good. Do you think they’ll make it work?”

  “I can only hope.” I see the sadness in his eyes. It’s there for a minute, and then something changes and he pales.

  “Something wrong?” I follow his gaze and have my answer. His woman has arrived. For a moment, I almost forgot he wasn’t single.

  “Oh, Fabio, there you are.” In walks the supermodel from that night. She hurries right up to the table, placing her hand—the one with a big rock on her finger—on his arm. Then she turns to me and glares.

  “Malena,” Fabio growls. “What are…”

  “Um…who are you, or wait…you’re the head chef. Well, if you could excuse us and get back in the kitchen.” She stares at me and Fabio growls something, but I don’t hear anything because I feel so sick.

  I stand and calmly say, “I’ll send you the new look via email, and I’ll drive myself.” I storm off, knowing there’s nobody following me. As I steal a glance through the window, I see her arms around his neck.

  Driving off, I let the tears fall, heart shattered. Unable to drive more than a few blocks when my tears fall like heavy rain and blur my vision, I park my car in a grocery store parking lot. It takes over an hour to calm down.

  Sending his calls to voicemail five times, I get myself under control. My reaction was telling and pathetic. As soon as I get home, I rush to my bedroom and get to work. In two hours, I sent him four new mock-ups, some of the best work I’ve done. He needs to see that I’m not bothered.

  An email pops up from him. There’s nothing going on between Malena and me. –Fabio

  I respond back, knowing he’s lying. Not my business. –Anabelle

  This time, he sends a text. We need to talk.

  No, we don’t. Pick one of the designs. They’re awesome.

  I’m still driving you down there. End of story.

  Fuck off, I type. My hand hovers over the send button, but I chicken out and delete it, choosing not to respond at all. Instead, I power off my phone and let the weight of the night’s events wear me out until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.

  Chapter Four

  Fabio

  I’ve tried to be discreet, civil, but she doesn’t seem to get the hint. I yank her arms off me. Feeling filthy and like a total bastard, I let my temper get the better of me. “Enough,” I shout. Suddenly, eyes are on me.

  Not wanting to cause a scene and definitely not wanting to be alone with this whack job, I walk her to the front of the restaurant as politely as I can. Several people take pictures, which means they will never be allowed in my restaurant again. Normally, I don’t mind, but the image could destroy any chance I have with Anabelle.

  As soon as we’re on the sidewalk, I release my hand on her arm. “I’ve made it clear I want nothing to do with you, Malena. I can’t fathom what makes you think that I’d change my mind.”

  “Does this have to do with your chef? You’re fucking your staff,” she practically screeches, making sure everyone inside and passing by hears.

  “Shut your mouth. That wasn’t my chef.”

  “Bullshit, I’ve seen her before,” she says, pointing her finger into my chest. If she was a man, I would have broken it.

  “No. That’s her sister, but that’s not your business either. Nothing in my life is any of your concern.”

  “You couldn’t have the one, so you went after the other.”

  “Bitch, I’ve had enough of you. You aren’t welcome in any of my restaurants. If I hear my name out of your mouth, in the press, or if I see you near me, I’ll make the world aware of the restraining order I have out on you.” I took it out after the whole engagement ring photo on Instagram. Fuck, I really hope Anabelle never saw that.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me. I’ve bee
n more than fair because I don’t want my name in the dumps, but the one person whose good opinion I wanted, you ruined.”

  “Why her? Why don’t you want me?” She pouts like a child, making her more repulsive to me. How can someone be so damned shallow that she needs everyone to fall in love with her. I’m not the only man. Any man who rejects her gets the whole psycho routine.

  “Because I fucking don’t. I’m glad I want nothing to do with you because you’re batshit crazy. Now leave before I call the cops.” I turn around and storm back into my restaurant, and the power goes out. Fuck. It comes on a minute later, and I see my guests have had enough. “Sorry about the lighting.” Just as I finish, there’s a loud crack in the sky. A late fall rainstorm. I feel it in my soul. “Please finish your meals and drive safe. It looks to be a rough night.”

  Going into the kitchen, I help the staff with the rest of the dinners until an email hits my phone from Anabelle. I excuse myself and go into my office to have my second fight of the night. I should have run after Anabelle, but my dick had been so hard that I couldn’t stand for a second, but as I saw the look on my future wife’s face, everything deflated, and then rage followed.

  If that bitch ruined any chance I have with Anabelle, I’ll destroy her career.

  ****

  It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m on my way to Anabelle’s house that she shares with Isabelle. The weather’s shit, and the storm’s came up faster than the forecasters had predicted.

  Anabelle and I haven’t spoken since that day, but I figured I’d let her cool off before my holiday trickery was ruined. My brother’s happiness matters more than my own at the moment. He’s waited long enough, and I didn’t want to ruin this for him.

  As I get closer, I call Isabelle to check on her. What I hear scares the hell out of me, so I call my brother and demand he act. I stay on the phone with her until my brother arrives, even though I’ve been sitting in their driveway for the past five minutes.

  Now, I need to check on Anabelle. She answers the door, rubbing her eyes, looking adorable in her Christmas pajamas, but now isn’t the time to let my feelings loose. This is about Isabelle, and I have to tell her, so I push my way into the house before she can slam the door on me.

  “We need to talk,” I demand, taking off my scarf.

  “I have nothing to say to you. Just give me the address and leave.”

  “It’s not about us. This is about Isabelle. She’s been in an accident.” Anabelle’s eyes widen and then go blank as she collapses. Thankfully, I catch her. Fuck, way to be subtle.

  “Amore, por favore. My love, please wake up.” I press my hand to her throat to read her pulse and then press my lips to hers.

  Slowly, her eyes flutter open and she recovers. “What’s going on? We need to get to her.”

  “She’s with my brother. He’s got her safely at his house. She slid off the road because the weather conditions are worse than they are here, but it doesn’t look like it anymore.” The sky has gotten cloudy as the snow falls heavily onto the ground.

  “I need to get to her.” She storms into the other room. I call my brother and see what’s going on. Of course he’s fucking pissed at me. My phone buzzes in my pocket as soon as the call ends. It’s a weather alert—the roads to his home are now closed. “Fuck,” I mutter. I wanted to give them a chance to speak, not lose out on Christmas as a family. It’s a big deal for our mother, who demands that we get together.

  “Let’s go.”

  “It looks like we’re not going anywhere.”

  “What do you mean? Give me the address and I’ll drive my damn self.” She huffs, nudging me with her shoulder to move around me, but I’ve had enough. I turn and pull her back against my chest. I’m covered in snow and water as I hold her against me. I brush her hair to the side, and say, “Enough, Anabelle. You can fight me all you want, but we’re not going anywhere until we get this shit straightened out.”

  “I need to see my sister.”

  “Not happening. The road’s impassable.” I show her my phone without letting go of my other hand around her waist. “We’ll go as soon as they clear.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. Now, this thing between us needs to be handled,” I insist, holding her close. I’ve missed her so much that I can’t sleep.

  “There’s nothing between us but your damn wet clothes, soaking me and my floor. It would be great if you left.” She shoves me away.

  “Not going to happen.” I drag her back to me, needing her to understand how serious I am about her.

  “I wish you would just go.” Fuck. The crack in her voice destroys me. I release my hold on her.

  “I can’t leave you. There’s something you should see.” She turns around, and I dig in my coat and pull out a piece of paper and hand it to her.

  “This is a restraining order…against her,” she mutters, reading the document.

  “Yes—look at the date it was issued.” The day after the post that claimed we were engaged. My parents were not happy learning about it on social media.

  “The day after the Instagram post.”

  “Yes. Anabelle. Just so you know, I saw it when I got home the following morning because I visited my brother and spent the night after I started drinking. I’ve never slept with her. She’s fucking nuts.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I just work for you.” She’s trying to use that shit to build that wall right up between us, but that won’t do.

  “Worked. Our contract is over with, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then I feel no guilt doing this.” I wrap my scarf around her and drag her into my arms. “I’m crazy about you, Anabelle.” Dropping my head down, I kiss her lips. She slowly relaxes and slides her hands up onto my shoulders, kissing me back. Fuck. With a growl, I pick her up and carry her to the sofa, laying her down and tugging off my coat before crushing her mouth with mine again.

  We kiss and grind against each other on the small fucking sofa. I need to get her in bed. My bed, preferably, but seeing the weather, it’s not safe. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  Like I’ve asked the wrong question, she freezes. “I can’t. Get off of me.” Confused, I do as she asks even though everything in me is telling me otherwise.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? Just because you didn’t fuck that dumb model doesn’t mean there isn’t a trail of other women just like her. I know I can’t change your past, but I can’t be with a man who goes around flirting and sleeping with almost anyone.”

  “That’s fucking good because I haven’t been screwing my customers. You’re the only one for me, Anabelle. I don’t know how to prove it to you, but I’m not that guy the media has made me out to be. I’m a fucking showman, the front for Fiore’s to keep it busy all year round.”

  “Look. You can stay here, but as soon as the weather clears, you need to leave. I have work to do, and Christmas is ruined.” She steps away from me and down the hallway to what I presume is her room. I’m not going anywhere. I snatch her keys off the hook by the door and go outside to get my bag from the trunk.

  Once I return, she’s standing in the middle of the living room, staring at me with a frown on her beautiful face. “I thought you left.”

  “No. I told you I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Call your sister if you wish, but I’m telling you now—we will discuss this shit upsetting you. I get it, because the thought of you with anyone else makes me insane with jealousy. I want to destroy that fucker you went on a date with. He may have magical hands, but I didn’t want them anywhere near you. I’ve scrolled your Facebook profile, work and personal, wrote down names of every fucking man that liked or commented on your posts. Does that make me fucking nuts? Probably. Do I care? Fuck, no. You have a past that I don’t even want to think about, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting a future with you.” Hell, that’s why I got rid of that table. I didn’t just get rid of it. I took an axe t
o it, chopping it to pieces and using it as firewood.

  God, I try not to get images in my head of her with other men, but it’s hard not to think about it. “A temporary future,” she says, making me change my focus.

  I drop my bag and close the distance, setting her keys on the table. As soon as I’m standing in front of her, I cup her face and reply, “Life is temporary, but I don’t want temporary. I want eternity with you.”

  “I want to believe it.” I swipe away the tears that slide down her soft cheeks.

  I press my lips gently to her forehead. “Believe it. You’re the only one for me. I mean that, too. There is no one. Only you; there’s only ever been you.”

  “There were others before me.”

  “No, there wasn’t. I had a girlfriend when I was like sixteen, but then we broke up after two weeks because she thought I was gay.” I hadn’t mentioned that to anyone but Franco since we were teens.

  “What? Why?”

  “I wouldn’t sleep with her, and I loved to cook.” I shrug, unable to explain that it wasn’t the only thing. I’d not grown into this adult body until I turned twenty.

  “Are you telling me that you’re a virgin, Fabio, or have just had a limited amount of lovers?”

  “Virgin. I jerked off a fucking lot, but that’s it, and a lot since we met—so much so I think I need surgery.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m serious. My wrist hurts, and my dick isn’t much better. I beat the hell out of that poor bastard to thoughts of having you for dinner.”

  “Did you, now?” Her right brow arches, and she gives me the first smile in weeks.

  “Every fucking day, night, and every chance I get.” I unzip my coat, sliding it off and holding onto it.

  “Why didn’t you try to talk to me since that night? It was nearly two weeks ago.” If she only knew how painful it had been to avoid dialing her number or shooting her an email.

  “Because I didn’t want to ruin things for Franco. My brother’s suffered long enough.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, if you’ll show me where the mop is, I’ll clean up the puddles I’ve made around your home.”