"She won't," I said with more confidence than I felt. "Tell her the tasting is scheduled for tomorrow at noon. She'll be compensated for her time, of course."
"Of course," Marcus echoed, amusement still dancing in his eyes as he left the room.
When the door closed behind him, I turned back to the counter, staring at the row of glasses waiting to be filled with our new specialty cocktails. Tomorrow at noon, Belle would be here in this room, sampling each one. I would watch her face as she tasted them, see her genuine reactions, hear her unfiltered thoughts. I'd orchestrated deals worth millions with less planning than I was putting into this simple tasting.
I reached for my abandoned glass, draining the last of the whiskey in one burning swallow. What the hell was happening to me? I was Dario Luca. I didn't pursue women. I didn't have to. Yet here I was, practically commanding a waitress to spend time with me because she'd had the audacity to say no.
For the first time in years, I felt something unfamiliar stirring beneath my carefully maintained control. Something that felt dangerously like vulnerability.
Later, after night had fallen over the city, I looked out at the view from my office window. A sea of glittering lights against darkness greeted me, seeming to laugh at my expense. My thoughts kept drifting to Belle's rejection, each mental replay stinging more than it should have. She was probably punishing me, thinking I’d known Valentina would come after her and hadn’t protected her. She’d come on the second invitation. Even the most conniving women looking to get their claws into me wouldn’t risk turning me down a second time. I drummed my fingers against the polished wood, waiting for Marcus to return with his latest update on the situation.
The door opened without a knock, a liberty only Marcus would take, and the man in question strode in looking infuriatingly amused. "She still says no," he announced without preamble, dropping into the chair across from my desk. "Even after Wilson explained it was a professional opportunity."
I scowled at him. "Did you tell her other staff would be present?"
"I did." Marcus stretched his legs out, making himself comfortable. "She asked which other staff.” He shook his head innocently. “I couldn't lie to that poor girl."
"You couldn't lie?" I repeated incredulously. "Since when?"
Marcus laughed. "Since she looked at me with those big green eyes like she could see straight through bullshit. Reminded me of a puppy."
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, shoving the cocktail recipes aside. "She's not a puppy, she's an employee who's refusing a reasonable request."
"This really is the first time a woman's ever turned you down for a date." Marcus sounded both amused and stunned, his tone conversational but his eyes sharp with interest. "I'm trying to remember if I've ever seen you rejected before."
"I told you, it's not a date," I said automatically, though the words sounded hollow even to my ears. "And no, it's not the first time."
It was, though. At least, the first time in many years. When you controlled a significant portion of a city's underground economy, when your name was whispered with equal parts fear and respect, when you had both money and power in abundance... women didn't say no. They calculated the benefits of saying yes.
Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. "So this level of brooding is your standard response to professional disappointment? Not, say, the wounded pride of a man who's used to getting what he wants?"
I glared at him. "I don't brood."
"Really?" He gestured around the dimly lit office. "Single lamp, whiskey glass, staring out at the city lights while contemplating your existence? What would you call it?"
"Strategic planning," I snapped, though I couldn't help the slight twitch of my lips. Marcus had always been able to see through my bullshit, a quality that made him both invaluable and incredibly annoying.
"Well, your strategy isn't working." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Belle is concerned about her reputation among the staff. She doesn't want to be seen as getting special treatment or as..." He hesitated.
"As what?" I demanded.
"As the boss's latest conquest," he finished bluntly. "Apparently there are rumors."
I felt my jaw tighten. "What kind of rumors?"
"The usual. That you've taken an interest in her, that she's been singled out for attention." Marcus shrugged. "And given your history with Valentina, people are drawing their own conclusions."
"Valentina was different," I said sharply. "That was a calculated relationship from the start. Both of us knew what we were getting into."
"Until she decided to sleep with the enemy," Marcus reminded me.
I waved a hand dismissively, though the memory still stung. "The point is, I'm not trying to seduce Belle. I just want her input on the new menu."
Marcus's expression made it clear he didn't believe a word of it. "Right. Because of all your staff, the new cocktail waitress with two weeks of experience is the one whose opinion you value most."
Put that way, my excuse did sound pathetically transparent. But I wasn't ready to admit defeat, not yet. Not when the thought of seeing Belle in the private setting had occupied so much of my mental space over the past days.
"Go tell Belle this is nonnegotiable," I said, my voice taking on the edge of command I typically used in business. "She doesn’t need to like my company. She does have to do as she’s told.”
