Page 40 of Giovanni


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Her eyes flick, quick. “Live?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“You’ll have them.”

“No later than 4:00,” she says. “I want them purged, iced, and hands off until I’m there.”

“Done.”

She does a slow lap of the line without touching anything. I watch the way she measures the room—even this room she already knows. It’s not nerves.

“This is your second audition,” I say.

“I figured,” she says.

“You pass tomorrow, you start Monday with breakfast at my place, 9:00.”

“Your penthouse,” she says. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“And the menu?”

“You send a weekly plan by Friday. I sign off by Sunday. You shop. You cook.”

She lifts a brow. “Someone else cleans?”

I suppress a smile. “Yes, someone else cleans.”

That gets a tiny lift at one corner of her mouth. She kills it quickly. “Tomorrow’s dinner,” she says, back to business. “You want plated or family-style?”

“Both,” I say. “Whatever you think suits the dishes best.”

She nods, already building it in her head.

“When can I start in the kitchen?”

She holds my eyes. The room has that early chill, and still my collar feels too warm. She leans into the counter, close enough that I catch the clean scent of her skin under. It’s distracting in a way I don’t allow at work. This is still work. I stand straighter.

“A driver will pick you up for a walk-through at 10:00,” I say. “You can prep whatever you need and come back at 4:00 for the rest. Do you need more time than that?”

“No. That’s fine,” she says.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“I need space to do what I need to do,” she says.

“You will get it at dinner. For the walk-through, there’s a chance that Elena, maybe Luca, will be there.”

She moves her shoulders uncomfortably at that.

I continue, “For dinner, you come through service, straight to the kitchen. No one will bother you unless you ask for them. I will check in on you at some point. It is an audition, after all.”

“Good,” she says. “Then we’re fine.”

We aren’t fine. We’re electric. It sits between us like a live wire, humming under the skin. She doesn’t acknowledge it. I don’t either.