He doesn’t pounce. He closes the distance like he’d close a deal: in control and sure.
His mouth brushes mine once, a test. I meet him, firmer, and the line snaps tight between us. His hand stays at my cheek, the other on the counter, like he’s keeping promises even now. I fistmy fingers in the towel at my side because if I touch him, I won’t stop.
Heat flashes low in my belly, remembering the dream I had. Giovanni hiking me up on the counter, plunging into me over and over. His hands everywhere at once. His mouth…
He pulls back first, an inch, breathing like he ran up stairs. His thumb drags across my cheek once more, slower. “Okay,” he says, like we just agreed on terms.
I swallow. “Okay.”
The swing door creaks somewhere down the hall; voices skim past and fade. We don’t jump. We just look at each other as he steps back.
“Finish,” he says, stepping away, voice back to business. “Formaggi e frutta now. Ten for dessert. Then we reset.”
“For what,” I ask, and I hate how rough I sound.
“For Monday,” he says. “Nine a.m., my place. Breakfast.”
Uncertainty jumps into my stomach, making me feel sick.
“This isn’t… I’m not…” I shake my head and step back. “This isn’t what we agreed on. I’m not sleeping with you for money.”
Anger flashes hot in his eyes and sends me back another step, halts the breath in my lungs.
His mouth goes hard. “I didn’t offer you money for your body,” he says, low and sharp. “I hired you to cook. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Those are not the same thing.”
My pulse is in my throat. “Power is power,” I say. “You’re the one who signs checks. Or… whatever.”
“I’m also the one who said ‘say no and I’ll walk out,’” he fires back. “You think I don’t know the line? You think I’m interested in blowing up my own house or your life for a cheap trade? No.”
He takes a breath like he’s swallowing the rest of it—his words, his anger. When he speaks again, his voice is controlled. “You keep the job whether you ever touch me again or never. You want this to be only work? It will be only work. You want me out of the kitchen, I stay out.”
My hands are tight on the edge of the table again. I make them open. Shame and relief fight it out in my chest. “I… don’t want to be stupid,” I say. “Or used.” It comes out smaller than I like.
“You’re not stupid,” he says. “And I don’t use people.” His jaw ticks once.
We stare at each other. The clock ticks.
Voices get louder on the other side of the door again.
He breaks eye contact with me. “Fruit in five. Have a menu for me by Friday evening.”
Then he walks out.
Chapter Fourteen
Giovanni
The gym is cold when I come in. I don’t turn the lights all the way up. Rubber under my shoes, steel, chalk. I rack a bar, set plates. Don’t think, just lift.
Deadlifts first. Grip, breathe, pull. Weight comes off the floor with some effort. Sets of five, steady and controlled. Between sets, I look at the mirror and see a man who should know better.
I kissed her.
I tell myself it was a moment, and I shut it down. I also know I didn’t want to.
Rows. Hinge, drive, hinge, drive. Sweat cuts a path down my spine. The body works; the mind won’t shut up.
In my mind, I make a ledger. Maybe Elena was right. I do have spreadsheets in my mind.
