Why did that sound so menacing?
The soccer player would be there at any moment. A wave of nerves washed over him. It wasn’t the celebrity aspect of Noah that worried him. Carmine had designed for far more famous people in his time. It was the fact this was his first potential customer under his own name.
He really didn’t want to screw it up. Carmine was superstitious. He got it from Nonna who’d instilled a hundred ridiculous notions in his head as a child.
“God, I hope we get this,” he said.
“Relax for goodness’ sake,” Samantha replied. “Being a bag of nerves won’t help anyone. Do you want some of my rescue remedy?”
She held up a small vial of liquid. Carmine took it.
“It can’t hurt.”
“Princess Diana used to swear by it.”
He flipped the lid off and swigged the contents.
“Hey,” Samantha shouted. “You’re only supposed to have a few drops.”
“I need all the help I can get.”
Samantha was preparing a mail drop of the brochures Carmine had had created at great expense. She’d tried to persuade him that emailing would be far cheaper. Carmine disagreed. Sometimes the old ways were better. Emails were too easily deleted.
He checked the meeting room for the umpteenth time. Samantha had done a great job. A vase of pink hydrangeas sat in the middle of the table. A scented candle burned away on the windowsill. She’d even managed to get some prints of Manchester and hung them.
She might be the cheekiest assistant he’d ever met. But she was efficient too. Besides, he’d begun to warm to her.
The buzzer went, making them both jump.
“It’s showtime,” Samantha said.
“Okay,” Carmine replied, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. “I’ll wait in there. No wait, does that seem like I’m used to having an office and don’t have one?”
“Sit down,” Samantha instructed. “I’ll answer the door personally.”
She swept out of the small office. The main entrance to the office block was along a corridor. Carmine took a moment. He had to manage his expectations. This guy probably wanted a mock Tudor mansion with gold dolphin taps and a mosaic of himself in the swimming pool.
He shuddered when he remembered a client in L.A. who had insisted on a fully mirrored dressing room. Narcissism was an essential attribute in the City of Angels.
The door opened and Samantha came in. She looked flushed, which came as a surprise. He’d assumed nothing would crack that sarcastic crust.
The man who followed literally shook Carmine to his core. Now he understood Samantha’s blotchiness.
In his early to mid-twenties, Noah Farman was shorter than Carmine had expected. Even so, his light brown skin positively glowed and the nervous glint in his eyes was adorable.
With shaky legs, Carmine stood and extended his hand.
“Mr Farman.”
Oh God, don’t sound so breathless. Get a grip.
“Call me Noah.”
“Noah. Welcome.”
“Thank you.”
Noah glanced around. It appeared he was far more confident on grass than in this setting. Something else that instantly grabbed Carmine’s interest. He wasn’t going to get a cocky sport star with no taste, then.
