I turn to the bartender. “I’m going to stay and eat if that’s okay.”
“No problem.” He points to a stool, and I ask if I can sit somewhere more private, trying to explain that I don’t want my wife to see me without sounding like a creep.
Then for the next hour, I sit there and watch her,my beautiful B, in awe of the successful businesswoman she’s become.
It’s a serious turn-on to watch her in her element. She radiates confidence.
From where I’m perched, I can hear her pitch how she plans to expand their wine into the States. Her timeline and strategy are flawless, and I can see her plan for press releases impresses them.
I take one last bite of my burger and pay the bill. I don’t need to see the rest.
It’s clear on all three of their faces. They’re beyond captivated by Belle, and from what I’ve heard, they wouldn’t have changed a thing she’s done for them so far.
There is no way she isn’t getting this contract extension.
And don’t ask when I decided to refer to her asmy beautiful B.
It was sometime between Declan smashing my phone and that Italian dickhead touching her, but it’s happening.
Although I think Queen B might suit her better.
3
Annabelle
“Annabelle.”Mr. DeLuca sighs, resting his chin on his steepled hands.
My entire body tenses.
His words linger while I sit on the edge of my seat, waiting for my future to unfold in front of my eyes.
Because that is what this is: my big break. So I cross every finger and toe, hoping I wowed them with my presentation.
For the last hour, I’ve walked them through our new proposal for the upcoming three years.
Outlining immersion trips we would take throughout Italy and the States, experiencing everything firsthand.
I could tell they were impressed with my connections to the press and through social media. Although Mr. DeLuca, set in his old ways, wasn’t keen on it initially, now he’s seen the power of what it can do, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.
“Annabelle, Annabelle, Annabelle,” he says again. “Hai fatto un lavoro fantastico e sei un talento incredibile,” he sings in his beautiful Italian language. He smiles broadly and takes my hand in his.
“I’m so sorry. Could you please repeat that in English,” I ask.
“Si.” He smiles. “You’ve done a great job, and you’re an incredible talent, is what I said. Brava, Annabelle. You’re an impressive young lady, and we would be honored to have you stay on with us. Although we think three years is not long enough, we would like to sign a contract indefinitely with you. To be our PR agent… How do you say? All the time? Si?”
“You mean on retainer?”
“Si, on retainer, as you say.”
“What?” My eyes widen in shock. My thoughts are scattered, too excited I can barely think straight.
A silent scream of excitement slices through the fog in my brain. It’s taken me a second to register his words. The moment I do, I shoot up from my seat and hug them, thanking them profusely for putting their faith in me.
Hugging clients probably doesn’t fall into appropriate etiquette, but they’re Italian. They do affection in their sleep.
“Mr. and Mrs. DeLuca, Romeo”—I address them individually, making eye contact one by one—“thank you so much for this opportunity. On behalf of everyone who’s worked on this at Hughes Agency, we thank you for giving a small boutique agency a chance. I promise we won’t let you down.” I say the words earnestly, trying to hold my tears back.
If I could pat myself on the back right now, I would.
