Page 53 of Rating the Book Boyfriend

Lucinda enters my office and closes the door behind her. She’s wearing a white dress, as usual, but today the neckline plunges much deeper than the conservative dresses she normally wears.

“Hi, honey,” she purrs, strolling in and perching on the edge of my desk.

“Hey, Lucinda. I was just about to go into a meeting, so I don’t have much time.”

“It’s ok,” she says amiably, leaning forward to give me a look at her boosted-up cleavage. I avert my eyes. “I wanted to invite you to come stay at my house tonight.” Her eyelashes flutter suggestively as she drags a long pink nail down the sleeve of my suit.

Is she fucking kidding me right now?

“I can’t,” I say, attempting to keep the coolness from my tone but failing as I pull my arm away from her touch. “I have to get the manicotti ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Her lips puff into a pout. “But I want to see you.”

You should have thought about that before you iced me out for the past three months.

“Mister Romero, you told me to remind you when the meeting is ten minutes out.” I smile and rise from my desk as Mackenzie unknowingly saves me through the intercom.

“Thanks, Mac,” I reply before walking to my door and opening it, a not-so-subtle invitation for Lucinda to vacate the premises. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow to go to Nana’s.”

Lucinda drags a hand across my chest as she sways by. “Okay, come over tonight if you change your mind. I got new panties.”

The thought of that doesn’t even earn a spark of desire from what lies beneath my zipper, and I know I’ve made the right decision. If everything goes well with Nana, I’m going to have a talk with Lucinda and end things. I feel lighter than I have in months as I walk down the corridor of our corporate office and toward the conference room.

Carrots. So. Many. Fucking. Carrots.

We’ve been discussing the vegetable for over an hour, and I legitimately hate my job right now.

Carrot sticks, baby carrots, organics, rainbow-colors, and what seems like a million different varieties that we’re considering for our stores. The previous hour was spent on goddamn potatoes, and I am fucking done with root vegetables today.

Silvia sits beside me, listening with a raptness that I don’t understand. My sister is the Chief Financial Officer for the corporation—a complete whiz with numbers—and I wish, not for the first time, that she was the firstborn. Taking over Mercato Industries would be right up her alley.

I, on the other hand, feel like I’m stuck in a rut here. My eyes wander to the window, to the Gulf waters beyond, and I long to be out there, smelling the salty air and feeling the gentle spray of droplets against my face.

“In conclusion…”Thank fuck,I think as Mildred, one of our produce experts, wraps up. “I think we should add Paranocarrots to our stores because they are excellent for juicing, and that’s very popular these days.”

Leo Farina, Lucinda’s father, nods and makes a note in his leather-bound notebook. “Excellent. Thank you, Mildred.” He taps his fancy pen twice on the table and nods to me. “Riggs, what have you come up with for expansion options?”

I stand and walk to the other end of the table where a large screen has been lowered from the ceiling. Pulling up my PowerPoint presentation, I begin. When I get to the fifth slide, I can’t hold back my smile. It’s a spreadsheet, and it makes me think of Libby.

Once I reach the end, I summarize the facts and figures I’ve just laid out. “Since the Savannah store we opened two years ago is doing so well, I think it’s safe to say that expanding farther north into Georgia is a good bet. I recommend Atlanta.”

Nods from around the table boost me for my next recommendation, the one I feel most strongly about.

“For our second new location, I think we would do well between Mexico Beach and Port Saint Joe. Since we don’t have a store within two hours, our employees from here at our headquarters can’t even shop at Mercato. They have to shop with our competitors.”

More enthusiastic nods from everyone… except the president. Leo Farina frowns, but I press on. “From the figures I ran with Silvia, and after talking to the heads of marketing and construction, we think a smaller, market-style store would fit with the laid-back vibe and would pull customers from both towns.”

Leo flips through the paperwork in the folder I compiled and tilts his head back and forth. “I’m inclined to agree with Atlanta, but it’s a no on a local store. The population wouldn’t support it.”

“The numbers say otherwise,” I argue, and Silvia gives me a grin and a subtle thumbs up. “If you’ll look more closely, you can see that a small store would be very profitable?—”

“We don’t want small,” Leo insists. “We want to grow bigger.”

“Our flagship store in Tallahassee thrived when the families started it, and that was the starting point for this entire business,” I shoot back. “And it’s still the most profitable, despite being the smallest. People love shopping at an intimate family-owned business.”

Leo’s spine goes ramrod straight, and he narrows his eyes. “My answer is the same as when you brought up this idea a year ago, Romero. No.” Then he shuts his laptop with finality before glancing around the room. “Everyone have a good Thanksgiving, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

And he leaves the room.Goddammit.

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