Page 3 of Empire of Temptation

Tony placed two plates onto the pass with a snap. “Order up! Spaghetti and meatballs and penne alla vodka.”

I wiped the edges of the plates and placed a sprig of parsley on each. Then I found the ticket on the line. Table four. Just as I was about to take the food to the table myself, Christina came into the kitchen. She was younger than me and a terrible employee. But her father was the mayor, and no one said no to the mayor.

She grabbed the plates of pasta from my hands. I could see something was wrong by the look on her face. “What is it?”

“The guy at table seven is, like, a serious asshole.”

Great. A problematic customer was all I needed. “Is he drunk?” We occasionally got one of those if we didn’t carefully track how much alcohol they were served.

“No, he’s foreign. I think Spanish, maybe. He keeps asking questions about the menu and telling me how wrong everything is. Literally like I care.”

“Why is he giving you a hard time?”

“Because he’s a dick?” She took the plates and walked out of the kitchen.

I didn’t like customers mistreating my employees. It was hard enough to find people willing to work here. I looked across the line at Tony. “You okay for a few minutes? I want to see what’s going on.”

“Yeah,” he waved his hand at me. “I got it handled in here.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I had bigger problems. My heels clicked on the floor as I pushed my way into the dining room. Seven tables were occupied, even though it was peak dinner hour. Shit. Not great.

Ignoring that for the moment, I glanced over at table seven—and nearly tripped.

Oh, wow.Hello, sir.

A very handsome older man sat in the back of the round booth alone, one arm stretched out along the top of the leather back. He wore an expensive-looking gray suit, and the huge silver watch on his wrist gleamed in the soft overhead lighting. Why were big watches like that so sexy on men?

A weird flutter went through my chest as I took in the dark wavy hair, the strong features, the high cheekbones. He was clean-shaven, so there was no missing the full lips or the small cleft in his chin. His jaw was a work of art. Some men were just born to stop traffic, sculpted by divinity to drive women wild, no matter his age.

Well, one of those was now sitting in my restaurant.

Fine. Okay. I could handle him. Hot or not, he didn’t have the right to be a dick. Not in my restaurant.

Table Seven lifted the full glass of red wine on the table and brought it to his face. I expected him to drink, but he smelled the contents instead. Then his top lip curled and he set the glass back on the white tablecloth, untested.

The nape of my neck tightened and my skin grew hot. Was he implying my wine was bad?

Remain calm. Stay in control.I could do this. This was my domain.

I walked over to his table. “Good evening, sir. Is there a problem with your wine?”

Deep brown eyes met mine. The color of strong coffee, they were filled with intelligence and confidence. And plenty of disdain. “Theproblemis this wine is an insult to the people of Toscana.”

Italian. I would know those long vowels and rolling r’s anywhere.It reminded me of my father, and a wave of irrational anger rolled through me. I swallowed it down, as I always did when thoughts of my father threatened to ruin my day. “I would be happy to get you a fresh glass. Or a different wine, if you prefer.”

“I was told this is the best wine you offer.”

“Maybe you would prefer a beer, then. Or a glass of whiskey.”

“What I want, signorina, is a decent glass of wine.”

Yeah, this guy was a total dick. Customer or not, I didn’t need this grief in my life. “Well, there are a lot of other restaurants in Paesano. Maybe one of them has a wine that will meet your standards.”

He barely blinked, his stare so intense that I felt it in the toes of my high-heeled shoes. “You are supposed to please the customer, no? Not kick them out. Perhaps I should speak to the owner.”

“You are speaking to the owner.”

His lips twitched, as if this information pleased him. Which made no sense. “I see. So you are the one who pretends to know my language.”

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