Page 20 of Perfect Match
The club was originally Ryan’s idea, and Hunter and I were only brought in by Hunter’s brother when Ryan needed investors. Best damn investment I ever made, and it continues to be so. The club has been hugely successful, and most of that has been through word of mouth. Lucky, really, because the marketing options for a sex club are limited.
“We need a mixologist,” I announce, cutting Ryan off before he starts to talk me through the financials in more detail.
“What are you talking about?” he demands, and it’s a fair question, as my suggestion is a bit random. I don’t normally get involved in the day-to-day running of the club. But thinking about Tori has me remembering the conversation about her sister.
“I just heard through a friend that they know someone who is looking. I thought you might be interested.”
“I’ll speak to Tony, as he manages the bar. Although, he did suggest we change up the cocktail menu, so it could be a good time to bring in a specialist.”
“Thanks, man.” I turn into the narrow cobbled laneway that leads to our office building. It’s only a ten-minute walk from my suite at the Forbes Hotel.
“Now you can go back to telling me about the money you’ve made me this month. You know I always like to hear that.”
His laugh rumbles down the line. “We all like seeing those figures in black come through from the accountants.” He continues to run through the numbers while I jog up the three flights of stone stairs to the office. The exercise is always more welcome than squeezing into the tiny two-person elevator, which is the alternative. One of the few downsides to having an office in the center of Florence is that the old buildings were never built to house elevator shafts.
By the time I reach my office, which is about a quarter of the size of my Midtown Manhattan one, I’m ending our call. Out of habit, I go to stand at the tall, narrow window, which frames a view of the Duomo. You don’t get that in New York. I open the window a crack so the babble of rapid-fire Italian from the nearby cafés drifts up. Another of my favorite things about working in Florence—the many cafés serving excellent strong coffee.
But there’s no time for that. I need to speak to Ant, and I quickly call him. He returned to the States earlier in the week and won’t have seen my father’s email, given it’s three a.m. there.
It takes a minute for him to answer. “What the fuck, bro? It’s the middle of the night here.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But you need to read an email. And I hate to say this, but I think you need to get back to Florence ASAP.”
There’s movement on the other end of the line, and I suspect he’s getting up. “Give me a minute,” he grumbles. Less than thirty seconds later, he says, “How the fuck did he hear about this?”
“I’ve no idea, but I intend to find out.”
The clacking of a keyboard can be heard over the line. “I can’t fly till tomorrow night, as I have a big team meeting in the morning.”
“Okay, I’ll get in touch with the lawyers to see if there is any way he can stop us. But otherwise, you get your beauty sleep, and I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
Later that afternoon, a text message comes through from Ryan to say that Tony liked the idea of a mixologist. I message Tori the news, then focus back on my computer screen. I’ll probably be pulling an all-nighter either here in the office or in my suite, but I don’t mind if it means this mess will be sorted out before Tori arrives. I’ve cleared time in my calendar, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure that it’s not put in jeopardy.
***
Three Days Later
Tori can’t be here soon enough. If I have another cup of espresso, I’ll be bouncing off the walls, but it’s all my stomach seems capable of holding with the knot of nerves whirring around in it.
Me:Text me when you’re on the train, and I’ll meet you at the station.
Tori:We can meet you at the hotel.
Tori’s independence is an attractive quality but also a bit frustrating at times. I want to make things easier for her, but at every suggestion, she pushes back.
Maybe the offer to fly her and her friends on the company jet from Rome to Florence was a bit much, but from my point of view, it would have meant she’d be here with me sooner.
Me:Please. I’d like to do that.
Tori:Okay.
My face probably has the same megawatt smile as the emoji. I’ll count that as a win, along with the win I had in convincing her and her friends to stay in the suite I booked for them at my hotel. Although, I’m hoping Tori will stay with me rather than her friends.
Second-guessing how she’ll interpret my intentions is a new experience for me, and not one I’m enjoying. I like to be in control at all times, which isn’t something many people realize about me because I mask it behind a carefully constructed happy-go-lucky facade. I’m that duck gliding along the surface of the pond, while beneath the water, I’m paddling frantically. Tori is a wave on my pool of calm and has me in a flap.
Leaving her in Sorrento like I had to do, in a rush and with my balls bursting, was hard. Literally. And I’ve been counting down the hours to seeing her again ever since. She’s special, not interested in any of the trappings my wealth provides, and I want the chance to show her how much I appreciate that.
I’m going to do this right and treat her to an amazing date that’s fit for a princess. The reservation is made at the world-renowned three-star Michelin restaurant overlooking the city,thanks to my brother Leo calling up his connections to help me secure a booking ahead of the four-week waitlist. A selection of dresses has been organized by a stylist and will be waiting at the hotel for her to choose from, and an afternoon of pampering has been booked for Tori and her two friends in the hotel spa.
