Page 77 of Think Outside the Boss

Freddie’s smile is heavy with pleasure. “Me neither.”

I glance around the tiny apartment. Last time I’d been in here, I hadn’t given it much thought, focused as I’d been on her. She’d been trembling from the stalled elevator.

Now she’s relaxed and languid beside me, and the trembling this time hadn’t been from fear. “So this is your kingdom,” I note.

She chuckles. “Yes, if a kingdom can be considered less than two hundred square feet. Sorry about the chill in here, by the way. The heating system isn’t great.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” I lean over and press a kiss to her shoulder. “You kept me warm.”

Her smile widens. “What a line, Mr. Conway.”

“Does it give me bonus points?”

“Half of one, perhaps.”

“You’ll have to show me the heater later. We forgot that last time.” I nod to her dresser, the framed photographs standing there. “Who are they?”

She settles into the crook of my arm. “My parents and my grandfather.”

“From Philadelphia.”

“Yes. Well, my grandfather was technically from Palermo.”

“Italy?”

“Yes. He came here after the war. Had nothing, really, but his studies as a technician and a few English phrases. Learned to speak the language within months.”

“That’s impressive,” I say, and I mean it.

Her voice warms. “He started working in a small clothing store, and within a few years, he became the manager. Opened his own store a few years later.”

I curve my hand over her hip. “And his granddaughter got an MBA?”

“Yes. He passed a few years ago, but we used to talk a lot about business. He liked to give me the name of a company, and a week later, he’d ask me why I thought they were successful. I’d have to give him my analysis. He’d listen, nodding every now and then, eyes thoughtful behind his glasses. And then he’d tell me what I’d missed and correct any Italian grammar I’d messed up.”

The warmth in the picture she paints is enough to make me smile. “He sounds brilliant,” I say. “You speak Italian?”

“Yes, but anyone can tell I’m American from my accent.”

“That’s still more Italian than I speak.” My fingers trail across her bare ribs, her skin like silk. “How do you become more interesting every time I talk to you?”

She raises an eyebrow, the smile on her face glorious. “I’m multi-faceted like that.”

“You most definitely are, Strait-laced. So, tell me. What’s your own great business idea?”

“I’m not telling you, you venture capitalist. You’ll just steal it.”

I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”

Laughing, Freddie turns over on her stomach and rests her chin in her hand. Dark, silken hair slips over her shoulder and tickles my bare chest.

“That was my snarky way of saying I don’t have one, at least not yet. Perhaps my thing is helping already existing companies rather than starting my own.”

“Now that sounds like a venture capitalist in the making,” I point out.

She grins. “I want to work at a Fortune 500 company someday. I’d love to live in Italy for a few years and work at a company there. Perhaps somewhere in Asia, too. Singapore?”

“It’s lovely there,” I comment.

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