Chapter 7
ISLA
The gloomy sky loomed over the city and dampened my day. The past year in the Bay Area, I had experienced more overcast days than I liked. As a SoCal girl, it bummed me out and I was over it.
Even during a Canadian winter, when Ciro invited me out to visit, I could count on seeing the sun. Albeit I froze my tootsies off, but at least I had bright sunny days.
San Francisco, it’s almost June for goodness’ sake.
Living in the Bay Area wasn’t doing it for me.
“Are you just going to stare out the window or help me clean up after the lunch rush?” Chris, my co-worker, playfully nudged my elbow.
I shot him a deadpan expression. “I’d rather stare out the window.”
“Smartass. We all would.” He tossed a dishtowel at my head.
I caught it, whipped it in a circle above my head with a dramatic flair, and made us both laugh. It was times like this, being goofy with my co-workers, life didn’t seem quite so hard.
And hey, laughter and silliness made time pass quickly. So did lunchtime at West End. Mix it all together and the day flew by. The madness started promptly at eleven and didn’t slow down until after two.
Following the rush, we’d have three hours to recover and prepare to be slammed at dinner. My days were literally a blur when I worked, and I preferred it that way.
“So that IT guy I told you about? We’re meeting at a pub after my shift for drinks,” Keri whisper-shouted as she set the tables behind me.
“Is that a good idea?”
“What do you mean?” She blinked her eyes like she was confused. “It’s a date.”
“Who plans a date on a Thursday night?”
“An IT guy.”
“But Fridays are crazy and we’ll need you.” Everybody knew Keri was a lightweight. She was notorious for calling in sick after going out for drinks, and it took her two days to recover. “A coffee shop would be better.”
“Coffee is so boring.”
“What about ice cream? No, get gelato!” Why did I mention the Italian frozen dessert? Because Ciro and his family were never far from my thoughts.
Keri sighed and gave me an exaggerated eye roll. “He’s hot and has money. I need to be agreeable, so he’ll like me. Snatch him up before another girl catches his eye.” She fluffed her dyed jet-black hair with attitude.
But all I saw were her blonde roots.
“I don’t want to be a waitress for the rest of my life.” Keri peered past me at the door. The girl had the shortest attention span I’d ever seen.
“There’s more to a man than his bank account.” I snorted at her ridiculousness. The girl needed to raise the bar and set some goals for herself, other than finding a rich guy who would take care of her.
Stupid, stupid girl. She was clueless…
Money and good looks didn’t mean love. If anyone knew that it was me. I had first-hand experience with a painfully handsome, devilishly sexy, disgustingly rich man.
Regrettably, all it got me was a broken heart. Well, that wasn’t the only thing Ciro gave me—
“Oh my Gosh. I might cancel my date with Phil for Mr. Gucci, who just walked in.”
Just as I’d said, short attention span.
I ignored Keri and moved to the next table, not bothering to acknowledge the poor sap who’d caught her attention.
I had no desire to get sucked into her man drama.
That girl had a one-track mind that only revolved around money.
She wanted to marry a millionaire, so she didn’t have to work and could live the luxurious life most only saw in movies.
Pretty Woman came to mind. At least Keri worked in a swanky bistro, instead of selling her body on the streets to make ends meet.
Mr. Gucci, a name Keri gave every man that appeared to be rich, had better run for his life and hide his wallet.
Stop it, Isla. Don’t be so negative, I scolded myself for being pessimistic.
Our customers were upscale, wealthy patrons. Mr. Gucci could enter the establishment and fall madly in love with Keri. It wasn’t impossible. Just highly unlikely. But perhaps luck would be on her side, and she’d catch lightning in a bottle.
Either way, I wanted nothing to do with her mission.
“Isla?”
Bent over the table, mid-swipe with the towel, my body froze. Goose bumps covered my arms as I felt his intense aura surrounding me.
He’s not here. It’s just your imagination playing tricks on you. He’s not here.
Or could I have been dreaming? I often heard Ciro’s sexy voice whispering naughty things to me, but I never saw his face.
Wake up, Isla! Wake up!
Or perhaps my ears were deceiving me after my mental rambling about Keri. Yeah, that was probably it.
I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to believe the smooth, cultured, and commanding voice belonged to Ciro. And when I opened them, I’d bet Keri was drooling over the man who had strolled in for a bite to eat. Then again, why would a stranger say my name?
“Isla, do you know this gentleman?” The awe in Keri’s voice made my eyes flash open.
Dammit! I wasn’t dreaming or imagining anything. My young co-worker had no idea how well I knew this gentleman. I desperately wanted to believe it wasn’t Ciro. It couldn’t be him, right?
I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders before I looked at the man. It’s not him, I told myself one final time, then turned around.
My heart tripped over itself the moment his mahogany-brown eyes connected with mine. There was not an ounce of surprise in his dark depths. He expected to see me. Probably even planned our encounter.
Why was the world cruel? Why would the powers that be bring us face to face again?
And I hated how he still affected me after all this time. The confidence and power he exuded made my skin tingle and my ears buzz just like the first time I’d met him.
Ciro Remotti. The love of my life. At my place of work…
His dark hair seemed shorter on the sides—pristinely styled, of course—and his sexy scruff was thicker. I didn’t need to appraise him from top to bottom to know he was dressed to kill in a tailor-made Italian suit. Ciro only wore the finest clothes. He even had a personal stylist.
But I’d found him more attractive on our lazy Sunday mornings, when he sported a black T-shirt, faded jeans, and bare feet.
Our mornings? Yeah, those days had been few and far between.
I gulped, failing miserably at appearing unaffected. Nobody should be so infuriatingly beautiful.
“I do know him, Keri. You can seat him in your section.” I was two steps past Ciro when his hand gripped my wrist. He moved behind me, putting his body flush against mine.
“We need to talk.” His warm breath lingered on my neck for what felt like an eternity. If he kissed me or teased my sensitive skin with his tongue, I might cream my panties.
“Let go of me.” Internally, I trembled with I didn’t know… Desire? Excitement? Fear? Yes, fear.
“Take a break,” he told me in a calm, yet firm voice.
Suddenly, a thought popped into my head: he found out and was furious with me.
“Lucky you, she has a break right now,” Keri, not so helpfully, told Ciro. I could throttle her and would give her an earful the next time we were alone.
He inhaled my scent, his chest rising against my back. “Perfect.”
“Sorry, but I don’t want to waste my fifteen-minute break on you.” I whipped my wrist out of his grasp and faced him. “Leave. There’s nothing to talk about.”
There was a time I would have done anything for Ciro. Anything and everything. Not anymore though. I’d much rather spend my break in excruciating pain, ripping my nails out of my fingers.
In reality, my breaks were normally spent in the bathroom with a double breast pump attached to my chest, where I winced through the rapid, powerful suctioning. Unfortunately, I didn’t need to empty my jugs yet. I usually ducked into the bathroom ten minutes before the dinner rush hit.
His probing gaze danced across my face, moving to my hair then to my lips. I felt his commanding power searing my skin even though he wasn’t physically touching me. To say he unnerved me was the understatement of the year.
I was so stinkin’ weak when it came to him. He made me tingle between my thighs. Made me wet with need. How could he conjure pure lust in me after only thirty seconds?
My traitorous body reacted on its own accord, while hot tears burned behind my eyes. I’d needed this son of a bitch so damn much this last year, and now here he was, acting like he hadn’t destroyed me.
“Then give me five minutes of your precious time,” he said in a tone I knew well.
I snapped out of my near comatose state.
Ciro compromising? Unheard of. Given his unyielding tone, I knew I didn’t have any other choice but to obey.
He wouldn’t be refused no matter how many times I rejected him.
If I didn’t talk to him, he would never leave.
And I needed him to leave. As much as I wanted to cause a scene, I wouldn’t.
Like a good, obedient girl, I relented. “Fine. Corner table. Do you want something to drink?” Why I offered him a beverage was beyond me. I was too nice for my own damn good.
“Whatever you’re having.” His delectable lips curled in victory. He’d won. Just like always.
But not really. He’d lost big the day I walked out of his life, and I prayed he never found out the depths of his loss. There was no telling what he’d do. He could punish me in unimaginable ways for betraying him. He could also not give a damn.
Had I really betrayed him, though? In my mind, absolutely not.
“Water it is. Go sit.” I turned on my heel and went to the serving station, trying like crazy to hold it together. What was with the harsh tone, Isla? Clearly, I was in a state of fight or flight.