Chapter 8 #3
Five minutes later
Three guys walk into the café. I'm not totally sure if they're our guys. They look younger than I expected.
Not baby young, but not "I run an empire and yell on the phone all day" old either.
Maybe mid-thirties. Old enough to have back pain, young enough to still be annoying. They're dressed like they just came back from a beach party.
Except for one of them. One of them already scares the shit out of me. He's got that vibe. He looks like a cult leader.
I swallow hard. Lorenzo leans in, squinting. "Is that them?" he lowers his voice. "Jesus. The one on the right looks like he owns a boat and a cult."
Gio doesn't even look at him. "Shut the fuck up, Lorenzo."
I step in quickly before Lorenzo can escalate it.
"Good morning. Welcome. Thanks for meeting us up here." They all smile. One of them claps Gio on the shoulder. "Figured it was time for a setting with some air, right?" says the older guy.
"No more stiff, soulless conference rooms. Let's talk like people."
Lorenzo mutters, "Yeah, God forbid we be professional," and Gio elbows him under the table.
We start with some basic stuff about our hotels.
Obviously Lorenzo is lost. Gio is the one carrying the whole thing, again.
I don't get how he hates this job so much but somehow knows everything and is up to date on every detail.
I swear he's lying. Deep down he probably likes it and just doesn't want to admit it. Everything is going fine until one of the guys asks something about his dad, not knowing that he's not alive anymore.
From that moment, Gio's mood doesn't exactly crash, but it's like someone turns his volume down. He talks less. His answers get shorter.
I feel awful. Luckily, he snaps out of it pretty fast once the men start rambling non-stop about business again.
It took them two whole hours to decide if we're good enough to work with. Two hours.
At some point I genuinely wanted to get up, shake all their hands, say thank you, but at this point I don't even know if it's worth it, and leave.
They went over the same points three times. Asked questions Gio had already answered.
Cross-checked things they could've checked in an email. Half of it was just them hearing themselves talk. But in the end, I think we pulled it off.
They really like us.
"You," he says, nodding. "You're sharp. I like how your mind works."
I smile, a little startled but grateful. "Thanks. I like how your budget works, so I'd say we're even."
They laugh. Gio leans back in his chair. "Don't let him fool you, sir," he says, smirking. "He looks smart, but he once emailed a client an attachment called 'Final FINAL please use THIS ONE.pdf.'"
I roll my eyes. "You used that file, though."
"Because I was scared to open any of the other ten."
The older guy turns to Gio. "You, Giovanni... you remind me of my daughter's type. She's always showing me random guys on the street with tattoos, big arms, black hair, and going, 'Dad, get me one of those for Christmas.'"
All three of them burst out laughing.
We don't. We look absolutely terrified. There's no way he just said that so casually.
He basically looked at Gio and said, perfect Christmas gift for my child.
I have no idea what face I'm making, but it's definitely not professional. He twists around in his chair and shouts into the café, "Allegra! Come here a second!"
Gio freezes slightly. "Uh—"
"You got a girlfriend?" the man asks, smiling wide.
Gio hesitates. "No, but I'm—"
"Perfect!" the guy cuts him off. "She's here alone, bored out of her mind. I've got meetings all day. Why don't you take her for a spin around the city? Show her a little Spain. Who knows, maybe I'll end up being your father-in-law, eh?"
I choke on my water. It goes down the wrong way and I start hacking my lungs out, bending forward like I'm fighting for my life.
No one even pats my back.
I'm just there, publicly malfunctioning. Lorenzo is trying not to choke on his water from laughing.
And what do we do? We actually take her. Of course we do.
Allergy girl is now officially part of the squad. Because God forbid we ruin our reputation and say no thanks, we don't want to babysit your horny daughter while you talk numbers.
No.
We have to be the good boys. The charming gentlemen.
Give me a break.
Now we're stuck dragging her around Spain like a bonus side mission. Lorenzo is on my left, Gio somewhere in the middle, and she, Allegra, keeps pace like she's always been part of this crew. She wasn't.
She didn't fit, no matter how much her expensive sunglasses and designer boots try to convince me otherwise.
"So," she says, "what are we doing now?"
We're ditching you and going home. Sounds good to me.
Lorenzo, ever the diplomat, turns to her with a polite smile. "What do you want to do?"
She tilts her head. "I don't know." Then she turns fully to Gio. "What do you want to do?"
Of course. Of course she plays that card.
I drift closer to Lorenzo, annoyed. "She's so smooth with it," I say, deadpan.
He snorts. "'I'm desperate, Gio, please notice me.'"
I choke on a laugh and hide it behind my hand, pretending to cough.
We are evil. But it's not our fault. She only talks to him. Every sentence starts with Gio and ends with a giggle.
She's fully locked in. We get it, girl. You want to know what Gio tastes like. Take a number.
"Can I get your number?" she asks, looking right at Gio like no one else exists. I turn away fast.
Why am I this angry? Why? I'm pissed. First of all, it's rude.
Hi, hello, we're here too.
What are we, background furniture? Do we not exist unless we have tattoos and a jawline you want to sit on?
Let him breathe, Jesus.
"We have numbers too, you know," Lorenzo says suddenly, trying to cut the tension.
She doesn't even look at him. "Good for you," she says, with a smile.
My jaw drops. I'm sorry? Who does she think she is?
The disrespect is insane. Good for us? Yes, it is actually good for us. We have numbers, jobs, lives, and functioning personalities that don’t revolve around “teehee, Gio, you’re soo funny oh my God.”
I look at Gio.
He actually types something in her phone. I watch his fingers move on the screen. Watch her face light up like she won.
"Food?" Lorenzo suggests, clapping his hands once.
"Sure," I say through gritted teeth. Gio laughs. He looks like he's enjoying this. We start walking and she moves ahead a little.
A hand grabs my ass.
I spin around fast. Gio is smirking.
In your face, Allegra.
He just grabbed my ass instead of yours, and the chances that was an accident are exactly zero.
I bite back a smile and keep walking like nothing happened.
…
We sit down. She's across from me, trying to lock eyes with Gio every few seconds like she's casting some kind of cheap spell.
Gio acts like he doesn't notice.
But I know him. He does. Lorenzo makes a comment about the wine. She laughs too hard.
Gio gets up. "Bathroom," he says. The second he's gone, she takes a breath and starts performing.
"So," she turns to me, all sugar, "what does Gio like to eat?"
Men.
She's staring at the seafood menu. Gio's allergic to seafood. Once, years ago, he ate a single piece of shrimp without knowing and everything went to hell in ten seconds.
It was… bad. Genuinely traumatic to watch. I still think about it sometimes when someone orders prawns.
"Not seafood," I say.
"Why not?" she blinks. "Guys like him love seafood. It's very macho."
Macho. That’s the word she went with.
"He's allergic," I say. "Dangerously."
She twirls her hair. "Sometimes allergies go away. I saw a video about it. Maybe if he tries a little now, it'll be fine. The body changes. You know. I'll just get him a salad with crab on the side so he can try if he wants."
I stare at her. "Are you… okay?"
She glares. "I'm just trying to do something nice."
"Trying to send him to the ER is not nice," I say.
Lorenzo chuckles low. He is enjoying this. Freak.
"He's a grown man," she says. "He can order for himself."
"Well, he didn't," I say. "And you're making up allergies for him."
"I'm guessing. That's how people get to know each other, you know, take a risk?"
"On his life?!"
She leans forward. "What is your problem?"
"You're wasting your time," I mutter.
"Excuse me?"
"You asked."
Lorenzo cuts in.
"Okay! Since Gio is apparently seconds from death, I'll order for him. Steak, medium rare, fries. Simple."
The waiter escapes.
She stares at me. I don’t look away. "What's your deal with him?" she asks. "You act like he's your boyfriend."
"You wouldn't get it," I say.
Gio returns, wiping his hands on his pants. "What's up?" he asks, scanning our faces.
He stops on mine. I raise an eyebrow. "You're having steak."
He grins. "Thanks, doctor."
"You two need a sitcom," Lorenzo says.
No one laughs but him.
…
We finally get back to the hotel. Finally. I feel like I've aged five years. She hasn’t stopped talking since dessert. About yoga, hangovers, gossip. I tune in and out, mostly out. My brain is fried. My patience is thinner than tissue paper.
She hasn't stopped talking since dessert.
We stop at the entrance. Gio is beside me. Close but not close enough.
"So, Gio," she says, "is there someone you like?"
He looks at her. Then at me.
"Sort of," he says.
She puts her hand on her heart. "Aw. That actually makes me a little sad."
"But…" She smiles. "You’re amazing, so I will help. Let's make her jealous. Maybe she just needs a push."
She turns to me. "Rava, take a picture of us, will you?"
She grabs his face and kisses his cheek. Lorenzo cackles. I take the picture. Click. "She better be blind if this doesn’t work," she says, proudly.
"Blind, deaf, and desperate," I mutter.
No one hears me. "I’m heading to a summer fest," she says, suddenly lighting up again. "It happens every year. You guys should come!"
"Nope," Gio says immediately. That… surprised me. She tilts her head. "What? Why not?"
He shrugs. "Not my scene."
I stare at him. He didn’t even think about it.