Espresso Shot

“You’d like to offer me something more, signorina?”

Again he’d used Italian. The tone was suggestive. I ignored it. Averting my focus downward, I placed his empty demitasse back on my tray and held out the final espresso. Nunzio intentionally overreached, moving his hand beyond the cup. His long, callused fingers lightly brushed my wrist then moved down, tickling the outside edge of my hand before taking possession of the saucer.

The contact was not subtle. The caress was deliberate and a little bit shocking. When I glanced up, his liquid-brown eyes locked on to my startled green ones. Then his lips lifted in private amusement. Obviously, the sculptor had caught me admiring his hands, so he’d decided to let me feel them, too.

I said nothing, simply swallowed and turned to leave the room. There was a palpable intensity in the man that became more apparent as he became more awake. I was glad, frankly, to get myself clear of it.

As I approached the double doors, they swung open, and Monica strode in.

“Ah!” Brea

“Bene!” Nunzio said.

He was sitting up straight now. The dark storm in his olive-ski

As I turned around to close the double doors, Brea

I slipped away as the three of them-Bree, Nunzio, and Monica-began to examine the layout. Back in the break room, I brewed up four more espressos, attracting attention from some of the magazine staff. Drawn by the heavenly aroma of the Bouchon House Blend, the assistants clustered around me at the counter. They were all young women. Like Terri, they were very slender with an ethereal beauty that reminded me of pixies in the forest.

I gave them a quick lesson in how to work the machine for themselves, taking the opportunity to casually question them about Brea

A few minutes later, I was off again with a tray full of espressos. Returning to the corner office, I found Nunzio and Bree talking animatedly-but not unhappily-about his profile pages. By now, Roman Brio had also joined them.

I served the sculptor, Monica, and Roman. This time Brea

“The layout is good,” he finally declared, his Italian accent strong. “Make the changes I desire, and I will review her again before she prints, si?”

“Of course!” Brea

“And now I have something for you…”

The sculptor’s powerful hand reached into his Armani jacket and came out holding a small blue ring box. He flipped open the lid and, with a little bow, presented it to Brea

“Oh. Oh God. They’re magnificent…”

Bree’s voice had gone soft, as if she were actually envisioning the moment the rings would be exchanged with her groom-instead of the moment they’d be photographed for her magazine.

Everyone in the room fell silent, aware of Brea

“I worked with the finest goldsmith on the Ponte Vecchio to realize this vision,” Nunzio said. “There are no other rings like these on earth-” He paused and smiled. “At this time.”

“Yes, of course. They’re the perfect prototype to launch your international jewelry line,” Brea

Nunzio set his empty espresso cup aside and rose from his chair. With a little smile he said, “May your marriage be blessed.”

Brea

Roman smiled, obviously touched. He tucked the box into his lapel pocket. Like Puck making promises to his fairy queen, he crossed his heart with his pudgy hand.

“I’ll keep them with me at all times, my dear. I’ll guard them with my life.”

“I believe him,” Nunzio said with a laugh. Then he checked his watch. “Now I must go. Scusa, please.”

Brea

“Yes, Ms. Summour.”

Before the young woman left, Bree caught Monica’s eye and smiled. “Good job on the pages.”

Monica’s tense expression registered relief. “Thank you.” She returned her boss’s smile then led Nunzio toward the door.

On his way out, the sculptor noticed me. “Arrivederci, signorina.”

“Buona permaneza,” I replied, telling him to enjoy his stay.

Monica continued into the hallway, but Nunzio slowed his steps until he’d stopped dead in front of me. Using two long fingers, he reached into his jacket’s breast pocket and brought out a cream-colored card. He held it out to me, his gaze holding mine until I took it. Then a half smile broke his intense mask, and he continued out the door.

Brea

I shrugged. “Just his business card.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Let me see that.”

I handed her the small, flat rectangle. She examined it, flipped it over and laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“He asked me your name after you left the room. Then I watched him write something on one of his cards. It’s his hotel room number, Clare.”

“What?”

“At the Mandarin Oriental, about thirty floors up.”

“Good Lord. You keep it then. I have no intention of visiting the man in his hotel room. What does he think I am?”

She laughed again, slumping down in her chair as if the air had been let out of her. “You should be flattered. He obviously liked you as much as your espressos. Why not give him a whirl?”

Give him a whirl? Then and there I decided that Brea

“I’m not going to the man’s hotel room,” I said, “because I’m in a relationship, and I don’t cheat.”

Brea

“Ms. Summour?” Terri was at the door, holding a package. “This was just delivered by courier. There’s no return address, but it’s marked ‘Wedding gift, open immediately.’ ”

“Bring it in,” she said. “Terri, would you like to see my rings?”

Terri nodded vigorously. Roman brought them out again.

“Ohmigod, they’re so beautiful!”

Bree and Terri talked for a minute about the rings, then her schedule, then some phone calls that had come in during her meeting with Nunzio.

“Terri, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a gem! I’m just sorry your promotion will have to wait a little longer.”