Page 38 of The Broker
“I work as a web developer,” I say in response to his question. “Freelance work, mostly. I did Rosa’s website.” I give Franco a challenging look. “Have you seen it?”
Franco is oblivious to my subtle disapproval. “No,” he replies. “Fashion isn’t really my thing. With the world in the state it is, I think people should focus on something more important.”
Dump him, Rosa.
“Like what?” I ask sweetly, making a superhuman effort to keep the rage out of my voice.
“Well, I donate money to a variety of worthy causes.” Franco sets off on a long and pompous spiel about his charitable donations. If he sees the irony about dining in a restaurant where the average check per person isthree hundred euros—I googled it—he doesn’t register it.
The waiter arrives with menus. Neil immediately reaches for the wine list. “I’ll order a bottle for the table,” he announces. “Ladies, please don’t worry about the prices. Tonight’s on me.”
Forget giving Neil the benefit of the doubt. That pompous announcement seals it.I don’t like him.
“Thank you,” Rosa murmurs. She holds up her menu to cover her face and mouths, “Sorry” to me.
Neil orders a hideously expensive bottle. I mentally shudder at the waste. I make good money—Antonio Moretti pays me well for my expertise. But I have difficulty spending it. Maybe it’s because I grew up poor. Or maybe because money was a big part of why I couldn’t leave Roberto—I didn’t have enough to flee. We could have moved into a larger place three years ago, and Angelica could have got her puppy, but I’m frozen, afraid to make the move.
Maybe I’ve been frozen for a very long time. If so, then Dante’s kissdefinitelywoke me from my slumber.
At Neil’s urging, we all order the tasting menu. I’m secretly afraid we’ll get nine courses of flavored foam, but thankfully, we get actual food, and it’s delicious.
The tasting menu is definitely the best part of the evening. When the bill shows up, things get a little unglued.
Neil places a credit card down. The waiter takes it away ceremoniously, only to return a moment later. “I’m sorry, sir,” he whispers discreetly. “The card did not work.”
“Did not work?” Neil splutters. He glares at me when he says that, as if it’s my fault. “There’s plenty of room on it.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the poor waiter says again. “We tried twice. Perhaps a different card?”
Gritting his teeth, Neil pulls another credit card from his wallet and practically throws it at the man. “Try this one,” he snaps.
It doesn’t work either.
It’s only when the third card doesn’t work that I clue in. This can’t be an accident. This has to be Dante sabotaging my evening. This is payback for the Viagra.
But my prank only targeted Dante; it didn’t involve Lara. I might not like her, but she’s an innocent bystander. Dante, on the other hand, seems to think Neil’s fair game.
Not cool, dude. Seriously, not cool.
I pull out my purse and pull out a card. “Here,” I say to the waiter. “Use mine.”
I’m fuming by the time I get back to Dante’s house. “You made my date look like a fool,” I hurl out the moment I open the door. Dante is on the couch, his legs stretched out on the coffee table. “Deliberately.”
Dante shrugs. “If he can’t pay for a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, he shouldn’t order it.” He lifts a glass of wine in my direction. I glance at the bottle, and it’s the same wine Neil ordered for the table.
Asshole.
“Why did you sabotage my date?”
“How did your new friend handle his credit card issue? With good grace, or did he throw a tantrum? You learn a lot about people from watching how they handle a stressful situation.”
He looked like he wanted to punch the waiter. And when we left the restaurant, Neil insisted we go to an ATM, where he withdrew enough money to pay me back. He practically threw the notes at me. As Dante obviously knows. “You were watching my date?”
“I was here with Angelica like I said I would be,” he replies. “But yes, I was having you watched.”
“What the hell, Dante?” All of a sudden, the adrenaline drains out of me. “It’s hard enough as it is. If I want to see Neil again, I’ll do it without your interference. Just leave me alone, damn it.”
“What about Peron? Are the two of you done?” My words sink in, and he looks up, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, it’s hard enough as it is?”