Page 27 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
By our second round of drinks, I’d quickly realized that there wouldn’t be a second date. Why is that? Because the second round of drinks never came as Mr. Red Head became caught up in a conversation with a peer about work that would derail the entire date.
But nevertheless, I was on a mission to find the most eligible man in finance, and I wouldn’t settle until I found him.
After I hit send, I realized the details I added to improve the chemistry weren’t necessarily based on the guys but had more to do with a certain 6′5″, blue-eyed investment banker who I just couldn’t get out of my mind.
9
James
As I entered my family’s restaurant, the familiar scents of garlic, tomatoes, and warm pizza dough enveloped me. It instantly transported me back to being nine years old, standing on a stool in the kitchen next to my Nonna and Nonno. I could almost hear Nonna’s soft Italian lullaby of instructions as she showed me how to knead the dough just right, whispering that it was a secret—one I could never share with anyone but family. I could taste the salty-sweet sauce simmering on the stove and feel the heat of the oven warming the kitchen, everything coming together into the meals that shaped my love for food. That scent always made me feel like I was home, no matter how far I’d wandered.
Rossi Pizzeria was situated just under the Brooklyn Bridge, in a corner building that was once a bank in the late 1800s. Much of the architecture remained—the large arched floor-to-ceiling windows, the stamped gold-tin ceiling, and a handcrafted staircase in the back of the restaurant that took you up to an event space. Red-checked cloths adorned the tables. A mixture of black-and-white stills of Brooklyn and family photos hung proudly on the walls. Repurposed wine bottles formed chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. This place had gone through many iterations in its time. A cramped, diner-like space that myfather and his brother had then remodeled into the open-floor elevated dining space that it was now. Patrons could see the kitchen from the dining room, watching pizza makers toss pizzas into and out of the brick ovens. Or watching my grandfather, still the only one to put the final garnishes on top of each pie.
On a Sunday afternoon, only a few people occupied tables—a far cry from the bustling restaurant it once was. Times had changed. People had moved out of the neighborhood and flashier places had popped up round the corner, taking customers away from Rossi’s despite it being a Brooklyn staple.
My father seemed to have realized that it was sink or swim for the pizzeria. My aunt, uncle, and grandparents still believed that the legacy they had already built would carry them on.
“James, hey!” Brandon bussed one of the few dirty tables in the restaurant. A white apron tied around his waist. He worked a shift nearly every day to help him pay for tuition at NYU. He was studying business, intending to take over this place from his parents one day.
I only hoped it was still around then.
As I walked in, I noticed his younger sister, my cousin Emilia, carrying a tray of drinks to a table near the back. She was wearing a simple black apron over a volleyball t-shirt, the same shirt she wore to every shift after coming from practice. She had that quiet determination about her that made me respect her work ethic more than she probably knew. Even though she was still in high school, Emilia was a fixture in the restaurant, always helping when she wasn’t on the court.
“Is my dad in?” I shifted my satchel farther up on my shoulder, glancing at Emilia as she made her way past me.
After Brandon’s twenty-first birthday party, I’d been thinking about how I could make a difference to my family’s restaurant. I’d put together an entire business proposal that I was certain my father and uncle couldn’t say no to. Especially when they saw the projected figures I’d worked on for revenue. Money was a language everyone could understand. Even if my father and uncle specialized in the art of pizza.
She flashed me a quick smile before heading to the kitchen. “Dad and Uncle G are in the back office,” she called over her shoulder.
“Thanks.” I nodded before turning my attention back to Brandon.
“It’s been a slow day,” he said, adjusting his apron as he wiped down another table. “Do you want me to put an order in for you?”
“Sure,” I told him before I made my way toward the back of the restaurant.
Today’s visit was unannounced. I hadn’t told my father or uncle what I’d been working on. More to avoid hearing a no before I could even get started. Because if there was one thing the Rossi clan was good at, it was being stubborn with asking for help.
Voices that spoke in hushed tones on the other side of the door quieted when I knocked.
“Come in,” my father’s heavily accented voice came from the other side.
“James!” Uncle Antonio exclaimed when I opened thedoor. Both my uncle and my father wore mirrored looks of surprise.
Nowadays, it was difficult for me to come all the way to Brooklyn to visit the restaurant. Most weekdays and some weekends I spent in the office crunching numbers and analysing market trends. But that didn’t minimize how important my family was to me. No client was more important than my family’s well-being and happiness.
“What are you doing here, son?” My father sat forward in his chair behind the only desk in the cramped office that was covered in so many bills and various pieces of paper that I wasn’t sure how he could tell heads from tails.
“I wanted to talk with you and Uncle Antonio. Here’s a proposal I’ve prepared for you both to review.” I took my satchel off my shoulder to grab my laptop with all my notes.
“A proposal?” When I looked at my father’s confused face, I saw myself thirty years from now—thick eyebrows with different shades of gray, thick curls that were turning from silver to white, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that hinted at a life full of laughter and happiness.
“I know how we can keep up with the current social media trend in the market.” Uncle Antonio let out a chuckle as he settled back into his seat, his eyes bouncing between my father and me as if he knew he was in for a show.
My father waved me off as I set up my laptop and pulled up the presentation I’d made. “We are fine,figlio.”
I’d come prepared for a fight. Brandon had already mentioned how little importance our parents placed on social media and how little they believed it could getmeaningful results. But numbers don’t lie, and surely they would both see that.
“If you’ll just let me show you what I was thinking.” Opposition was nothing new to me. I faced it daily in the office. There was a reason people nicknamed players in finance “sharks” or “wolves”. When they smelled blood, they went in for the kill. Everyone around me wanted to be the pack leader, the one on top, and they’d do anything to make sure that you didn’t succeed so they could.
