Page 86 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
“Don’t you want to leave your mark on the financial world?” I pressed, channeling his usual way of pushing me to dream bigger.
“Of course I do—”
I immediately stopped him from going down the well-worn road of self-criticism and rationalizations—a path I knew all too well. “Then what else is there to consider?”
He paused. “I wouldn’t be working for myself like I’d originally dreamed of. And … Theo’s a wild card. He took down his own brother to get the CEO role. Even if it was the right call, what’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to me?”
He took a breath and opened his mouth to say something else, only to close it once more after he must have thought better of it.
“What?” I asked gently. “What else?”
But whatever else concerned him about accepting Theo Drake’s offer vanished as we pulled into the parking lot behind the building perfectly situated under the Brooklyn Bridge. The small lot, with only five cars, had spaces exclusively reserved for the Rossi family.
James crossed in front of the car to open my door for me. The building’s architecture nearly distracted me toomuch to swoon. Nearly. There were still a few butterflies floating around in there as he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm.
“This place is amazing.” I was in awe that James’s family restaurant was in such a beautiful building.
“It was a bank in the 1800s,” James told me as we walked around to the front of the building, giving me a better look at the large arched floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed an intimately lit dining space on the other side, filled with red-checkered tablecloths and old pictures hung on the walls.
My excitement about the restaurant nearly eclipsed the fact that I was meeting James’s family. We stepped through the heavy old door that must have also belonged to the building when it was once a bank for Brooklyn centuries ago and a woman with beautiful black hair and a paler complexion than James came into view.
“James!” she exclaimed, hurrying around the stand to wrap him in a hug.
A scarlet blush crept into James’s cheeks as he hugged the woman back before they pulled apart and her eyes landed on me.
“Oh, my. How rude of me.” The woman turned to swat James across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing a date, James? Your mother is going to be beside herself.”
Us?I knew James’s family ran the restaurant, but did that mean hisentirefamily was here?
“Because I knew you, Mom, and Nonna would make a big deal out of it.” James gave the woman a knowing look. “Like you are right now.”
“Nonsense.” The woman waved James off and turned to take my hands in hers. “It’s so lovely to meet you, sweetie. I’m Maria, James’s aunt.”
“Hallie.” I was acutely aware of the panic in James’s eyes as he watched his aunt swoop me into a hug.
“Let me get a good look at you, Hallie.” Maria held me at arm’s length as she surveyed me from head to toe. James’s face matched the red of the tablecloths.
“Aunt Maria—”
James’s aunt silenced his pleas with a single look. “You are beautiful, Hallie,” she told me with a wink.
“Thanks,” I murmured, feeling completely out of my comfort zone already and we’d only just stepped inside.
“I’ll let Tony and Lorenzo know you’re here.” Maria turned toward the dining room, scanning the area for someone in particular. “Brandon,” she called out to a younger version of James. He was wearing a white apron around his waist and carried a notebook in his hand.
“Yeah, Mom?” Brandon asked once he was close enough.
“Can you take James and Hallie to the family table?” Maria asked.
Brandon eyed me curiously as he nodded to Maria. “I’m Brandon, James’s cousin.” He offered me his hand as the three of us entered the dining area.
The ceiling had gold-stamped tin tiles that I was positive were from the original bank architecture. Repurposed wine bottles formed chandeliers that hung around the space, creating the dim lighting which gave the restaurant a warm and inviting feel.
“I’m Hallie,” I replied. Unsure how else to explain my presence, I left it at that, despite Brandon’s curiosity.
Now I had a perfect vantage point for the pictures hung on the walls. They were black-and-white photos of Brooklyn—the surrounding neighborhood through the years and the people that lived there. There were stills of the Rossi family. I recognized Maria, though she was far younger in the pictures. She was standing in the arms of a man that had the same tan skin and dark features as James in front of the pizzeria. Next to them was a man that was the near spitting image of James with a woman in his arms. She was beautiful, almost ethereal in the way she held herself with such poise.
“That’s my mother and father,” James whispered in my ear when he noticed me studying the photo. “And that’s my aunt, Maria, and my uncle, Antonio. They’d just taken over the restaurant from my grandparents that day—although in name only, it turns out.”
