Page 225 of Damaged Mogul
My questioning gaze traps my father’s. “You didn’t mention this would be lunch for three.”
“It was a last-minute decision. Lucky for me, Giuseppe was available,” he says. “Take a seat.”
I sit, placing my handbag on the chair next to mine.
The private room is appointed in the same tasteful airy décor as the rest of the restaurant. Other than an array of colorful flowers placed in vases, white is the predominant color.
My father sits down and reaches for the bottle of red.
He’s about to serve me a glass, but I stop him. “It’s too early?—”
“It’s not that early, but if you’re only rolling out of bed, it would be.”
I’ve had enough.“For your information, yesterday or the day before—I’m not certain—I ate something that didn’t agree with me and I’ve been sick all morning. Both were Italian meals, so it could’ve been the cheese. Since I barfed all over what I was wearing, I had to take a shower, wash my hair, reapply makeup, and get dressed. That’swhy I’m late. It’s not because I think tardiness is acceptable, nor is it because I was being lazy.”
A fleeting flash of embarrassment darts in his gray eyes, but the remorse evaporates in a flash.
He squares off his shoulders, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “Why didn’t you say so when you texted me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
He considers me with his lips pursed.
No, you wouldn’t have.
“You have a valid reason for being late?—”
“Why are we having lunch with Giuseppe DeMaro?” I cutto the chase. “You haven’t bought a PR firm yet, so it’s not as if my presence here is necessary if the two of you are going to talk about Chandler’s political career.”
“This lunch isn’t about Chandler. It’s aboutyou. Specifically, it’s about youandGiuseppe.”
“What do you mean?”
My stomach is acting up.
Crap.
To will it to settle, I reach for the bread. Not bothering with butter, I tear off a piece and shove it into my mouth.
“Dario and I think Giuseppe and you would form a good couple.”
I stop chewing.
I place a hand over my mouth. “I don’t understand.”
“Dario is a powerful man. We’ve brokered a few deals together lately and we’d love to see our alliance extend further.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“The best way for you and Giuseppe to get to know each other is by dating.”
I choke on my saliva. “What?”
“The DeMaros plan on being important players in Chandler’s campaign. Giuseppe is single and you’re single. It makes sense.” This isn’t a suggestion. It’s a decree.
“Let me get this straight”—I lift a hand up—“you decide the trajectory of my career. You decide which film school I’m going to attend. And now, you take it upon yourself to play matchmaker? When does it end, Father? Are you going to dictate who I marry next?”
“Yes,” he says. “The plan is for you and Giuseppe to get married.”
