More Than a Mistress (Latin Men Book 5) Read online

  “I promised you I’d come, and I’m very interested in your business proposition,” Sonia said, ignoring the taxing press of some indefinable sensation that weighed heavy on her chest.

  “Good.” His eyes raked her body—a quick flicker, but noticeable. “You look lovely this evening. It’s a shame I have you hidden away up here where no one can see you.”

  The unexpected compliment made her skin heat, and she was certain he could see the red tint on her neck.

  “Thank you,” Sonia murmured.

  She couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. Was it a smirk or simply a pleasant smile?

  He held out a chair and she settled into it, inhaling the bold scent of his cologne—something citrusy, with hints of bergamot. She waited as he crossed to the other side and sat down.

  “This is a lovely place you have,” Sonia said.

  “Have you ever eaten here before?” he asked.

  “No, I haven’t.” She spread the white napkin across her lap, cursing inside her head at the nervous twitter of her fingers.

  “Well, I can’t wait to entice you with all the good food you’re about to have. Everything we serve is excellent.” He flashed a grin, exposing white teeth and softening his normally sharp features into an appealing expression that stole her breath.

  Her attraction to him was a bit unnerving. Being in his presence created a tightening in her gut, an unexpected tension she couldn’t attribute solely to nervousness about his potential business offer.

  A new waiter entered, wearing the black vest, white shirt, and black slacks that made up the uniform of all the servers. His long hair was pulled back into a bunched ponytail at his nape.

  “Since you’ve never eaten here before, do you mind if I order for us?”

  She smiled briefly. “I trust your judgment.”

  “Good.”

  Esteban spoke to the young man in Spanish, and the server nodded his understanding several times. He didn’t take notes, which, from working in the restaurant industry for years, Sonia knew meant he was really good at what he did. Servers who didn’t take notes were often the ones asked for by name when guests arrived in a restaurant, and she wasn’t at all surprised Esteban had chosen one of his best employees to serve them.

  When the young man left, Esteban turned his attention to her. “So, what do you think of the view?”

  Her gaze shifted to the open window. “I like it. It must be stunning during the daytime.”

  “This is one of our more popular rooms. It can seat up to twelve comfortably, and the wall behind you can be opened to expand the room and accommodate more seating into an even wider dining area.”

  “I read somewhere that Patagonia was your first U.S. venture?”

  He sat back in the chair. “I see you did your homework.”

  “Of course.”

  He chuckled softly, a warm and inviting sound. She wanted to roll around in his laugh the way she did soft sheets just pulled from the dryer.

  “We spent a year in renovations, remodeling and upgrading until we ended up with what you see today.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, clearly proud of his work. “I try to capture the authenticity of the culture of the cuisine we serve, not just in the food, but in the décor. The framed textiles were handmade in Peru. Those pieces”—he pointed at two colorful impressionist paintings showing boats in a marina—“are by an Argentinean painter by the name of Benito Quinquela Martín.” He said the name with reverence. The artist was obviously one of his favorites.

  The waiter returned and, with a draped napkin across his forearm, displayed the label of the bottle. Esteban nodded his approval, and the young man uncorked and poured an ounce for his boss. Esteban dipped his nose into the glass and inhaled the wine’s aroma. He swirled the liquid and then swallowed a drop, tossing it around his mouth before he nodded in approval.

  The waiter poured her a glass and then a glass for Esteban. Sonia raised her brows in surprise as the young man disappeared from the room. The staff was well trained, right down to using the proper etiquette of serving ladies first, no matter who ordered the wine. No surprise there. Esteban had a reputation for being a perfectionist.

  He continued, “Through my company Galiano Holdings, I own restaurants here in the States, South America, Canada, France, Italy, and Spain. Some serve South American cuisine, but I also own Italian restaurants, French bistros, Asian-Latin fusion restaurants, coffee houses, and am part owner of two European bakeries—one in Miami and the other in New York.”

  Completely enthralled, Sonia rested a chin on her hand. She’d expected to have a strictly business-centered dinner but saw the opportunity to learn more about the man so many knew very little about.

  “Is it true that you once closed a restaurant because the chef didn’t meet your standards?”

  “Not everything you’ve heard about me is true, but that is true. We closed temporarily, for a week.”

  “That must have cost you a small fortune.”

  “My name and reputation are worth more than a few lost sales.”

  That was definitely a loaded answer, with a hidden meaning she couldn’t yet decipher.

  “How did you get started in the restaurant business?”

  He laughed softly. “Why do I feel as if I’m the one being interviewed instead of the other way around?”

  “I’m getting to know you, which is why you set up this meeting, correct?”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “Correct.” He took a sip of wine, and she had the distinct impression that he was stalling, as if trying to decide how much to share.

  “My father was a trained chef and had what we call in Argentina a closed-door restaurant. Have you heard of this before?”

  Sonia shook her head. “Never.”

  “They’re not so popular anymore, but at one time were the only way for chefs to earn a living if they couldn’t afford to open their own restaurant. It was inside our home, and included tables set up outside, as well. We could accommodate as many as thirty people at one time.”

  “Did your siblings help?”

  “I have no siblings. It was me, my mother, and my father.”

  He was an only child, like her.

  “How did that work? Did people walk in off the street?”

  “Reservation only. My father would prepare a five-course meal, which varied from week to week. One day he cooked French, another Italian, or Argentine food might be on the menu. It all depended on his mood and the fresh ingredients available. After the guests were served, he’d sit and talk with them. It wasn’t work for him. It was like having a large family over for dinner.”

  “Sounds like the restaurant business was in your blood.” Sonia reached for her glass of water.

  “Not in my blood,” Esteban said, jaw hardening.

  Startled, Sonia paused. A coolness had entered his eyes, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong.

  “I had a choice, and I chose to follow in my father’s footsteps. It was the decision that made me the happiest and continues to make me happy. There is nothing else I could imagine myself doing, despite the struggles and difficulties of the job. My father was very proud when I opened my first restaurant. It was a small café, nothing much.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “My father worked every day until his death, seldom taking a vacation. He loved to cook. He loved to feed people.”

  Sonia sipped her water, choosing to remain silent. Work didn’t hold the same pleasures for her, at least not lately. The uncertainty of a sporadic paycheck made her second-guess her career choice.

  Esteban steepled his fingers on the table. “What about you? Do you look forward to work every day, and how did you get started?”

  “I’ve always worked in restaurants. I had a job working at a place in Atlanta, and I stayed late one night with the owner and helped him close up. He opened a bottle of wine and we sat in his office and chatted. I was nineteen—too young to be drinking—but he asked me what I thought of it. I s
urprised him with my vivid description. We kept talking, he said I had a discerning palate, and asked if I’d ever considered becoming a sommelier. I’d never heard of a sommelier—didn’t even know how to spell the word.” She laughed softly. “Anyway, he’d piqued my interest, and I did some research. It sounded like the kind of thing I’d enjoy, and I happen to enjoy wine.” She took a deep breath. There was much more to the story that she didn’t need to share with Esteban. “But lately, I’ve wondered if I should consider a different career.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I still love what I do, but ever since my hours were cut at Azul, I’ve wondered if I should do something else. As a result, I don’t enjoy it like I used to.”

  “Hmm,” Esteban said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Hopefully, I can change that.”

  Chapter 6

  The food was excellent, starting with a platter of picada, served on a wood plate overflowing with a fine selection of salami, ham, and cubed cheese. Not wanting to spoil her appetite, Sonia ate a modest amount, but Esteban had no such limitations. He ate heartily and washed everything down with the delicious red wine.

  When their entrees arrived, the sight and smell of the steak made Sonia’s stomach dance in anticipation. She wasn’t disappointed. The grilled steak was well seasoned, tender, and juicy, served with a side of basil-fried corn and chimichurri sauce. The fresh garlic and spices danced across her palate, and she emitted an involuntary moan.

  “You like it?” Although the words came out as a question, they sounded more like a statement.

  “Delicious,” Sonia replied, around a mouthful of meat.

  With a satisfied smile, Esteban sliced into his own steak, kept company on the plate by a fried lobster tail. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Dessert.”

  Across the table, his eyes danced with a teasing light, and a throb of heat blossomed between Sonia’s legs. Quickly, she lowered her gaze to the plate in front of her.

  “That’s my least favorite part of a meal,” she informed him.

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t like sweets much.”

  “I’m disappointed. One of the most popular items on the menu is our chocolate mousse cake. It’s decadent and rich and accompanied by a healthy serving of Venezuelan gelato. It’s one of my personal favorites.”

  Sonia wrinkled her nose. “Chocolate is my least favorite sweet. I don’t see what all the fuss is about, to be honest.”

  He studied her from across the table. “No chocolates for you on Valentine’s Day?” he said.

  “A waste of time.” Sonia shrugged.

  “Flowers, at least?”

  “Those I do enjoy.”

  “Let me guess. Red roses?”

  A bouquet of red roses could brighten her day any time of the year. “That was easy. What woman doesn’t enjoy those?”

  “Not so easy. Every woman is different. Every woman has her preference. I, for example, jumped to the conclusion that you’d be a chocolate lover. Do you not like any kind of sweets?”

  “Not really. Except…” She laughed. “I have a weak spot for sour gummy worms. I could eat a whole bag by myself.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten one.”

  “Trust me, you’re missing out. They’re addictive.”

  He continued to look at her with such interest that Sonia lowered her gaze to her plate and continued to eat.

  Halfway through the meal, she asked, “Is it okay for me to ask questions about the job now?”

  She was feeling a slight buzz from all the Malbec they’d drunk, and a certain satisfaction from eating food that was well prepared and surpassed anything she’d eaten in a long time. No wonder his restaurant received such rave reviews.

  “Certainly.” Esteban poured himself more wine and topped off her glass.

  “I think that’s enough,” she said with a little laugh, placing a restraining hand near the mouth of her glass.

  “One can never have enough of a good thing,” Esteban said.

  Again she sensed a hidden meaning beneath the words. His eyes rested on her with such intensity that she temporarily looked away.

  After clearing her throat, she asked, “What did you have in mind for the dinner parties?”

  “I entertain contacts in my real estate deals, investors in my restaurants, and other business associates. Sometimes they bring their wives or a companion. I’d like to offer a unique dining experience. With your knowledge, I think I could improve my parties—make them more entertaining, and even educate my guests on the wines from my country.”

  “Private dinner parties with sommeliers are becoming more common.” For those who could afford the luxury, receiving personalized attention from a wine expert added a sophisticated touch to any affair. “How large is your wine collection?”

  “It’s quite extensive,” he said.

  Sonia thought for a moment. “We could have a private tasting, where I explain about the different wines, educate your guests on the history and story behind the grapes, that kind of thing. We could even make a game of it, encouraging your guests to do blind taste tests. It can be a lot of fun.”

  She’d done several of those in the past for clients, providing wine from a local wine shop. But if Esteban’s collection was as large as she suspected, she could pull from his inventory and show off his collection. It would be the kind of activity his guests would enjoy, and she’d be able to display her talents and perhaps generate more business.

  “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  “How often do you entertain?” She sliced another piece of meat and slipped it into her mouth.

  He slowly chewed and shrugged. “Two or three times a month. I don’t anticipate needing you that often, but we can play it by ear based on our schedules.”

  “I’d have to see your collection at some point.”

  “How about tonight?” Esteban asked smoothly.

  “Tonight? I hadn’t planned on going to your place this evening.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I… No, it’s not.” Sonia couldn’t honestly think of a reason why she couldn’t accept his invitation. “Should I assume I have the job?”

  “I would say so, but the final decision is up to you. You should come by tonight, and if you want to ride separately, we can do that. But I’d much prefer to have you in the car with me this time.”

  She looked across the table at him, hesitation riding heavy on her chest. She didn’t honestly have concerns about her safety, but a sixth sense cautioned she should be careful nonetheless. “I think I can trust you, and several people saw us together tonight.” She softened the words with a smile, even as the hesitation swelled. “If I wind up missing, they’ll at least come looking for you.”

  He chuckled and sat back in the chair, relaxed, idly swirling the wine glass in his hand. “You won’t end up missing, I assure you. A woman like you should be on display.”

  That was the second time he’d made a similar remark, and Sonia shifted uneasily in her chair. “Mr. Galiano, I think I should make one thing clear. You’re hiring me to be a private sommelier, correct? Nothing more?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  He seemed surprised, and she couldn’t tell if his reaction was genuine or counterfeit.

  “The comment you made about women like me deserving to be on display. That type of comment makes me wonder about your motives.”

  “Are you not used to hearing compliments?”

  That was a difficult question to answer. If she said yes, she risked sounding conceited, but the truth was that she did get compliments a lot. Sonia knew she was an attractive woman with a shapely figure. Married men, other women’s boyfriends, they had no qualms about approaching her. Over the years, she’d learned to handle the men who came onto her, and sometimes flirted with male customers at the restaurant because it ensured they’d buy more wine
. At the very least, she could upsell them.

  In those instances, she felt in control. She knew what she was doing. It was all part of a dance to get what she wanted. With Esteban, however, she felt at a slight disadvantage. He held all the cards. She needed to keep him happy and impress him so she could get this job.

  “I do get compliments, but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us.” She licked her lips. “You’re only interested in my somm services, correct?”

  “Do you offer some other type of service?” he asked. He was toying with her.

  “No.”

  A slight smile. “Well then…”

  He hadn’t answered her question.

  “I do have one request—two, actually,” Esteban said. “We should dispense with the formality of last names. You may call me Esteban, and I hope you’ll allow me to call you Sonia.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “Good.”

  “And your second request?”

  “That you keep an open mind,” he said.

  “An open mind about the job?”

  “Yes. This relationship could be mutually beneficial for both of us.”

  Sonia twirled her glass of wine on the tabletop. “I promise to keep an open mind,” she said.

  Esteban lifted his glass. “Salud.”

  Sonia raised hers. “Salud.”

  At the end of the meal, Esteban made a point of stopping to speak to the maître d’ on the way out. He informed him that Sonia would be accompanying him to his home to take a look at his wine cellar, a conversation that was clearly to put her mind at ease, which she appreciated. Armando didn’t bat an eyelid.

  Esteban escorted her to his waiting vehicle, the champagne-colored Maybach she saw him get into the night of Arturo’s party. As they approached, he placed a hand on her lower back in a subtle gesture, but her nerve endings tingled and sparked where he touched. The sensation disbursed everywhere and sent a tiny shiver through her body.

  The driver, a middle-aged black man with toasty brown skin, wearing a black chauffeur uniform and cap, opened the door, and she settled inside. Sonia had never been inside a Maybach before. She was impressed by the plush sheepskin floor mats beneath her feet, and a series of buttons that controlled everything, from the fully reclining seats with footrests to the heated massage option.