Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement (26 page)

His gaze slid away from hers.
“Cara,”
he murmured. “We have problem. The bad produce, it hurts the restaurants. People expect only the very best at Milano’s. They start to complain. We hold out many months, but soon, Milano’s go pfft.” He gestured downward with his thumbs. “Down the tub.”

“Tube.”

“That, too.” He stared at her glumly. “Our goose, it is cooked?”

“I didn’t know. Let me think.”

On every front she faced a brick wall—uncooperative suppliers, poor quality, fierce competition, bad prices, angry buyers, and worst of all, that huge loan with those staggering payments. For her father’s sake, for all he’d sacrificed for Constantine’s, she’d desperately try to save the business. But without a door in those brick walls, she didn’t know how to do it.

The answer suddenly came to her. She hated it as an alternative, but she was fast running out of options. If she couldn’t save Constantine’s, she could at least help the Milanos. A man could succeed where she failed. A man familiar with the business would have a chance of turning things around.

Jack Maxwell ran a small wholesale produce business specializing in restaurant accounts. He was also interested in expanding. He called on a regular basis offering to buy Constantine’s. At a ridiculously low price, true, but it offered a possible solution. There’d only been one hitch to his proposition.

She glanced at Joe, requiring more facts before proceeding. “Our contract hasn’t changed, has it? It’s still between the Milanos and Constantine’s, right?”

“Correct,” he agreed.

“If . . . if I sold Constantine’s, the deal would continue with the new owner, not with the Thorsens?”

Joe appeared bewildered. “Yes. We have contract with you. You have contract with Thorsen. This means we stay with you, er, the new owner. Why do you ask?”

So, Maxwell’s one condition—that Constantine’s would retain the Milano account—could be met. It also meant the Thorsens would be left out of the deal because Jack wanted to supply the Milanos directly.
Thor, forgive me,
she thought unhappily before speaking. “It’s simple, Joe. If there’s no other way—” and she’d begun to believe there wasn’t “—I’ll sell Constantine’s.”

Silence reigned.

Then Joe leapt to his feet, launching into speech. “No! This is no good. It is a family business. How you sell family business? No, no. I not ask such a thing. Poppa, he not ask such a thing. My brothers—” He snorted. “They probably ask, but I smack them upside the head for being stupid.”

Andrea couldn’t help it. She laughed. For a minute, Joe stared at her, uncertain whether or not to take insult at her amusement. A frown creased his brow. Then his lips twitched and he grinned.

“You think that is funny, huh? I defend your honor to my brothers and you laugh at me?” He crossed to her desk and edged his hip onto one corner. The huge pile of bills wobbled precariously before toppling to the side. Invoices spewed in a white and pink flood across the desk and onto the floor.

“The way things are right now, it’s either that or cry. And I’m fresh out of tears.” She reached for his hand. “It isn’t because of Milano’s alone that I might sell. There are other factors. Factors I can’t control.” Like her supply problems and the loan from the bank.

“You maybe discuss these factors?”

“No, I maybe don’t discuss these factors.”

He leaned closer. “What you say to a little bribe? Some of my cannoli, perhaps?”

“That’s not fair!” She shot him a wounded look. “You know how much I love cannoli.”

“Of course you love my pastry. This is because Italians make good chefs. I,” he announced without modesty, “make great chef.” His admiring gaze drifted to her hair and he reached out to snag a soft curl. “This is very good. You love pastry. Me, I love blondes.”

“And brunettes and redheads,” Andrea said dryly.

“Well, yes,” he admitted with a broad grin, not a bit abashed. “But blondes!” He covered his heart with his hand and sighed. “These are my favorites.”

“Every last one of them,” she agreed.

“Ah,
cara,”
he reproached. “Finding the good woman is much hard work. You marry me and I don’t look no more. What you say, huh? We marry and fix all this trouble with your business somehow. No problem. I make you very happy.”

To her amazement, she was tempted to accept, which gave a clue to how desperate she felt. She adored Joe, but not in that way. Gently she set about dissuading him. “I don’t think so,” she said, then lied without compunction, “You see, I don’t like children.”

For a minute he simply sat and stared. “What you mean you don’t like children?”

She shrugged. “Just that. I don’t like them.”

“Not one?” he demanded, horrified. “Not even little ones? How can this be? You pull on my leg, yes?”

“No, I haven’t touched your leg.” She smiled in mock innocence. “You see why it won’t work.”

He closed his eyes, a martyred expression on his face. “Okay, fine,
cara
. I make very big sacrifice. For other woman, no way. But for you, I wait three whole months. You learn to like just the little boys and I marry you. What you say?”

What could she say? Andrea ground her teeth, laboring to find the words to vent her outrage. Then she saw his mustache quiver slightly and a rakish gleam dance in his dark eyes, and knew she’d been had. They both burst out laughing.

He yanked her from the chair and into his arms. “Your face!” he exclaimed. “It is very funny, your face.”

“You’re lucky you have a face left,” she retorted. “‘You learn to like just the little boys.’ Get real.”

“You should not tell a lie. You do it very bad,” Joe reprimanded.

She wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t you teach me how to do it good?”

“I teach you anything you like.” He lifted a brow. “What you say, huh? We start first lesson right now. I teach you how to—”

“I realize it’s a cliché, but it does seem fitting,” a deep authoritative voice cut in. “Am I interrupting something?”

“
T
hor!” Andrea gasped. She struggled to pull free of Joe’s embrace, something that proved unexpectedly difficult to accomplish. “I— You— We—”

“Why, Thor Thorsen. Nice to see you again,” Joe said, and grinned, his arm locking around Andrea’s waist. “You like something?”

“Yes. I’d like something.” In two strides he crossed the room. In two seconds he parted Andrea from Joe. And within two heartbeats he ushered a vehemently protesting Joe from the office. Then he turned and faced Andrea.

She stood before him, aware of feelings she thought long dead coming slowly, painfully to life. It had been one full year since she’d last seen her former fiancé. Three hundred and seventy-five days, to be precise. He looked exactly the same, still the Norwegian thunder god and still thunderous.

How could she have forgotten so many of the little details about his appearance? Or had she forgotten? Perhaps she’d buried the memories, afraid to confront all she’d spurned.

His hair was a rich gold, the stubborn waves burnished with a hint of auburn. He measured several inches over six feet, his shoulders and chest straining against his business suit. When he stood as he did now, his feet firmly planted and his arms folded across his chest, everything about him spoke of power and control, especially of control.

She met his intense blue eyes with trepidation, her gaze sweeping over his sharply angled face. His broad intelligent brow gave way to high cheekbones and a strong determined chin, his wide mouth set in taut lines. But the most fascinating and incongruous feature of all was the small gold hammer earring he wore in his left ear. The mark of Thor. A mark she’d always associated with crushing strength and power.

All in all, a dangerous animal, she remembered with a touch of apprehension, his fierceness barely held in check by a superficial sophistication.

He stood motionless before Andrea’s scrutiny, giving her time to look her fill, and she knew why. The more she saw, the more dismayed she became. Without saying a word, he’d put her squarely on the defensive.

“A suspicious man might read something into your little embrace with Milano,” he commented, a slight smile edging his mouth.

Andrea returned his smile. She wouldn’t be intimidated by this man. She wouldn’t. At least, not much. “And are you a suspicious man?”

“Very.” His smile grew, turning predatory. “Have I reason to be?”

A heavy pounding from the office door interrupted them. Before Andrea could move, Thor responded, swinging it open. His broad shoulders filled the narrow aperture, barring entrance. “What?” he barked.

“Er,
cara.”
Joe’s muffled voice came from the far side of the human wall. “Everything, it is all right? No problem?”

She debated her response for all of five seconds. Why borrow trouble? No point in risking Joe’s near-perfect features for momentary satisfaction, not when the momentary satisfaction would undoubtedly go to Thor. “No problem, Joe.”

Brown eyes bobbed up and down over Thor’s restraining arm. “I see you later, okay? We discuss more our, er, discussion.”

“Fine.”

“Ciao.”

“Yeah, right,” Thor muttered, and closed the door.

Andrea frowned. “You have a very strange way of treating your customers. Milano’s Restaurants is still your customer, isn’t it?”

“Last time I checked,” he confirmed.

“Aren’t you worried he’ll be offended and demand we terminate our contract with you?”

“Isn’t that the whole idea?”

She hesitated, confused. Thor never said anything without purpose. She might not understand it at the time, but he was the most precise, exacting, exasperatingly direct individual she’d ever met. If he suspected Joe might jump to another supplier, and if the only way that could happen was if she sold . . .

“You think you’re about to lose the Milano account?” she guessed, fighting for calm.

“I know I’m about to lose the Milano account, and I know who to thank for it.”

She stared at him, frozen, her mind racing to analyze the various possibilities behind his accusation. Because it
was
an accusation. How could he have found out about the possible sale of Constantine’s so soon? She frowned. It didn’t make sense. She’d only decided to explore that option today. Perhaps Jack Maxwell had been indiscreet, spreading word of his interest in Constantine’s and the Milano account. “How did you know I might—”

The pounding resumed at her office door and Thor’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. “Persistent, isn’t he?”

She hid behind mild amusement. “It’s silly I know, but most people who knock on that particular door do so in the hopes of speaking to me. I assume you have a logical explanation for why they—
he
—can’t do that?”

“Yes, I do.” He opened the door a full six inches. “What?”

“Er,
cara
. . .”

Andrea struggled to keep her expression perfectly serious. Matters were serious. It was Joe she couldn’t take seriously. “Yes?”

“I see you later, when? You forget to tell me this.”

“Tomorrow. Here. Nine o’clock.”

“Okay, good. I see you tomorrow. Here. Nine o’clock.” A concerned face appeared beneath Thor’s armpit. “You have more files to move, yes? No problem. I take care of it right away.”

This time she did smile. Actually, she grinned. “No. Thanks, anyway.”

“No?”

“No,” Thor said in a tone that could have blistered paint.

The face backed hastily away. “Okay, fine.
Addio.”

“So long, goodbye, it’s been great, and see you later. Much later.” Thor shut the door just shy of a slam.

He turned and Andrea busied herself restacking the bills scattered across her desk. If she dared laugh, she’d be in deep trouble. At a guess, one heck of a storm was brewing across the room. The air practically crackled with electricity. Her thunder god had returned with a vengeance.

“You were saying?” she prompted.

“The Milano account.”

She smiled her sweetest smile. “Are you sure Joe shouldn’t sit in on this? After all, if it concerns the Milanos . . .” She gulped at his expression. If she was very, very smart, she’d stay very, very quiet. Let the typhoon run its course and pray she survived the blow.

Visibly restraining his temper, he spoke. “I’ve received a number of phone calls of late.”

Her stack of bills grew taller. “Okay, I’ll bite. From whom?”

“Caesar Milano, for one.”

Andrea studied him warily. It couldn’t be unusual for him to get a phone call from Joe’s father. After all, the Thorsens supplied Milano’s Restaurants. Maybe this wasn’t about the sale of Constantine’s, after all.

“And?” she asked.

“It’s the first time anyone’s ever accused me of cheating them. I didn’t like the experience.”

A timid knock interrupted yet again and Andrea almost screamed in nervous reaction. For an unnerving moment, Thor stared at her through narrow, suspicious eyes, then crossed her office and casually braced a shoulder against the door.

“Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand him?” Andrea asked. “I can’t believe Caesar actually thought you were cheating them.”