Fair Play Read Free Page A

hard to ignore the bad paintings of Venetian gondoliers and photographs of local priests gracing the red walls, she loudly called out, “Hello?” A minute later, Michael Dante appeared through the swinging steel doors of the kitchen. He was scowling, but upon seeing her, the tensions melted from his face, replaced by a big smile. Here it comes, thought Theresa.
    â€œTheresa. It’s great to see you.”
    Theresa smiled politely. “Nice to see you, too. I see you’re wearing all your teeth today.”
    â€œFor you, a full mouth,” he kidded back. Theresa noticed him subtly checking her out and bristled. Get over it, ice boy. I’m through with your kind.
    â€œSo . . .” she began, eager to get the ball rolling so she could leave as quickly as possible. “Should we wait for your brother to arrive?”
    Michael’s scowl returned. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, ushering her to a table for two adorned with a red and white checked tablecloth. “You want anything to drink? Pellegrino, a glass of wine?”
    â€œPellegrino would be great,” said Theresa, watching his back as he sauntered away and slipped behind the bar. Objectively speaking, he was not unattractive: black, tousled hair, tan skin, and green-blue eyes, which seemed to change color depending upon what he was wearing. A decent body, too: strong arms and a muscled chest tapering down to a perfect V at the waist.
    Filling two glasses with ice, over which he poured mineral water for both of them, Michael tried to hide his disappointment at the change in Theresa’s appearance. She was still gorgeous, but looked nothing like he remembered—or fantasized about. Clad in black from head to toe, her long, wavy hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, and her eyes were obscured by those chic, heavy-framed glasses all the hip people seemed to favor nowadays. Her manner was different, too. Polite, formal. How could this be the same woman who, just two short years ago, was fun, flirty, and enjoyed cursing at him in Italian? Maybe she wasn’t The One after all.
    â€œHere you go.” Michael handed Theresa her Pellegrino and slipped into the chair opposite her. “So,” he said.
    â€œSo.”
    â€œYou look nice today,” he noted.
    â€œThank you,” Theresa replied politely, having been taught from a young age that when someone pays you a compliment you acknowledge it, whether you like the person or not. “So, what can I do for you?”
    Michael opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly thinking better of what he intended to say.
    â€œMy brother and I need your help. We want to turn Dante’s into an upscale, Manhattan-style restaurant.”
    â€œOkay,” said Theresa, intrigued as she took out a legal pad and pen. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
    She listened carefully as he outlined the reinvention he envisioned. Just as she was about to ask him if they planned any renovations— boom! —one of the kitchen doors flew open and out stormed an older, 1970’s version of Michael, pointedly glaring at them as he strode across the restaurant and out the front door.
    Theresa turned to Michael questioningly. “Was that—?”
    â€œMy brother?” Michael supplied. “Yeah, that was him, all right.”
    â€œHe doesn’t seem very happy.”
    â€œHe’s not. He thinks upgrading the restaurant is a cardinal sin on a par with jarred gravy and Godfather III. ” Michael shook his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about him. I’ve got him covered.”
    â€œDo you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
    â€œYou can ask me lots of personal questions.”
    Theresa squirmed. “If upgrading the restaurant is going to cause your brother to throw an embolism, why do it?”
    Michael looked uncomfortable. “Because it’s time. My mom died last year, and she always talked about how she