Elio paid the taxi driver while Santino opened her door, holding his hand out. Presley hesitated in taking it. The beautiful, well-dressed man stared at her, and all she wanted to do was find a place to hide. She had really embarrassed herself tonight.
“Can’t you just let me go crawl under a rock in peace?” she groaned as she took his large hand.
Santino gently pulled her up, shutting the door behind her and letting the taxi go as his car arrived.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Besides, I didn’t get your number.”
“You—what? You were serious?”
“Yes. Even after all this, I’d still like to get to know you. Maybe over coffee or dinner. It’s not a pity date, and no one paid me.” He held up three fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”
“I’m really sorry about that.” She put her hands to her face. “I am so embarrassed. I don’t usually drink like that.”
“How about we start over?” he suggested.
She took a deep breath and gave him a dazzling smile, smoothing out her tiny dress before offering her hand.
“Presley Stafford. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Santino Agosti. Pleasure is mine.” He flashed her a devastatingly sexy smile.
Presley felt her cheeks warm as she shifted in her stilettos. She looked away and noticed that there were several men blocking the sidewalk all the way down to the corner. Just who was this guy that needed this kind of security?
“Are you hungry?” Santino asked.
“Starving.”
“There’s this little place around the corner,” he suggested.
She eyed the large man with dark eyes and inky-black hair. He’d been polite and patient, and somehow despite how she’d acted, he still wanted to take her out.
He opened the car door and waited. Presley hesitated, biting her lip. She was tired of running from her past and of being afraid of every man she met. They couldn’t all be like Abel.
Maybe she was finally ready to take a chance and put herself out there again. She decided to throw caution to the wind.
“Okay.”
He smiled and ushered her into the car. She got in and texted Tally to let her know where she was going and that she was sorry for freaking out.
She smiled and stuck her phone back in her bag, feeling better about the evening as the car pulled forward.
Santino hadn’t been kidding when he said it was around the corner. They were parking before she got her seat belt on.
“Thank you for not suggesting we walk,” she said as he opened her door and helped her out of the car.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but her feet were aching. She leaned on his arm as he led her into the quiet Italian restaurant.
Candles flickered on the tables, and a decadent aroma filled the air. A few seats were still occupied at this late hour, their hushed conversations barely audible over the music. Curious eyes watched as they entered the restaurant. Santino clearly turned heads wherever he went.
The maître d’ gushed over Santino as they approached, quickly showing them to a private booth in the corner before rushing back into the kitchen. The chef came out a moment later, smoothing his hair down as he hurried over.
“Mister Agosti, it is an honor. I am Chef Genova, at your service.”
“Chef, pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard great things about your restaurant. I’d like to introduce my date, Miss Presley Stafford.”
“Ma’am. It is a pleasure to have you here.”
She smiled at the chef. “Thank you. I have a feeling the pleasure is going to be all mine. Mister Agosti suggested your place this evening, and I’m looking forward to sampling your culinary skills.”
The chef beamed under her praise. She watched him rush back to the kitchen and heard him talking rapidly to the waitstaff. When she turned back, Santino was staring at her. She quickly looked down at her menu.
Presley didn’t even realize the place had been cleared of the few late-night diners till she glanced up and saw the maître d’ flipping the sign to closed and locking the door. It made her a little anxious, unsure as to who exactly the man across from her really was.
“Where did everyone go?” she asked.
“They left. Why?”
“Are they closing?” Presley’s eyes flicked to the kitchen. “I don’t want to keep anyone from going home early to their family.”
“The chef is a friend of my dad’s,” Santino said. “He doesn’t mind staying open for us.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Should I know who you are? You seem… I don’t know… like you’re someone important.”
Presley was starting to get nervous. She wasn’t sure what Santino did, but he traveled with a large crew, some that she suspected were bodyguards, and seemed to have significant pull in the community.
“Let’s order first. Then we can chat,” he said.
He motioned for the waiter, who tripped rushing over. They put in their order, agreeing to share. The waiter practically flew back to the kitchen.
Presley eyed Santino again. Whoever he was, people jumped to do as he asked. She bit her lip.
That usually meant important, powerful, or dangerous. She glanced around again, noting the well-cut Italian suits and watchful eyes of his entourage.
“I need to powder my nose,” she said. “Excuse me for a moment.”
