Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 5:Valentina

One month.

It had been exactly one month since I walked into that restaurant, looked directly at Mark, and told him that I wanted him.

One month since he stared at me as though I had escaped from a psychiatric hospital.

One month since I decided that I was going to pursue him.

And one month since I discovered that Mark was the most difficult man I had ever encountered.

I had negotiated billion-dollar contracts.

I had convinced investors to support companies everyone else considered failures.

I had sat across from powerful businessmen and watched them agree to deals they had spent months refusing.

I had managed thousands of employees.

I had survived three-hour board meetings with people who enjoyed hearing themselves speak.

I had built a reputation powerful enough to make experienced executives nervous.

But none of that had prepared me for Mark.

Because Mark did not care.

He did not care that I was Valentina De Luca.

He did not care that I was the Chief Operating Officer of one of the largest companies in the country.

He did not care that my name appeared in magazines.

He did not care that my family owned hotels, investment companies, luxury brands, and half the buildings in the city.

And he definitely did not care that I wanted him.

Every day for the past month, I had visited his restaurant.

Every.

Single.

Day.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

Even Saturday.

Sometimes Sunday.

I rearranged meetings.

I changed lunch appointments.

I sent executives to represent me at events.

Once, I moved an entire business presentation because it conflicted with the restaurant’s busiest afternoon hours.

I told everyone I enjoyed the food.

That was technically true.

The food was excellent.

But I was not there for the food.

I was there for Mark.

And Mark knew it.

He simply refused to acknowledge it.

I sat near the window with my legs crossed, watching him move between the kitchen and the dining area.

He wore a dark shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

An apron was tied around his waist.

His dark hair was slightly messy.

And his eyes—

Today, they looked green.

Definitely green.

Or blue.

I still could not decide.

Mark carried a tray toward a table near the entrance.

He smiled at the customers.

A real smile.

Warm.

Easy.

The kind of smile he had never given me.

I narrowed my eyes.

Unfair.

He was kind to everyone.

The elderly couple who visited every Thursday.

The children who came with their parents.

The regular customers who knew his name.

He spoke to them.

He laughed with them.

He asked how they were doing.

But whenever he looked at me?

Nothing.

“Your food, Ms. De Luca.”

I looked up.

The waitress placed my lunch on the table.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I looked at the plate.

Grilled chicken.

Vegetables.

Fresh bread.

Everything looked perfect.

I picked up my fork.

Then I looked toward Mark again.

He was speaking to one of the cooks.

He did not look in my direction.

Not once.

I sighed.

The waitress remained beside the table.

“Is something wrong with the food?”

“No.”

“Would you like something else?”

“No.”

“Then why are you looking at Chef Mark?”

“I’m not.”

She smiled.

“You are.”

“I’m looking around.”

“You’ve been looking at him for twenty minutes.”

“That is not true.”

“It has been thirty.”

I placed my fork down.

“Are you keeping time?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Everyone knows.”

I stared at her.

“Everyone?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“You come here every day.”

“I like the restaurant.”

“You always sit at the same table.”

“It has the best view.”

“Of the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“You order something different every day.”

“I enjoy variety.”

“And you stare at Chef Mark.”

“I observe my surroundings.”

The waitress covered her smile.

“You’re interested in him.”

“I told him I wanted him.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened.

“You told him?”

“Several times.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing useful.”

The waitress looked toward Mark.

Then back at me.

“Chef Mark is quiet.”

“I noticed.”

“He doesn’t talk much.”

“He talks to everyone except me.”

“You make him nervous.”

I laughed.

“Mark is not nervous.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No.”

“He avoids your table.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s nervous.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t like me.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

The waitress became quiet.

I looked down at my plate.

I did not like the feeling that settled inside my chest.

Valentina De Luca was not rejected.

People wanted my attention.

They wanted my approval.

They wanted my name beside theirs.

But Mark?

Mark did not seem interested in anything I had to offer.

And somehow, that made me want his attention even more.

“I’m sure he likes you,” the waitress said.

“He ignores me.”

“He’s busy.”

“He speaks to everyone else.”

“He speaks to customers.”

“I am a customer.”

“You’re different.”

“How?”

She looked at me.

“You told him you wanted him.”

“That should make things easier.”

“For you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe not for him.”

I frowned.

“That makes no sense.”

The waitress smiled.

Then she walked away.

I looked toward Mark.

He was carrying another tray.

His eyes moved across the restaurant.

For one second, he looked directly at me.

My heart lifted.

Then he looked away.

I leaned back in my chair.

Exhausting.

This was exhausting.

I had been chasing him for an entire month.

I had visited the restaurant every day.

I had tried to start conversations.

I had complimented his food.

I had complimented his eyes.

I had complimented his face.

I had even brought him a rare bottle of wine once.

He returned it.

He said he did not accept expensive gifts from customers.

I had brought him an expensive watch.

He returned that too.

I offered to invest in the restaurant.

He said no.

I suggested opening another location.

He said he was happy with one.

I offered to take him to dinner.

He said he was busy.

I asked when he would be free.

He said he did not know.

I asked if he was avoiding me.

He said—

“No.”

Then he avoided me for the rest of the day.

Mark was impossible.

And I was beginning to understand why Adam kept laughing at me.

My phone began ringing.

I looked at the screen.

Adam.

I answered.

“What?”

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“What do you want?”

“Why do you sound irritated?”

“I’m not irritated.”

“You sound irritated.”

“I’m eating.”

“At the restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“With Mark?”

“He is working.”

“So you’re watching him.”

“I’m not watching him.”

“You’re watching him.”

“I’m eating.”

“You can eat at your office.”

“I like the food.”

“You have a private chef.”

“I like this food.”

“You have visited the restaurant every day for a month.”

“I know.”

“Do you have a problem?”

“No.”

“Then why did you call?”

“I wanted to check on my sister.”

“You checked. I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You sound exhausted.”

I looked toward Mark.

He was speaking to a customer.

He smiled again.

I frowned.

“I am exhausted.”

Adam laughed.

“You should stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Chasing Mark.”

“I’m not chasing him.”

“You go to his restaurant every day.”

“I enjoy the food.”

“You rearranged your schedule to eat there.”

“It’s close to my office.”

“It is forty minutes from your office.”

“The traffic is unpredictable.”

“You bought him a watch.”

“It was a gift.”

“He returned it.”

“He has no taste.”

“You offered to invest in his restaurant.”

“It was a business opportunity.”

“He said no.”

“He made a poor decision.”

“You asked him to have dinner with you.”

“I was being polite.”

“You told him you wanted him.”

“I was being honest.”

Adam laughed so loudly that I moved the phone away from my ear.

“You should stop,” he repeated.

“No.”

“Valentina.”

“I want him.”

“That is not normal.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I see something I like, and I go after it.”

“He is not a handbag.”

“I know.”

“You’re treating him like one.”

“I am not.”

“You pointed at him and said, ‘I want that one.’”

“I remember.”

“You have been chasing him for a month.”

“I’m pursuing him.”

“There is no difference.”

“There is.”

“What is it?”

“Chasing sounds desperate.”

“You are desperate.”

“I am not.”

“You’re sitting in his restaurant while calling me to complain that he won’t talk to you.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“You are literally complaining.”

“I’m explaining.”

“You’re explaining how the man you want keeps ignoring you.”

“He does not ignore me.”

“What did he say to you today?”

I looked toward Mark.

He was standing near the kitchen.

He had not spoken to me once.

“He said hello.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Adam laughed again.

“You should stop.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I want him.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“He’s a chef.”

“That’s not enough.”

“He has beautiful eyes.”

“Not enough.”

“He’s handsome.”

“Definitely not enough.”

“He’s kind.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s kind to everyone.”

“Except you.”

“He’s not rude to me.”

“He ignores you.”

“That’s not rude.”

“It’s not encouraging either.”

I remained quiet.

Adam’s voice softened.

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Maybe he isn’t interested.”

The words hurt more than they should have.

I stared at Mark.

He was laughing with one of the employees.

I had never seen him laugh with me.

Not once.

Maybe Adam was right.

Maybe Mark did not want me.

Maybe I had spent an entire month chasing someone who had no interest in knowing me.

But I was not ready to accept that.

“He doesn’t know me,” I said.

“You don’t know him either.”

“I can learn.”

“Then talk to him.”

“He won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe you should stop telling him that you want him.”

“That is the truth.”

“Maybe tell him something else.”

“Like what?”

“Ask him about himself.”

“I asked what his favorite food was.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he liked everything.”

“Did you ask anything else?”

“No.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to acquire a person.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I want him.”

“He’s not a company.”

“I know.”

“You can’t negotiate him into liking you.”

“I can try.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me.”

“I tolerate you with affection.”

I smiled.

Adam sighed.

“Please stop going there every day.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I like seeing him.”

The words came out quietly.

Adam became silent.

I looked through the restaurant window.

Mark was moving between the tables.

He looked comfortable.

Happy.

This was his world.

The restaurant belonged to him.

The kitchen was his.

People trusted him.

They smiled when he walked toward them.

And I liked watching him.

Even if he ignored me.

Even if he did not speak to me.

Even if I sat there for an hour without receiving more than a polite nod.

“I like watching him move around the restaurant,” I admitted.

Adam was quiet.

“I like seeing him smile.”

“Valentina.”

“I know.”

“You sound serious.”

“I am.”

“Do you like him?”

I looked toward Mark.

For the first time, I did not answer immediately.

Did I like him?

I had wanted him the moment I saw him.

But wanting someone and liking them were different.

I liked his calm voice.

I liked the way he treated his employees.

I liked how he remembered his customers.

I liked that he did not care about my money.

I liked that he returned my gifts.

I liked that he was not afraid of me.

Maybe—

Maybe I liked him more than I wanted to admit.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Adam sighed.

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said.”

“I’m always honest.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You told the waitress you came for the food.”

“I do like the food.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You already said that.”

“Because it’s true.”

I smiled.

“Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not canceling?”

“No.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“You promised to attend my exhibition.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I had a meeting.”

“You always have meetings.”

“I will come.”

“You better.”

“I will.”

We spoke for a few more minutes.

Then Adam ended the call.

I placed my phone on the table.

The restaurant was beginning to become quieter.

Mark walked past me.

I looked up.

“Mark.”

He stopped.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t spoken to me today.”

“I’m working.”

“You speak to everyone else.”

“They’re customers.”

“I’m a customer.”

“You’re different.”

“Why?”

He looked at me.

“Because you keep telling me you want me.”

“That is not a bad thing.”

“It’s distracting.”

I smiled.

“So you think about it?”

“No.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You just said it’s distracting.”

“Valentina.”

“Yes?”

“Eat your food.”

Then he walked away.

I watched him disappear into the kitchen.

A smile slowly appeared on my face.

Maybe he did think about me.

⸻

That evening, I returned home.

My house was quiet.

Too quiet.

I removed my heels near the entrance and walked barefoot across the marble floor.

My housekeeper had left dinner in the kitchen.

I was not hungry.

I went upstairs.

I changed into a silk robe and sat on my bed.

My phone was beside me.

Several emails waited.

Messages from the board.

A reminder about tomorrow’s meetings.

I ignored everything.

Instead, I stared out the window.

The city lights reflected against the glass.

My mind returned to Mark.

Again.

His voice.

His eyes.

The way he looked confused whenever I told him I wanted him.

The way he ignored me.

The way he treated everyone with kindness.

I lay down.

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered.

I had an empire to manage.

Companies depended on me.

Thousands of people depended on my decisions.

I should have been thinking about the hotel acquisition.

The upcoming board meeting.

The international expansion.

Instead, I was thinking about a chef.

A chef who did not want to talk to me.

A chef who ignored me.

A chef who had made me rearrange my entire life just to sit inside his restaurant and watch him move around.

I covered my face with one hand.

“This is exhausting.”

Maybe Adam was right.

Maybe I should stop.

Maybe I should leave Mark alone.

Maybe I should stop visiting the restaurant.

Maybe I should accept that he was not interested.

The thought made something inside my chest tighten.

No.

I did not want to stop.

I wanted to know him.

I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at everyone else.

I wanted him to smile at me.

I wanted him to speak to me without acting like I was a difficult customer.

I wanted—

Mark.

I turned off the lamp.

The room became dark.

I closed my eyes.

But even then, he remained in my thoughts.

His eyes.

His voice.

His smile.

One month.

One exhausting month.

And somehow, I wanted him more than I had on the first day.

I sighed and pulled the blankets closer.

Tomorrow, I would have meetings.

Tomorrow, I would attend dinner with Adam.

Tomorrow, I would manage another part of the De Luca empire.

And tomorrow—

I would probably return to the restaurant.

Because I was Valentina De Luca.

I did not give up easily.

Especially when I wanted something.

And unfortunately for Mark—

I still wanted him.