Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 3:Valentina

By the end of the three-hour board meeting, I had decided that I hated Mondays.

Not because I disliked work.

I loved work.

Work was predictable.

Numbers made sense.

Contracts had rules.

Business deals had clear outcomes.

People either accepted an offer or rejected it.

There was always a solution.

But people?

People were exhausting.

Especially when they sat around a conference table for three hours arguing over a decision I had already made.

“The investment is too risky,” one board member said.

“It’s only risky because you refuse to consider the long-term benefits,” I replied.

“We need more time.”

“You have had six weeks.”

“We need another review.”

“You have reviewed the documents seventeen times.”

“Valentina—”

“The answer is no.”

The room became quiet.

Good.

I leaned back in my chair and looked around the table.

Every board member had a copy of the acquisition report in front of them. The deal involved one of the largest luxury hotel groups in Europe.

It was expensive.

Complicated.

And potentially one of the best investments De Luca & Co. had made in years.

I had studied every detail.

I knew the risks.

I knew the possible losses.

And I knew exactly how much profit the company could make.

The board was afraid.

Fear made people hesitate.

Hesitation cost money.

“We should postpone the decision,” another board member said.

“No.”

“Valentina—”

“We have discussed this long enough.”

“The board needs to agree.”

“The board has agreed.”

“Not everyone.”

I looked toward the man who had spoken.

“You have a problem with the acquisition?”

“No.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I believe we should be more careful.”

“I am careful.”

“You are young.”

The room became silent.

I slowly placed my pen on the table.

The man immediately realized what he had said.

I smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

“You’re right,” I said.

Everyone stared at me.

“I am young.”

He nodded carefully.

“But I am also the reason this company’s international division increased its profits by forty percent last year.”

No one spoke.

“I am the reason our hotel group expanded into three new countries.”

Silence.

“And I am the Chief Operating Officer of De Luca & Co. because I earned the position.”

The man lowered his eyes.

“So if your concern is my age,” I continued, “then I suggest you look at the company’s financial reports. They will answer your question.”

No one spoke again.

I closed the folder.

“The acquisition is approved.”

“Valentina,” someone said.

I stood.

“The meeting is over.”

Everyone immediately began gathering their documents.

I walked toward the door.

Then I stopped.

“Send the final agreement to the investors.”

“Yes, Ms. De Luca.”

“And tell them we are not changing the terms.”

“Yes.”

I opened the door.

“Have a productive afternoon.”

Then I walked out.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My heels echoed through the executive hallway.

Normally, the sound made me feel powerful.

Today, it only reminded me that I was tired.

Three hours.

Three hours of listening to people question decisions I had spent months preparing.

I walked toward my office.

Claire followed behind me.

“Your father would like to speak with you.”

“Later.”

“You have a meeting with the technology division at two.”

“Cancel it.”

“You have a call with the Paris office at three.”

“Move it.”

“You have dinner with the investors at seven.”

“Cancel it.”

Claire stopped walking.

I continued toward my office.

“Ms. De Luca?”

“What?”

“You want me to cancel your entire afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Is there an emergency?”

“No.”

“Did something happen during the meeting?”

“No.”

“Then why are you canceling everything?”

I stopped outside my office.

Claire stared at me.

She had worked for me for four years.

She knew my schedule better than I did.

She also knew that I rarely canceled meetings.

I attended everything.

I worked through weekends.

I answered emails during dinner.

I had once continued a business call while getting my hair styled.

Canceling an entire afternoon was unusual.

But I had something more important to do.

Or, at least, something more interesting.

“Clear my schedule,” I said.

“Where are you going?”

I opened the door to my office.

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Somewhere.”

“Ms. De Luca.”

“Claire.”

“You are leaving in the middle of the day.”

“Yes.”

“You have meetings.”

“Not anymore.”

“You have never canceled this many meetings.”

“Then today is a special occasion.”

Claire narrowed her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

I walked toward my desk and picked up my handbag.

“Something personal.”

“You don’t have personal plans.”

“I do now.”

“Who is it?”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I don’t smile.”

“You smiled during the board meeting.”

“That was different.”

“You usually smile when someone is about to lose an argument.”

“I did not smile.”

Claire crossed her arms.

“You’re acting strange.”

“I am not.”

“You canceled an entire afternoon.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re carrying your handbag.”

“I always carry my handbag.”

“You’re leaving the building.”

“Excellent observation.”

“Where are you going?”

I looked toward the glass windows.

Then I looked back at her.

“Clear my schedule.”

“Valentina—”

“Claire.”

She sighed.

“Yes, Ms. De Luca.”

“Good.”

I picked up my phone.

“And if anyone calls?”

“What should I tell them?”

“Tell them I’m unavailable.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Should I contact you?”

“Only if the building is on fire.”

“What if the board calls?”

“Tell them to wait.”

“What if your father calls?”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“What if he asks where you are?”

“Tell him I’m handling an important matter.”

Claire looked suspicious.

“What important matter?”

I opened the door.

“A personal acquisition.”

Then I walked away.

Behind me, I heard Claire whisper—

“What does that even mean?”

I smiled.

She did not need to know.

Not yet.

⸻

Thirty minutes later, I was standing outside the restaurant.

I had changed nothing.

I was still wearing my black tailored suit.

My six-inch Louboutins.

Diamond earrings.

And my limited-edition Birkin handbag.

The restaurant looked even more beautiful during the afternoon.

Sunlight reflected against the large windows. Flowers surrounded the entrance. People sat at tables outside, drinking coffee and talking quietly.

It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

I stepped inside.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of my heels echoed across the wooden floor.

Several customers looked up.

A waitress near the entrance smiled politely.

“Welcome. Do you have a reservation?”

“No.”

“Would you like a table?”

“No.”

She paused.

“Are you meeting someone?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask who?”

I looked around.

The restaurant was busy.

Employees moved between the tables.

The kitchen doors opened and closed.

But I did not see him.

“I’m looking for a man.”

The waitress blinked.

“A man?”

“Yes.”

“What man?”

I considered the question.

How exactly was I supposed to describe him?

Tall.

Dark hair.

Perfect face.

Beautiful eyes.

Looks like a god.

I cleared my throat.

“He’s tall.”

The waitress waited.

“He has dark hair.”

She continued waiting.

“He has blue eyes.”

“Blue?”

“Or green.”

“Blue or green?”

“They change.”

The waitress looked confused.

“He was wearing an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yes.”

“He works here?”

“I assume so.”

“What does he look like?”

I stared at her.

“He’s beautiful.”

Her eyes widened.

“Beautiful?”

“Very.”

She looked toward the kitchen.

Then her expression changed.

“Oh.”

“You know him?”

“I think so.”

“Who is he?”

“Chef Mark.”

Mark.

The name settled inside my mind.

Mark.

It suited him.

“Mark,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“He stepped out for a few minutes.”

“When will he return?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll wait.”

The waitress looked at me.

“Would you like a table?”

“Yes.”

She led me toward a table near the window.

I sat down and placed my Birkin handbag beside me.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Water.”

“Still or sparkling?”

“Sparkling.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

She walked away.

I looked around the restaurant.

The atmosphere was different from the places I usually visited.

There were no executives discussing investments.

No private security.

No luxury cars waiting outside.

Just ordinary people.

Families.

Friends.

Couples.

People who seemed happy without constantly checking their phones.

I did not understand how anyone could sit in one place for hours without doing something productive.

Then I remembered why I was there.

Mark.

I looked toward the kitchen.

Nothing.

I checked my phone.

No new messages.

I looked at the entrance.

Nothing.

Five minutes passed.

Then the restaurant door opened.

I immediately looked up.

And there he was.

Mark.

He stepped inside carrying a small paper bag.

His dark hair was slightly messy.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His eyes looked blue today.

Definitely blue.

Or maybe green.

I could not decide.

He spoke to the waitress.

She pointed toward me.

Mark looked in my direction.

Our eyes met.

His expression changed.

Recognition.

Then confusion.

He looked around as though he expected to see someone else.

The waitress said something to him.

He looked back at me.

Then he walked toward my table.

Every step made my heartbeat slightly faster.

That was irritating.

I did not like feeling nervous.

I did not get nervous.

Not during business negotiations.

Not during interviews.

Not when speaking to hundreds of people.

But Mark was walking toward me, and suddenly, I did not know what to say.

I kept my expression calm.

My posture remained perfect.

My hands rested on the table.

Outside, I was Valentina De Luca.

Composed.

Confident.

Untouchable.

Inside?

I was beginning to think I had lost my mind.

Mark stopped beside the table.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

He looked at me.

“I’m sorry. The hostess said you were asking for me.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

I stared at him.

He waited.

I had spent the entire afternoon thinking about this moment.

I had prepared several possible conversations.

I could ask him about the restaurant.

I could ask how long he had been a chef.

I could pretend I was interested in hiring him for an event.

But that was not why I came.

I came because I wanted him.

So I told the truth.

“Because I want you.”

Mark froze.

The restaurant continued moving around us.

People talked.

Plates touched tables.

Someone laughed.

But Mark stood completely still.

“What?”

“I want you.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“You want what?”

“You.”

He stared at me.

I stared back.

He looked toward the waitress.

Then back at me.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you.”

“That is not an explanation.”

“It is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It explains everything.”

“You walked into my restaurant to tell me that you want me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know me?”

“No.”

“Do I know you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want me?”

I thought about it.

“Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“They’re beautiful.”

He looked uncomfortable.

“And your face.”

“My face?”

“You’re very handsome.”

He stared at me.

Then he looked around the restaurant again.

“Are you filming something?”

“No.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No.”

“Are your friends hiding somewhere?”

“I don’t have time for jokes.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I leaned back in my chair.

“I saw you on Saturday.”

“I remember.”

“You caught me.”

“Yes.”

“You looked very good.”

Mark blinked.

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

He remained silent.

I waited.

Finally, he asked, “What exactly do you want from me?”

“You.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It answers every question.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

He placed both hands on the table.

Then he leaned closer.

“Did your mother never teach you not to approach random men and announce that you want them?”

I considered the question.

“Yes.”

He waited.

“Yes?”

“Yes, she taught me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

I smiled.

“Because my father taught me to follow my heart.”

Mark stared at me.

“My father told me that when I want something, I should work hard and go after it.”

“That sounds like business advice.”

“It applies to everything.”

“I don’t think your father meant that you should walk into restaurants and tell strangers you want them.”

“He never said I couldn’t.”

Mark looked at me as though I had lost my mind.

Perhaps I had.

Internally, I felt completely insane.

I had canceled an entire afternoon.

I had ignored the board.

I had traveled across the city.

I had walked into a restaurant wearing six-inch heels and carrying a Birkin handbag.

All because I wanted to see a man whose name I had learned less than ten minutes ago.

But I was not going to show him that.

My expression remained calm.

My voice remained steady.

My posture remained perfect.

I was Valentina De Luca.

I did not panic.

I did not become embarrassed.

And I did not regret going after what I wanted.

Even if what I wanted was standing in front of me, looking completely terrified.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck.

“This is strange.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s honest.”

“It’s strange and honest.”

“I can accept that.”

He stared at me.

Then he looked at his watch.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have an appointment.”

“Oh.”

“I need to go.”

“Where?”

“That’s personal.”

“Fair.”

He stepped away from the table.

I stood.

“Mark.”

He stopped.

“Yes?”

“I want you.”

He looked at me.

“I heard you the first five times.”

“I wanted to make sure.”

“You made sure.”

“You look fine.”

His eyes widened.

“Fine?”

“Very fine.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked like he wanted to laugh.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he shook his head.

“You’re unusual.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I believe that.”

I smiled.

Then my phone began ringing.

I looked at the screen.

Claire.

Again.

I answered.

“What?”

“Ms. De Luca, there is a problem.”

“Of course there is.”

“The investors are requesting an emergency call.”

“Tell them I’ll be back.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

I looked at Mark.

He was still standing beside the table.

“I don’t know.”

“Ms. De Luca—”

“I’m leaving now.”

I ended the call.

Then I picked up my handbag.

Mark watched me.

“You work a lot.”

“Yes.”

“You should rest.”

“I don’t rest.”

“You should try.”

“I’m busy.”

“You canceled your afternoon to find me.”

I looked at him.

“That was important.”

He shook his head.

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you coming back?”

I smiled.

“You want me to?”

“No.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

He stared at me.

I walked toward the entrance.

Then I stopped.

I turned around.

Mark was still standing beside the table.

“I want you,” I said again.

“Valentina—”

I froze.

He knew my name.

“How do you know my name?”

He pointed toward my handbag.

My initials were engraved on the leather.

V.D.

“Your name is on your bag.”

“Oh.”

“And everyone in the city knows who Valentina De Luca is.”

I adjusted my blazer.

“Good.”

“You’re famous.”

“Powerful.”

“Confident.”

“Correct.”

“Crazy.”

I smiled.

“Maybe.”

Then I walked outside.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of my heels followed me across the restaurant.

I did not look back.

Not immediately.

But before I entered my car, I turned toward the window.

Mark was standing near the table.

Watching me.

I smiled.

Then I stepped into the car.

“Office,” I told the driver.

As the car pulled away, I looked down at my phone.

My schedule was waiting.

Meetings.

Calls.

Emails.

Business decisions.

An empire.

But my mind was somewhere else.

At a small restaurant.

With a soft-spoken chef.

A man named Mark.

I had no idea what I was doing.

I had never chased anyone before.

People came to me.

They wanted my name.

My money.

My connections.

My attention.

But Mark had not asked for anything.

He had looked at me as though I was strange.

And somehow, that made me want him more.

I leaned back against the leather seat.

Then I smiled.

Because I knew something Mark did not.

When Valentina De Luca wanted something—

She did not give up.

And I wanted him.