Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 4:Mark

If anyone had told me that my Monday was going to be strange, I would have laughed.

My days were normal.

Predictable.

Quiet.

That was exactly how I liked them.

Every morning, I woke up at six.

I made coffee.

I got dressed.

Then I left my apartment and went to work.

I went to the restaurant.

After the restaurant closed, I either went home or spent a few hours with a few friends.

Then I slept.

The next morning, I did it all again.

There were no surprises.

No scandals.

No reporters.

No billion-dollar business meetings.

And definitely no beautiful, intimidating women walking into my restaurant to announce that they wanted me.

Yet somehow, that was exactly what had happened.

I stood near the kitchen entrance with my arms crossed, staring at the table where she had been sitting.

The chair was empty now.

Her glass of sparkling water was still on the table.

The waitress had already taken the bill.

But somehow, the entire restaurant still felt different.

Or maybe I was the one who felt different.

I shook my head.

“What was that?”

No one answered.

Because there was no reasonable answer.

A woman had entered the restaurant wearing a tailored designer suit, six-inch heels, diamonds, and carrying a handbag that probably cost more than my apartment.

Then she had asked the hostess to find me.

Not because she wanted to compliment the food.

Not because she wanted to make a reservation.

Not because she wanted to hire me.

No.

She wanted me.

That was what she said.

More than once.

I want you.

The words repeated inside my head.

I frowned.

She was strange.

Very strange.

I had met confident women before.

I had met women who were direct.

I had even met women who made the first move.

But Valentina De Luca was something else.

She did not ask for my number.

She did not ask whether I was single.

She did not ask if I wanted to have dinner with her.

She simply walked into my restaurant, looked directly at me, and announced—

“I want you.”

As though I was something she had seen in a*****e.

As though she had decided to purchase me.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

“You’re overthinking it.”

But I was not.

The entire situation was strange.

And the strangest part was that I knew who she was.

Not because of the initials engraved on her handbag.

That only confirmed what I had already suspected.

I had seen her face before.

Everyone had.

A few months earlier, I had been standing in line at a coffee shop when I noticed a business magazine sitting on one of the tables.

Her photograph had been on the cover.

She was wearing a white suit, standing in front of a massive building.

Her expression had been serious.

Her eyes had been cold.

The headline had read:

VALENTINA DE LUCA: THE YOUNGEST WOMAN REDEFINING INTERNATIONAL BUSINESS

I remembered reading part of the article.

She was twenty-five.

The Chief Operating Officer of De Luca & Co.

The daughter of one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the country.

A businesswoman whose name appeared everywhere.

The media called her the Ice Queen.

Other people called her the Cutthroat Woman.

There were articles about her investments.

Articles about her company.

Articles about the expensive clothes she wore.

There were even rumors that several business executives had refused to negotiate with her because they were afraid of what she might do to their companies.

Valentina De Luca was powerful.

Famous.

Wealthy.

And apparently insane.

I looked toward the restaurant entrance.

She was gone.

Her driver had taken her away.

Good.

Maybe that would be the end of it.

She had probably been bored.

Maybe she thought approaching a random chef was entertaining.

Maybe she had made a bet with someone.

Or maybe she was simply used to getting everything she wanted.

I did not know.

And I did not intend to find out.

“Chef?”

I looked toward the kitchen.

One of the cooks was standing beside the counter.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been staring at that table.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You’ve been standing there for ten minutes.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About the woman?”

“No.”

He smiled.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“She was beautiful.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“She was rich.”

“That matters even less.”

“She asked for you.”

“I noticed.”

“She said she wanted you.”

“I heard.”

“Several times.”

I looked at him.

“Do you have work to do?”

He immediately turned toward the kitchen.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Then do it.”

“Yes, Chef.”

I walked into the kitchen.

The familiar heat surrounded me.

Pots were boiling.

Knives touched cutting boards.

The smell of garlic and herbs filled the air.

This was where I belonged.

The kitchen made sense.

Every ingredient had a purpose.

Every recipe had steps.

If something went wrong, there was usually a reason.

Too much salt.

Not enough heat.

The wrong timing.

Problems could be fixed.

People were more complicated.

Especially people like Valentina De Luca.

I picked up a knife and began preparing vegetables.

But my mind refused to stay focused.

I remembered the way she had looked at me.

She had been calm.

Almost too calm.

As though walking into a restaurant and telling a stranger she wanted him was completely normal.

She had not appeared embarrassed.

She had not laughed.

She had not taken back her words.

If anything, she had looked certain.

That was what bothered me.

She had been certain.

Certain that she wanted me.

But she did not know me.

She knew nothing about me.

She did not know where I came from.

She did not know what I liked.

She did not know my friends.

She did not know my family.

She had seen my face once.

That was all.

And somehow, she had decided she wanted me.

It made no sense.

I placed the knife down.

“Chef?”

I looked up.

“What?”

“You’re cutting the same carrot.”

I looked at the cutting board.

The carrot had already been sliced.

I was holding the knife above an empty space.

I sighed.

“Take over.”

The cook quickly moved beside me.

I stepped away.

This was ridiculous.

I had work to do.

I had no reason to think about her.

She was not my type.

Not even close.

I preferred women who were calm.

Kind.

Soft-spoken.

Women who smiled without making people nervous.

Women who did not walk into a room and make everyone stop talking.

Women who did not wear six-inch heels like weapons.

Valentina was the opposite of everything I liked.

She was confident.

Loud.

Demanding.

Direct.

She carried herself as though the entire world belonged to her.

And maybe it did.

But I did not want to be part of that world.

I had heard the stories.

Everyone had.

People described Valentina as rude.

Cold.

Selfish.

Some people called her a b***h.

Others called her arrogant.

And now that I had met her?

I understood why.

She had walked into my restaurant and spoken to me as though she had already decided what would happen.

As though wanting me meant I would automatically want her.

That was not how life worked.

At least, not for me.

I returned to the kitchen.

“Chef Mark?”

I turned.

The hostess stood near the door.

“Yes?”

“Someone is asking for you.”

My eyes narrowed.

“Who?”

“She didn’t say.”

I immediately thought of Valentina.

No.

She had left less than ten minutes ago.

She could not possibly be back.

“Where is she?”

“Outside.”

I walked toward the front.

A woman was standing near the entrance.

It was not Valentina.

She was older.

She wore a long coat and held a small handbag.

“Chef Mark?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s fine.”

“My daughter is getting married next month.”

“Congratulations.”

“She loves your food.”

“Thank you.”

“She wants you to prepare the food for the wedding.”

I smiled.

“Of course.”

The woman began explaining the details.

As she spoke, I felt myself relax.

This was normal.

This was familiar.

A customer wanted food for a wedding.

That made sense.

No one was asking to own me.

No one was announcing that they wanted me.

Just work.

Simple.

Ordinary.

Perfect.

⸻

By the time the restaurant closed, it was almost eleven at night.

The kitchen was clean.

The tables were empty.

The employees had gone home.

I removed my apron and placed it on the counter.

My phone vibrated.

A message from one of my friends appeared.

Daniel: We’re at The Corner. Come over.

I looked at the time.

I was tired.

But staying at the restaurant meant I would continue thinking about Valentina.

So I picked up my jacket.

Mark: I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

⸻

The Corner was a small bar near my apartment.

It was quiet.

Nothing luxurious.

Nothing expensive.

The tables were old.

The music was low.

The drinks were simple.

I liked it.

My friends were sitting near the back.

Daniel raised his hand when he saw me.

“There he is.”

I sat beside him.

“You’re late.”

“I was working.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I’m always working.”

Another friend placed a drink in front of me.

“Long day?”

“Strange day.”

Daniel looked interested.

“Strange how?”

I picked up the glass.

“Nothing.”

“You said strange.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You never change your mind.”

“I do.”

“Not often.”

I took a drink.

Daniel watched me.

Then he smiled.

“You met someone.”

“No.”

“You did.”

“No.”

“You’re thinking about someone.”

“I’m not.”

“Who is she?”

“There is no one.”

Daniel leaned closer.

“Mark.”

“What?”

“Who is she?”

I sighed.

“There was a woman.”

Everyone at the table became quiet.

“You met a woman?” Daniel asked.

“She came into the restaurant.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Did she ask for your number?”

“No.”

“Did you ask for hers?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

I stared at my drink.

“She said she wanted me.”

Silence.

Daniel blinked.

“What?”

“She said she wanted me.”

“Like—”

“Yes.”

“Those exact words?”

“Yes.”

“Did she know you?”

“No.”

“Did you know her?”

“No.”

“Then why did she want you?”

“I don’t know.”

Daniel began laughing.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny.”

“She was strange.”

“Maybe she liked you.”

“She didn’t know me.”

“Maybe she liked your face.”

“She said my eyes were beautiful.”

Daniel laughed harder.

“You should have asked for her number.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“She’s not my type.”

“Why not?”

“She’s too much.”

“Too much what?”

“Everything.”

Daniel waited.

“She’s loud.”

“You met her once.”

“She’s demanding.”

“She asked for you.”

“She walked into my restaurant and announced that she wanted me.”

“That sounds confident.”

“It sounds insane.”

Daniel smiled.

“You liked her.”

“No.”

“You’re still talking about her.”

“Because you keep asking.”

“You remember what she said.”

“She repeated it.”

“You remember what she wore.”

“She was dressed like she was attending a business meeting.”

“You noticed.”

“She was impossible not to notice.”

Daniel leaned back.

“What was her name?”

I hesitated.

“Valentina.”

“Valentina who?”

“De Luca.”

Daniel stopped smiling.

“What?”

“Valentina De Luca.”

“The businesswoman?”

“Yes.”

“The COO?”

“Yes.”

“The woman from all those magazines?”

“Yes.”

Daniel stared at me.

Then he looked at the others.

“Mark met Valentina De Luca.”

“I know who I met.”

“And she said she wanted you?”

“Yes.”

Daniel began laughing again.

I frowned.

“This is not funny.”

“It is unbelievable.”

“She’s not my type.”

“She’s rich.”

“I don’t care.”

“She’s famous.”

“I don’t care.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“I noticed.”

“She wants you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“Maybe she wants to know you.”

“I don’t.”

Daniel stopped laughing.

“You don’t want to know her?”

“No.”

“Why?”

I thought about it.

Because I knew women like her.

Or at least, I thought I did.

People like Valentina lived in a different world.

A world filled with money, power, expensive clothes, and people who wanted something.

I did not belong there.

And I did not want to.

I liked my life.

I liked my restaurant.

I liked being able to walk through the city without people recognizing me.

I did not want cameras following me.

I did not want business magazines writing about me.

I did not want to become another person connected to the De Luca family.

And I definitely did not want a woman who believed she could walk into my life and decide that I belonged to her.

“No,” I said.

Daniel watched me.

“She’s not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Someone kind.”

“You don’t know if she’s kind.”

“She’s rude.”

“According to who?”

“Everyone.”

“You met her.”

“Yes.”

“Was she rude to you?”

I paused.

“No.”

“Did she insult you?”

“No.”

“Did she treat you badly?”

“No.”

“Then why do you think she’s rude?”

“Because she told me she wanted me.”

Daniel stared.

“That isn’t rude.”

“It’s strange.”

“Yes.”

“Very strange.”

“But not rude.”

I looked away.

He had a point.

Valentina had not been cruel.

She had not insulted me.

She had not treated anyone badly while she was at the restaurant.

She had only been—

Direct.

Too direct.

And confident.

Too confident.

But that did not mean I wanted to see her again.

“I’m not interested,” I said.

Daniel smiled.

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Of course.”

“She’s not my type.”

“You said that five times.”

“Because you’re not listening.”

“I’m listening.”

“Then understand.”

“Okay.”

I finished my drink.

Then I stood.

“I’m going home.”

“You just arrived.”

“I’m tired.”

“Are you going to think about Valentina?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she’ll come back?”

“No.”

Daniel smiled.

“You hope she does.”

“I don’t.”

I placed money on the table.

Then I walked toward the door.

Outside, the city was quiet.

I placed my hands inside my jacket pockets and began walking home.

I told myself I would forget about her.

I told myself she was strange.

I told myself she was not my type.

I told myself I had no interest in seeing her again.

And maybe I believed it.

Until I remembered the way she had looked at me.

Calm.

Confident.

Certain.

I want you.

I shook my head.

“No.”

There was no chance I was getting involved with Valentina De Luca.

She was too powerful.

Too famous.

Too complicated.

And definitely too strange.

I had no intention of moving forward.

No intention of learning more about her.

No intention of giving her my number.

No intention of letting her into my life.

Valentina De Luca could want whatever she wanted.

But I was not something she could acquire.

And I was going to make sure she understood that.