Chapter 2
707 Words
Gina
By lunchtime, I was fit to be tied. Jill’s complaint about Mr. Preston’s ex calling him was still gnawing at me.
What he does in his personal life is his business. But to be upset over something completely out of my control? Ludicrous.
I decided to grab lunch at Mario’s coffee shop and treat myself to his famous Greek salad. When I opened the door, I nearly ran into a wall of muscle.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t see you,” I said, looking up into the brown eyes of what looked like a Greek god.
He had short, wavy black hair, a chiseled jawline with a perfectly trimmed beard, and broad shoulders that made it obvious he worked out. Easily six-foot-two.
“Zander, να είσαι κύριος!” Mario called out to him.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“I told my son to be a gentleman,” Mario explained with a grin.
“This is your son, Mario?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, Gina dear, this is Zander—my pain in the ass son,” Mario said.
“Papa, please,” Zander muttered, smirking. “My father’s upset because he thinks I work too much and should hire help. I’m Zander.”
“Gina and I just came in for your father’s famous Greek salad for lunch. I love his dressing,” I told him.
“Ah, yes, the homemade dressing. That’s his secret recipe—never tells anyone,” Zander laughed.
Then Mario boomed, “Zander, Gina is the one who makes the cookies she gives me because she refuses to come to Sunday dinner!”
Zander looked at me. “Those are your pizzelles?”
“Yes! My nonna’s recipe. I tweak it a bit—more vanilla, less anise—but that’s my Sunday tradition: make pizzelles,” I admitted.
Why was I opening up to this man I’d just met? Maybe it was the Greek in him—just like Mario. Greeks seem to have this way of making you talk, of making you feel like family.
“Zander, you need a girl like Gina here. She can cook, she’s hardworking, she’s pretty—that’s a wife right there,” Mario said proudly.
“Papa! Stop trying to marry me off to every girl you meet!” Zander shouted.
I felt my cheeks heat up. Thank God my parents lived in California and didn’t meddle in my love life.
“Sorry about that,” Zander said, turning to me. “He thinks every pretty girl should be my wife. You said you’re hardworking—where do you work?”
“Oh, right next door. I’m a switchboard operator at Preston Enterprise,” I replied.
Mario snorted and muttered something in Greek.
“Is he okay?” I asked Zander.
“Yeah, just being a grumpy Greek. You said you’re a switchboard operator—any plans to move into something else?” he asked.
“Actually, I went to school for merchandising. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity to move into that department,” I said.
“Gina, your salad!” Mario called.
I grabbed it, paid, and waved goodbye. “Thanks for the chat, guys. See you, Mario.”
⸻
Zane
I watched her walk out the door. The brunette was stunning—different from the women I usually noticed. She wasn’t model-thin, but had an hourglass figure that was impossible not to admire. If I had to guess, a size 14–16, incredibly sexy. Her long brown hair, the way she carried herself… a goddess. I understood why my dad talked about her.
“Papa, do you know Gina’s last name?” I asked.
“Lamborghini, I think… why are you spying on your employee?” he said.
“Papa, I’m not spying. She said she went to school for merchandising—maybe she’s ready to move up from switchboard. It’s not spying, it’s… research,” I said.
“Don’t lie to Papa. You’re thinking of dating her,” he said with a knowing look.
“Papa, please, I’m not,” I protested.
“Uh-huh. Gina’s a good girl. Wife material. Not like those girls you usually date,” my dad said firmly.
- Writer
