Insatiable

“I’ll have the jambalaya.”

He grinned, ordered two servings of jambalaya, a pound of steamed crawfish and a large hunk of praline cheesecake with sweet bourbon sauce.

“That’s an awful lot of food for a man who just had breakfast.” Especially for a man who looked like a walking, breathing advertisement for the local health club.

“I love food. It’s not just business to me. Besides, that wasn’t my breakfast. Anita ordered in.”

Was Anita sharing his room? Samantha would have to know that, for entirely professional reasons, of course. “She’s your assistant?”

“Yes, and my first cousin. Her father and my father are brothers.”

He didn’t need to add that tidbit of information, but Samantha found herself relieved that he did. She’d finally started to like the guy and didn’t want it ruined by the knowledge that he slept with women he employed—as her father did, more times than she cared to count. When the last starlet started making stepmother noises, Samantha knew the time had come to split. She realized then that she’d spent her entire adulthood, not to mention a sizable chunk of her childhood, taking care of her father, catering to the genius director’s whims and putting her interests second. Unfortunately, she’d only escaped as far as actor Anthony Marks’s bed before he took his turn trampling her heart.

So now, she’d resolved to take care of strangers—on her own terms—and draw a salary at the same time. And she’d come home to New Orleans to reconnect with her mother and sister, both fiercely independent women that—with the exception of wanting her to find a man to settle down with—didn’t attempt to run her life in any significant way. Coming home had been easier than she’d ever imagined, thankfully, since she’d never figured out how to work long-distance relationships. And she’d done her share of trying.

Dominick pulled a file folder off the coffee table onto his lap, then motioned for her to take a seat on the couch. “I like to start my day early. Anita’s not a morning person, so she ordered her breakfast from here.”

She slid a company brochure off the conference table behind her and flipped open the trifolded, high-gloss color pamphlet. On the cover, a posed crowd of over thirty people ranging in age from toddler to octogenarian lifted their glasses in a hearty salute. She recognized Anita just a little left of center, standing beside a woman who, judging by the resemblance, had to be her mother. Dominick was just behind her, bracketed by two gray-haired ladies holding tight to each arm—undoubtedly, his grandmothers, ensuring he stayed put for the photograph. The caption identified the crowd as LaRocca Foods, LaRocca Family.

She flashed the picture at him. “You’ve given a whole new meaning to the word nepotism.”

“That’s not nepotism.” He picked up his own copy of the brochure from the corner of the table. “That’s a family business. It’s only nepotism if the family hired isn’t qualified.”

“Anita’s good?”

His chin protruded with an adorable smidgen of pride, as if he was more than partially responsible for Anita’s success. “The best. She loves this company almost as much as I do. Devotes her life to its success.”

“Then why is she just your assistant and not a vice president of something?”

The nerve she hit must have been pretty darned raw, from the way his green eyes darkened to nearly black, and his scowl prickled gooseflesh along the back of her neck.

“She’s in the position she’s best suited for. Fancy titles don’t mean anything.”

“Oh, really? Then why don’t you just call yourself a secretary? Or the maintenance guy?”

Nick’s smile returned. “Actually, I tried mailboy once, but the paper cuts were hell.”

Samantha sat back, shaking her head as the man effortlessly disarmed her indignation with unexpected humor. He was good. “I guess CEO does sound better, doesn’t it?”

“Definitely. Tell me, is it part of your services as a bodyguard to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Only if it affects your safety.”

“Then let’s drop this subject. Anita isn’t likely to be a threat to my safety.”

She might be if you continue to undervalue her worth. For once, Samantha kept her comment to herself. She’d already skated on thin ice with him and she quickly remembered that she wasn’t his bodyguard—yet—and even if she were, he could send her packing without much cause.

“Sorry. I speak before I think way too often. It’s just…”

“…a lagniappe? That’s the word, isn’t it?”

His tease caught her completely off guard. Not only did he know the popular New Orleans term for “something extra,” but he considered her big mouth a bonus? One minute, he was all stern seriousness, the next he inspired a reluctant smile to tilt the corners of her mouth.