Free Her Brooding Italian Boss by Susan Meier

up.
“Sì?”
    “Where is Mr. Bartulocci?”
    She frowned. “He say not to tell you.”
    She shoved her shoulders back even farther. “Oh, really? Would you like me to tell his father that you stood in the way of him getting the help in his office that he needs?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Then let me suggest you tell me where he is.”
    Rosina sighed. “Mr. Constanzo might be bossy, but Antonio is my boss.”
    She spun on her heel. “Fine. Then I’ll simply find him myself.”
    “Okay. Just don’t go into his studio.”
    Her hand on the swinging door, Laura Beth paused, turned and faced Rosina. “His studio?”
    Rosina went back to kneading her bread. “I said nothing.”
    Laura Beth’s lips rose slowly. “I wasn’t even in the kitchen.”
    His strong reaction to painting her had led her to believe his studio would be the last place he’d want to be. So it confused her that he’d be in the old, crumbling house that reminded him he couldn’t paint.
    But whatever. The plan was to find him, no matter where he was, and force him to see she could be a good employee for him.
    It took a few minutes to locate the door that led to the studio. The old stone path had been repaired, but appeared to be the original walkway. The house’s door was so old the bottom looked to have been gnawed by wild animals. She tried the knob and it moved, granting her entrance.
    The cluttered front room held everything
but
canvases and frames. Paint cans—not artist’s paint, but house paint—sat on the floor. Strips of fabric lay haphazardly on metal shelves. She recognized one of the swatches as the fabric for one of the chairs in his dining room.
    She glanced around. Most of this stuff corresponded to something in his house. He’d stored leftovers and castoffs here.
    He’d said he hadn’t painted since his wife’s death. But if the items in this room were any indicator, it had been longer than that.
    She stepped over a small stack of lumber and around some paint cans and walked through a door that took her into the huge back room, empty save for Antonio, who sat on a stool, staring at a blank canvas.
    Light poured in from a bank of windows on the back wall and set the entire room aglow. She didn’t know much about painting, but she imagined lots of light was essential.
    “Think of the devil and look who appears.”
    She walked a little farther into the room. “Are you calling me Satan?”
    “I’m telling you I was thinking about you.”
    In a room with a blank canvas.
    Because he wanted to paint her.
    Because he thought she was classically beautiful.
    Tingles pirouetted along her skin. She told herself to ignore them. He didn’t want what he felt for her and she did want this job. Acting like a PA had jarred her out of her feelings, so maybe forcing him to see her as a PA would jar him out of his.
    She cleared her throat. “I have nothing to do.”
    He sucked in a long breath and said, “Fine,” as he turned on the stool. But when he saw her, he burst out laughing. “Trying to tune in to my librarian fantasy?”
    She pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’m trying to look like a PA so I get a fair shot at working for you.”
    He rose from the stool and walked toward her, stopping mere inches in front of her. “You still want to work for me?”
    Her heart jumped. The pirouetting tingles became little brush fires. A smart girl might take Constanzo’s severance and run. But though Laura Beth prided herself on being smart, she was also a woman who didn’t take charity and who liked a long-term plan. This one, working for Antonio, living in Italy, was a good one. She couldn’t afford New York. She didn’t want to burden her parents. Keeping this job was the right move.
    Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward, into his personal space, showing him he couldn’t intimidate her. “Yes. I still want to work for you.”
    “You’re a crazy woman.”
    “I’m a desperate woman. Your confusion about painting me