Well, Gian to this day did not understand Angela’s hatred towards her, when close friends all knew that Mia was Rafael’s beard—a prop used to prevent the world from finding out in his declining years that Rafael Romano was gay. Perhaps, if Ariana could have this necessary conversation with her father, it might lead him to reveal his truth before it was too late or, worse, before she inadvertently found out.
‘Why don’t you tell your father that you regret not being at his wedding?’ Gian suggested. ‘Talk to him about it...’
‘I try to stay upbeat when I visit him.’
‘Tell him how you feel,’ Gian gently pushed, and saw that she was thinking about it.
‘I might.’ She nodded and then turned to him with a question no one had ever dared ask. ‘Were your parents happy?’
It was just a question, and it flowed from the context perhaps, but he had to think for a long moment, to cast his mind back, to the parties, to the laughter, to the inappropriate mess that had been them, and for once he did not choose silence. ‘Yes,’ Gian finally answered. ‘They were happy because they followed only their hearts and not their heads.’ When she frowned, clearly nonplussed, Gian explained further. ‘Their happiness was to the exclusion of all else.’
‘Including you?’
He did not answer and Ariana knew she had crossed the line, but now they were in this odd standoff.
They looked at each other. His thick black hair was so superbly cut that as she looked up at him she felt the oddest temptation to raise her hand and simply touch it, and to see if it fell back into perfect shape, but of course impulse had no place here, and anyway it was just a thought. But that made it a red button that saiddo not touch, and consequently made her itch to do so. ‘Including you?’ she persisted.
‘This is an interview, Ariana, the purpose of which is to find out more about you, not the other way around.’
Under her breath she muttered, ‘Your life is an interview then.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It just dawned on me, Gian, that you know an awful lot about me, but I know practically nothing about you.’
‘Good,’ he clipped.
It wasn’t good, though. Suddenly there was a whole lot that Ariana wanted to know about him, and her heart suddenly stopped with its ungainly trot and kicked into a gallop.
He angered her.
Only that wasn’t quite right, because anger didn’t make her thighs suddenly clamp, or her lips ache. And anger didn’t make her knickers damp or give her an urge to kiss that haughty, arrogant face. This was something else entirely, though her voice when she spoke was indeed cross. ‘Are you going to hire me or not, Gian?’
‘I am hesitant to.’
While he wanted to afford her a new start, Ariana working here spelt Trouble.
In more ways than one.
Yes, she was airy and spoilt and brattish, but he could almost feel the prickle of her under his skin and that was an attraction that was safer to deny. ‘If it doesn’t work out—’ he started.
‘Itwillwork out,’ she broke in. ‘I shall make it so!’
And I will push all thoughts of fancying you aside, Ariana hurriedly thought.
‘You would still have to do the twelve-week induction.’ He wasn’t asking, he was telling. ‘It is mandatory that all my guest services staff have personally worked in every area of the hotel.’
‘Yes.’ Ariana nodded. ‘I’ll do the induction.’
‘If you are successful in your introductory period then there might be a position as a guest servicesassistant...’
‘But—’
‘My managers earn their titles, Ariana.’ He watched two spots of colour start to burn on her cheeks. ‘And there will be no favours and no concessions. From this point on, the trajectory of your career is in your hands. You will report on Monday at seven to Vanda, who deals with staff training, and any issues you have, you take to her, not me.’
‘Of course.’
He wasn’t sure she got it, though. ‘Ariana, this is my hotel, and I separate things, so if you work here you must understand that I don’t deal with the grumbles of minor staff. I don’t want to hear about your day; I simply do not want to know. I don’t want to hear you can’t handle vomit or difficult guests. You take it up with Vanda. Not my problem...’