Law, Lies, and Love Affairs

If That's the Way You Want It

Mike bypassed the five star restaurant offered by the hotel, and led Stevie out into the early evening street.

They strolled down Via della Spiga, past the designer shops, weaving their way though the nighttime crowds on the pedestrian only street, then wandered through the nearby streets. He doubted Stevie would be wowed by any of the designer labels, but he paused for a moment outside Armani Nobu.

"In my work suit? In the middle of the fashion capital of the world?" Stevie said, shaking her head. "Definitely not. Although their dessert Bento Box is awfully tempting. . ."

"You've been here before?" Of course she had. Did he really think he could show a woman who had been traveling the world as a highly successful international attorney for the past five years anything she hadn't seen before? And where was this sudden need to impress her coming from, anyway? This was Stevie, who he'd known since law school. And already slept with, for heaven's sake.

"Not this one. But I've been to the one in New York." She paused, thinking. "And Honolulu."

"We'll make a reservation for later this week. Do you still have that little black dress?"

"What? Oh," she said, and he'd swear she almost blushed. "I have several little black dresses now," she said, "as I'm frequently called upon to wear them for business occasions."

She'd taken off her jacket in the warm summer night, and wore a simple white silky sleeveless blouse under it, which for some reason he found incredibly sexy. They had stopped at a street corner, and he turned toward her, resting his hand lightly on her arm.

"What about personal occasions?" There was a sudden hot denseness in the air and Mike, who rarely sweat unless he was on the basketball court or out for a run, had the sudden urge to take off his own jacket.

She answered him in a cool, even, oh-so-Stevie tone, and he wondered if he'd imagined the heat that had simmered between them.

"Well, yes, I've been known to wear a black dress on personal occasions as well."

"Wear one for me and we'll have dinner and not discuss business."

"Look, I know everything went fine today, but I'm not planning on going out every evening and leaving Madelyn with Luciana. Maddie's fragile."

"She seems to be adapting remarkably well."

"You don't know that."

"I guess I don't."

They strolled down Via Monte Napoleone, passing by the ready to wear shops, designer studios, and jewelry stores that the Montenapoleone district was known for, and Stevie sighed.

"What's the matter?" he asked, but she just shook her head.

"Listen, I know what will cheer you up. Come on."

He pulled her along until they reached what could have been a cozy house but was instead a restaurant that opened into an amazing outdoor courtyard. Where, thanks to an earlier forecast for rain that hadn't materialized, there was an opening in the reservations for outdoor seating. There was a mixture of the elegantly dressed, those still in business attire from the day, and the obvious tourists. After they were seated a middle-aged male waiter approached them with a scowl.

Mike's Italian was decent, and the waiter grudgingly answered a few questions about the menu. His approach softened measurably when Stevie addressed him in her impeccable Italian, bestowing on him one of those rare smiles. Probably thought she was a native, forced to endure the company of an embarrassing American.

"So it must be a rumor then," Stevie said, visibly cheered, as they watched their waiter trudge slowly away, stopping only to exchange a few heated words with another waiter – also a middle-aged man – passing by a neighboring table.

"What's the rumor?" Mike asked.

"I only stopped in Milan very briefly once before – no time for evening dining – but a colleague told me the servers at the most notable restaurants in Montenapoleone are working models."

"How do you know our waiter doesn't have a thriving modeling career? Are you being sexist, or just ageist?" Mike asked, and made her laugh. It was good to see Stevie laugh. She'd produced exceptional work back in Miami, and had greatly strengthened their legal position with the winery group at the meeting earlier today. He appreciated the fact that she was so serious about her work, especially when his company was the beneficiary of those efforts. But he missed the Stevie he'd known in Paris, the Stevie he'd spent that amazing long weekend with back in law school, and hell, even the Stevie who used to trade barbs with him in the law journal office and try to best him in every class or competition.

"Seriously," Mike told her, "this is one of the oldest and most acclaimed restaurants in the area."

"Well, you can't beat the surroundings," Stevie said, gazing around the courtyard of the beautiful palazzo, set right in the heart of the fashion district and surrounded by the most famous labels in the world.

"Grazie," she said as the waiter delivered their appetizers, gifting him another smile, and making Mike wish she'd smile at him like that just once.

Stevie cut delicately into the baratta, releasing the thickened cream onto the side of her knife, then spreading the mozzarella-like cheese onto a piece of crusty bread. As she lifted it to her mouth, his throat went dry. Since when had watching a woman sample a cheese appetizer given him such a hard on?

She took a sip of the prosecco and smiled at him.

"I suppose we'll be drinking a lot of wine this week."

"I've arranged tastings at each of the wineries. They need to understand that although Miami Imports is a diversified company, that doesn't mean we lack interest in the businesses we partner with. Or that we lack appreciation for their products."

"I've been studying up on the wines of the region."

"Have you now?" Of course she had. He had never known Stevie to be less than 100% prepared for anything she took on.

"I may not have grown up with it like you did, but I've refined my tastes over the years."

"A little defensive, Stevie?"

She lifted a shoulder slightly. "I suppose I am. I can put on a Valentino suit. Slip on my Givenchy pumps and go toe to toe with the sharpest lawyers in the world from the top international firms." She leaned toward him. "Sit here in a place like this, across the table from a man who wears his Armani suit and Ferragamo shoes like a second skin. And somewhere inside me, I'm still that little girl whose mom worked double shifts at the diner to try to make the rent."

She leaned back in her chair again. "And I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"Don't try to sell me that you're a fish out of water, Stevie. I've seen you swim with the sharks."

"I'm not one of them."

"You are whatever you want to be." He looked up a moment and paused as the waiter placed salads in front of them, then retreated.

"I don't care where you came from, Stevie. Professionally or personally. So stop using your background as a shield to keep me from getting too close."

"It's just business, Mike. That's all it's ever going to be between us."

"If that's the way you want it, Stevie."

"That's the way I want it."

Author's Note:

Is that really the way Stephanie wants it? Or is she just afraid?