Мишель Дуглас - The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo

The man behind the Italian good looks…

Gorgeous Rico D’Angelo is single-handedly saving the world, one disadvantaged teen at a time. The opening of his charity café should be enough for him to finally put the regrets of his childhood behind him…but even as the ribbon is cut on opening day it’s not enough.

Until new hire Neen Cuthbert walks through the door and offers an unexpected blast of sunshine! She’s had her fill of misguided do-gooders, but something tells her Rico is different. Neen won’t let him push her away—especially now she’s discovering that Rico might just need her most of all.…

Rico blew out a breath. “As soon as the café is up and running and I have the figures to prove its success, I can start canvassing for funds for additional cafés in other parts of the city.”

“You want to run a chain of charity cafés?”

“Why not?”

She couldn’t think of a single reason. Except… “Don’t you ever stop for fun?”

He didn’t answer that.

Praise for Michelle Douglas

“Readers will enjoy a modern spin on this friends-to-lovers tale.”

—RT Book Reviews on FIRST COMES BABY

“Douglas’s story is romantic, humorous and paced just right.”

—RT Book Reviews on BELLA’S IMPOSSIBLE BOSS

“Laughter, holiday charm and characters with depth make this an exceptional story.”

—RT Book Reviews on THE NANNY WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS

“Moving, heartwarming and absolutely impossible to put down, THE MAN WHO SAW HER BEAUTY is another stunning Michelle Douglas romance that’s going straight onto my keeper shelf!”

—CataRomance on THE MAN WHO SAW HER BEAUTY

The Redemption of Rico D’Angelo

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLASwas asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, “A writer.” Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun . She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero…husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings.

Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelle-douglas.com.

To my wonderful niece, Abbey,

who loves books as much as I do.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

RICO STARED AT the application in front of him—again—before blowing out a breath and slumping in his chair. He’d had such high hopes for this project—hopes of finding someone as fantastically enthusiastic about it as he was.

His lips twisted. Hopes of finding someone not only fantastically enthusiastic but with first-rate qualifications and solid experience to bring to the table as well. A day and a half into the interviews, however, and he’d found he could kiss that notion goodbye.

He straightened. Punching a button on his intercom, he barked, ‘Is Janeen Cuthbert here yet, Lisle?’

‘Not yet, but there’s still ten minutes until her appointment.’

‘Thanks.’

Wasn’t it an unspoken rule to arrive ten minutes early for a job interview? He scowled at the wall opposite. Restaurant managers, it seemed, worked to their own schedules. Not that Hobart’s restaurant managers were beating a path to his door for the opportunity to run a charity café.

He slammed Janeen Cuthbert’s file shut.

Pressing thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, he tried to breathe through the pounding at his temples, tried to push it back and concentrate. He’d thought he’d be able to find one community-inspired restaurant manager with a few street smarts in this rotten city.

He wasn’t greedy. He only wanted the one. How hard could that be?

He’d had community-inspired people, all right. He’d had sunny, bright and earnest applicants without a scrap of experience between them. Nice people. But he could see the likely outcome all too vividly. The boys would walk all over them, would dishearten and disillusion them. There’d be tears and tantrums. And then they’d be gone, leaving him in the lurch. This project was too important to risk that.

He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to two. If Janeen Cuthbert wasn’t here at two on the dot then she could just turn around again and march straight back home. She might at least have worked in a café, but he needed someone who would take this job seriously. He needed someone fully committed to making this café work.

For the next five minutes he drummed his fingers against his desk. He didn’t turn to look out of his window at the busy Hobart thoroughfare below. His wasn’t one of the offices that afforded a glimpse of the harbour. As he was rarely in his office, however, he didn’t much care. As a project manager, he didn’t even have his own secretary. He had to share Lisle with two other governmental project officers. He didn’t much care about that either. He’d long since come to the conclusion that if you wanted a job done, you did it yourself.

He glanced at his watch. Two p.m.

He went to push the button on the intercom, but Lisle beat him to it. ‘Janeen Cuthbert is here for her two o’clock appointment, Rico.’

He gritted his teeth and swallowed. ‘Send her in.’

He counted to three. A soft knock sounded on his door. He swore under his breath. That knock was too soft. It was the kind of knock that lacked backbone. His hands fisted. Darn it! He’d had enough of sweet and nice and inefficient to last him a lifetime.

He tried to uncurl his lip. ‘Come in.’

When he clapped eyes on his penultimate interviewee, however, he immediately reassessed his prior judgement. Ms Cuthbert didn’t look as if she lacked a backbone. In fact, she looked boiling mad, as if she were about to explode. She hid it well, but he’d spent too many hours working with troubled youths not to recognise the signs—the glitter in her eyes, the colour high on her cheekbones and the flared nostrils. Even if it was all tucked away beneath a polite smile.

He stared at her and his shoulders unhitched a fraction. She might be a lot of things, but he was suddenly certain the one thing she wasn’t was meek and mild.

‘Mr D’Angelo?’

He kicked himself forward from behind his desk. ‘Yes.’

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Neen Cuthbert.’

She strode across to him, hand extended. It was bright red, as if it had recently been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. He briefly clasped it and then stepped back. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose and her knees were bright red too.

It wasn’t her hands or her knees that held his attention, though. Her dove-grey suit sported four equidistant pawprints—two on her thighs and two just above her breasts. No amount of scrubbing could hide those. For the first time in two days he found himself biting back a smile.

When his gaze returned to her face, her chin went up a notch, as if daring him to say one word about those pawprints.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Neen.’ He kept his voice even and some of the glitter eased from her eyes. He pursed his lips and then shook his head. ‘I suspect your afternoon has been as stressful as mine.’

A flash of humour lit up her face. ‘It’s that obvious, huh?’ She glanced down at the pawprints, her lips twisting. ‘It has been something of a trial,’ she allowed.

‘Please, take a seat.’ He motioned to a chair. Moving back around his desk, he stabbed a finger to his intercom. ‘I know it’s going above and beyond, Lisle, but could we possibly have coffee in here?’

‘Coming right up,’ she shot back cheerfully.

To his mind, the other two project managers took thorough advantage of their shared secretary. Rico didn’t see coffee making as part of Lisle’s duties. In this instance, though, he was prepared to make an exception.

‘That was kind of you.’ Neen’s glance was direct. ‘Truly, though, you didn’t have to do that on my account.’

He waved that away. ‘You may not thank me once you’ve tasted it.’ It wouldn’t be café standard by any means. ‘But, to be perfectly frank, I could do with a hit of caffeine.’

‘I take it your interviews aren’t going well?’

He stiffened at her question, realising how unprofessional he must appear. He shifted on his chair, fighting a frown. He’d let his guard down. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

He shook his head. He needed a holiday.

He shook it again. He didn’t have time for a holiday.

‘It’s hardly surprising, though, is it?’ she said, obviously misinterpreting the shaking of his head. ‘You want a highly qualified and experienced restaurant manager, but the wage you’re offering is hardly attractive.’

‘And yet you applied.’

She pointed to her file on his desk. ‘As you’ll have no doubt ascertained from my résumé, I’m not what you’d call highly experienced.’

‘And yet you still applied?’

‘And you decided to interview me.’

Okay, she definitely had backbone. She might not be cheerful and earnest, but she definitely had backbone, and that trumped cheerful and earnest any day. At least for this particular job.

Lisle came in with two steaming coffees. After she’d left he asked, ‘What happened?’ He gestured to the pawprints.

He made it a vague gesture, because he didn’t want her to think he was checking out her chest. He hadn’t been going to ask, but her criticism of the wage he was offering made him dispense with the niceties. Besides, he held those pawprints entirely responsible for his momentary lapse. If he found the answer to their mystery, he could then concentrate on getting this interview, and himself, firmly back on track.

She’d started to lift her mug, but at his words she set it back down with a thump. She didn’t spill a single drop, though. ‘Nothing today is going as planned. I came in here prepared with a pretty speech about why I’m the best applicant for your job. Instead I make snarky comments about the remuneration package and...’

Just for a moment her shoulders sagged. In the next instant, however, she straightened them again. Her eyes suddenly danced and she seized her coffee and sipped it.

‘I mean to enjoy this,’ she raised her mug in his direction, ‘because I’m guessing it doesn’t much matter what I say from here on. And after the day I’ve had I’m not going to beat myself up about it.’

She was mistaken if she thought she was out of the running. Not that he had any intention of telling her so. Yet. ‘Well?’ He raised an eyebrow.

She cradled her mug in her hands and crossed her legs. One of those red knees peeped out at him. ‘My flaky neighbour has landed me with her dog—gifted him to me, would you believe?—while she jets off to Italy for some indefinite amount of time on multiple modelling contracts.’

He gestured. Again, vaguely. ‘So the dog...?’

‘Montgomery.’