"My father wants me to stay as far from certain sides of our family business as possible, so I often find myself bored but doing what I have to. I know what my brothers do, but I've never been to some of the places they've been. Such a shame, too. While discussing cattle exports is interesting, there are better ways to apply my education."
"I'm sure, but I can understand your father's point of view," Dad said. "My niece, Adriana, only recently had to see some of the other sides of our family business. Tomasso here has known more since his youth, and while he's just getting started after college, I couldn't be prouder of him. He's his own man—a multi-talented one.”
“Oh really? Such as?" Luisa asked, giving me a raised eyebrow.
"Well, I’m sure it’s not exactly what he meant, but I’m a bit of a Judo fanatic. Brown belt, currently. I should have had my black except that I got started late. I spent my high school days mostly wrestling, so I missed a couple of years. Did a couple of tournaments in college. I did okay, won a few."
Luisa chuckled and took a bite of her main dish, which Chef had brought out while I was talking. "A nice little pastime. I should mention that to my Professor when I get back to Porto Alegre."
"You study martial arts too?" Margaret asked. "Which one?"
“I’m a two-stripe brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu," Luisa said. "I haven't kept up enough to be a black belt any time soon, but it’s fun. Besides, my dancing is less painful on the body. But I'd be confident against any regular judo black belt."
I bristled and cut at my eggplant with my knife with a bit more force than necessary. “Maybe that could be arranged."
"Only if you’re willing to submit to a woman," Luisa shot back before setting her fork down. She wiped her mouth and looked down at her plate. "Don Bertoli, my apologies. I came to foster friendship between our families, not to pick a fight with your son."
Dad looked at me and laughed. “No offense taken, Miss Mendosa. Sometimes, we all need to learn lessons, either through making mistakes or through having someone remind us that our egos can’t become larger than our accomplishments. Isn't that true, Tomasso?"
I swallowed my frustration and nodded.
Dinner continued, with Aunt Margaret giving me amused looks from time to time as Luisa and I continued to verbally tip-toe around each other, trying to not piss each other off and usually failing miserably. Still, there was something irresistible about her. All through our panna cotta dessert, all I could think of was how I could get the Brazilian beauty in the sack.
After dinner, as Luisa was getting ready to leave and Dad was sipping his espresso, I took my opportunity. Going to the entryway, I hurried the few steps to stop her from opening the door. "Luisa?"
She looked at me, and I could see in her eyes that I'd pissed her off, which made her all the sexier to me. "Yes, Tomasso?"
I took a deep breath and set aside my arrogance for a moment, an act of pure will. I’d cultivated it for years, both as a tool and as a shield. "Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. Tomorrow, you have that trade show, right?"
"Yes, at the convention center. Why?" She asked, clutching her purse tightly. I could see in her eyes that she wanted to hit me with it, probably right across the face.
"Let me take you to coffee, say in the afternoon? The show's gotta have a break built in there somewhere, and it's just a cup of coffee. I . . . I'd like to show you that I'm not always such an asshole."
Luisa chuckled and nodded at my admission. "For the sake of our fathers and families, I accept. Here’s my phone number. Call me tomorrow afternoon. My break right now is about two in the afternoon until three. Maybe then, we can try and make a better start than this. Have a good evening, and good luck with your work tonight."
"Thank you," I said, a pleasant buzz going through me as she took out a card from her purse and wrote her number on the back. "And like I said, I'm not always an asshole. You'll see."
"Goodnight."
Chapter 4
Luisa
The next day was the sort of day that I had least looked forward to about Seattle—the sort of dreary, overcast day where the sky looked like it constantly wanted to rain but didn't. In Brazil, it’s different. When the clouds boil over dark and heavy, you know to get yourself indoors. When they were done raining, the clouds knew enough to go away, and the sky was beautiful.
Seattle clouds, on the other hand, seem to enjoy just mingling with each other, turning the entire sky into a sort of slate gray that sucks the life and pleasure out of the entire day. Everything gets washed out into a monotone yech that can only be abated by sleep. No wonder the city was full of hipsters who have to constantly drink coffee to stay awake.