Page 9 of The Billionaire's Heart

“Hey, you busy? One of my staff member’s car isn’t working and I don’t want her to be sitting in the parking lot all night waiting for a tow.”

“Who is this staff member?”

“Her name is Mia. Why does that matter?” I ask, confused.

“Because you’ve never really cared before.” He laughs.

“That’s not true. I care about my staff. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

Laughing, “Yeah. You’re at the office, right?”

“Yes.”

“On my way.”

“Thank you.” I hang up as I pull into the Little Slice of Italy restaurant parking lot.

“Hello, Mr. Gallo. Your regular table?” Massimo, the restaurant owner, asks when he sees me walk in.

“No, Massimo. Not tonight. Actually, I’d like an order of chicken alfredo and an order of Zuppa Di Pesce to go. I’m in a bit of a hurry, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Mr. Gallo. Coming right up.” Massimo scurries to the back of the restaurant and before I know it, he’s carrying two bags filled to the top with takeout containers.

“Here you go, Mr. Gallo. I’ve added tiramisu and cannoli, plus two bottles of water. On the house.” He hands me the two bags and processes my credit card. He’s compensated well for his generosity. It’s one of the many reasons I come here. That and the privacy he instills in his waitstaff. I never have to worry about paparazzi when I’m here.

“Thank you, Massimo.” I call behind me as I make it back to my car. I can see Mia is still fiddling with her car engine when I pull up next to her.

“Help is on the way, but until he gets here, I’ve got dinner.” I say as I climb out of my car.

Mia looks confused. “What? What help? You?”

“You don’t have to look so surprised. I know a thing or two about cars, just not cars this old.” I pull out the two main entrees. “Chicken Alfredo or Zuppa Di Pesce?”

“Zuppa Di what?”

I hand her one of the containers. “Zuppa Di Pesce. It’s shrimp, mussels, clams, and calamari. Here, eat the chicken alfredo.”

She hesitates but takes the takeout container. “How much do I owe you?” she asks as I watch her inhale the delicious scent of the food.

“Nothing but thank you for offering. Eat.” I hand her the plasticware from the bag and then take a bite of my food.

She wraps the noodles around the fork tines and puts it in her mouth and all I can think of is how hot that is. I have to look away, so I take a taste of my food.

“Who’s coming to help? Tell me you didn’t call a mechanic.”

I shake my head and then swallow the food in my mouth. “No. A doctor.”

“A doctor? Like a car doctor? Isn’t that called a mechanic?” She laughs at me.

“No, an actual doctor. A surgeon, actually, but he’s a huge car guy. Trevor. He should be here any minute.” And as if I planned it, Trevor pulls up in his 1967 Ford Mustang.

“I hear you need some help, little lady.” Trevor says with a country twang. We’re in the South, but not from the deep south. I have no idea where that twang came from, but I don’t like that he’s hitting on Mia.

Again, I don’t know why.

“Hi there. Yes, if you know anything about ancient cars.” She points to her dilapidated ride. “It started, but when I put it in gear, it died and won’t start up again.”

“Hi. I’m Trevor Jacobs. And you are?” Trevor looks at me and then shakes Mia’s hand.