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.

The convention center was a lot of the same, with most of the men wearing dull, drab suits that looked like they were all made in the same factory and handed out to American businessmen along with one of three options in ties. Still, as things started, I quickly got into the zone and started to enjoy my work.

The key to my task at the Seattle convention was not to set up a booth. My family didn’t have the presence nor the available manpower to send such an entourage. Instead, my father trusted me to do what I did best, which was use all of my six-foot-two inches (in heels) and thirty-eight inches each of chest and hip to get the attention of the people at the convention, and then use my brains to complete the work and make the connections. We weren't planning on making any immediate sales, but instead to make the sort of introductions and inroads that could lead to future sales. That didn't mean I didn't have sales forms with me, but they were kept in my small folder case.

My immediate target, of course, were the churrascaria chains, the Brazilian barbecue places that could use the fact that my family offered authentic Brazilian beef for export as a selling point to their customers. So my immediate target list of people to talk to included Fogo de Chao, Rum Jungle, and Texas de Brazil. But, if the opportunity arose, I'd be happy to talk to any of the chains or even the few supermarkets that were at the convention.

In the morning, I was able to talk to the lead representative from Texas de Brazil, who sounded interested in what my family had to offer. After exchanging information, he talked with me for nearly twenty minutes, and for the most part, he kept his eyes where they were supposed to be. I was certain that he would actually give our offices in Brazil a call soon in order to get some of our winter cattle, although he stopped short on actually filling out an order form.

Skipping lunch, I used the opportunity to make some of the smaller connections I'd sought for after seeing the big players leave their booths for lunch. However, the little places, the single restaurants or small chains that were looking for anything they could as every penny was precious to them, stayed at their booths or kept circulating, hustling to make deals and connections. It was capitalism and business in its truest form, which to me was both intoxicating and dangerous. If you let yourself become too desperate or too content, you’d fail. On the outside, you have to look confident and unconcerned, but on the inside, you’re ready to jump at almost any opportunity that comes your way.

By one thirty, I was pleasantly tired, and the rumble in my stomach reminded me that I was supposed to have coffee with Tomasso Bertoli. As I finished my last conversation and went to a quieter area of the convention center to check my phone for messages, I thought about him. He was handsome—that was undeniable. He had wide shoulders and a powerfully built body that rippled with muscle even under the suit I'd seen him in. His dark brown hair reminded me of freshly ground coffee in color, and his eyes were a deep hazel amber that certainly let him charm his way into many a woman's bed, I was sure.

Despite being the daughter of a crime lord, I had a bad habit of losing myself when it came to men, including an incident in college where I thought I'd fallen in love with a professor. He'd used me as a 'side piece,' as I came to know the term later, while all the time, he stayed with his society wife. I'd been so ashamed that I hadn't even told my father, and since then, I hadn't seriously considered a man for anything more than to fill a need.

However, Tomasso Bertoli wasn’t a man that I could just play with. He wasn’t a man that I could just use to fill that particular need. Sure, he was sexy, but I needed to maintain at least a polite relationship with him in order to increase the chances of our families working together.

I saw that there was a message on my phone when I pulled it out, and that it was from him. He sent me a message at noon, saying he'd be by the convention center whenever I was ready. I hit the dial button and waited.

"Hello?" Tomasso said when he picked up, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice, even as I tried to fight it. "Luisa?"

"Yes, Tomasso, it’s me. I got your message. Are you in the area?"

"Yes, I was just doing a little shopping at a store nearby. Are you on break?" he said, sounding less cocky than he had the night before. "If so, I can meet you in about ten minutes."

"That sounds fine. I'll be in the north side of the building. Can you meet me there?"

"That would be great. I'll see you in less than ten."

He hung up, and I had to admit that his tone of anticipation bled over onto me. I was looking forward to seeing him. I started heading toward the north exit slowly, pausing to check out a few booths and drop off my business card.

I waited by the north entrance and was surprised when he walked up. Instead of the slicked back, buttoned down wise guy I'd expected from the day before, he'd gone more casual, with a pair of jeans and a shirt. "Hello."

He stopped, looking at me. "Wow. You look beautiful. I mean, not that you didn’t last night.”

His honest compliment stirred me, and I couldn't help it. I smiled. "You look much more relaxed than last night. Shall we?"

He nodded, and we started back toward the parking lot. "If you don't mind, there's a little cafe just around the corner," Tomasso said. "I've never been there, but they've got a big picture of apple pie out front, and to be honest, I could use some."

I thought about it and nodded. “Sounds great. I didn’t have much for lunch other than some samples from the convention."

We walked, my feet only slightly aching as I'd been on my feet all morning in high heels. "This is a part of Seattle I haven't missed the past four years,” Tomasso said, looking up at the sky.

I chuckled and agreed. “It’s definitely not something to inspire great works of art. On the other hand, I assume that means you value the good weather days all that much more."

"I suppose," Tomasso said. "To be honest, I don't get as much of a chance to look up at the sky. I've been on the night shift this past week."

"You're out now," I noted. "Is this your day off or something?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Hardly. Monday's one of my busiest. I stop by a lot of the businesses that I’m supposed to pick up from on Mondays. It does tend to end early, so I used the early start, and knowing I was going to be down here, I took the chance to get out and do some shopping."

I nodded in understanding. We made our way to the cafe, where I ordered an espresso along with a small slice of chocolate cake. "So I gather that you are just getting back into the family business," I said, taking a bite. It wasn't too bad. "How’s that working out?”

He sipped at his cappuccino and sighed. "It's been harder than I thought it would be. Not so much the job itself. So far, I'm not doing anything a reasonably trained beagle couldn't do. It's the mental stress."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," I noted, causing him to nod. "You're not the only one who’s in such a position."

"What's it like for you?" he asked, open and honest. His face softened, and I could see the cute guy under there, not the cocky jerk vibe I’d gotten from him the night before. "I mean, you said your father wants you out of the dirty side of things."

“That’s true, but my family has a lot of things that aren’t dirty, but aren’t exactly on the up and up either. Like you, I have a lot of expectations to live up to and a lot of pressure. Being the oldest daughter, and the one that's supposed to be the leader of all of them—it's a lot to deal with when I haven't even had my twenty-second birthday yet."

Tomasso looked surprised. "You're twenty-one? I thought you were older than me. Not that you look it, just you're mature. You act . . . ah hell, I'm screwing this up—you know what I mean. I'm twenty-two. Birthday's next month."

"Me too," I said, chuckling as he tripped over his words. "What day?"

"August seventh," Tomasso said. "And you?"

I laughed hard. "Me too. It seems we are exactly one year apart in age." I sat back, sipping my coffee and enjoying my cake. He also relaxed, enjoying his drink, a sort of companionable silence growing between us. It lasted until I finished my cake and most of my coffee.

"So, a brown belt, huh?" He commented as he took his last sip, breaking the silence. "What about the rest of your family?"

I nodded. “My older brother’s also a brown, and one of my younger brothers is a purple. It’s kind of a family thing for my brothers, but I got into it because of a friend. Look, I’m glad we did this, but the afternoon session is starting, and I’d like to make another connection before the day is finished. Thank you, Tomasso."

We started back to the convention center, friendlier than I'd expected after the night before, and more than once, we laughed as we approached the center. “Do you have some spare time?" I asked as we neared the door. "Your family has business interests in restaurants, food, shipping—things like that, right?”

"Some, but mostly in the pizza industry. My friend, Jake, would be better suited for something like this. I’m not really involved with that stuff, regardless of my education,” Tomasso said before shaking his head. "But I can at least get some business cards for him, I suppose. Besides, I'd have to be an idiot to turn down an offer from a beautiful woman to spend some more time with her. And I’m no idiot."

"I don't know about that," I teased back, not even realizing I was flirting with him until the words were out of my mouth. I shook my head in disbelief and opened the door to the center, when suddenly, a man in a hooded sweatshirt collided with us, sending me sprawling to the sidewalk. "Hey! Que porra?"

The man went tumbling down with me, and I yelped as his knee caught me in the thigh. I got a good look at him, and he had the most remarkable face, with a scar that ran from his hairline to the middle of his left cheek, nearly bisecting his eye. His left eye was brown, while his right eye was blue. Scrambling to his feet, he took off running. "Puta! Get back here! You can at least apologize!"

Tomasso, who'd also been knocked down, got to his feet and chased the man for a few feet before seeing that I was still on the ground. Coming over, he knelt next to me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, looking down at my suit, which had a tear in the skirt that pissed me off. "My suit took more damage than I did. He caught me in the thigh with a good knee though."

"Ouch," Tomasso said, offering me his hand. I took it, surprised at how effortlessly he helped me to my feet. Those muscles weren't just beach muscles. I could tell. I took a step and winced as a high heel that I hadn't realized I'd broken gave way and my ankle twisted, causing me to stumble again. This time, though, Tomasso caught me, even if he did have to swing me around to stop my momentum. "I think you need some new shoes."

I realized that we were just inches apart, his hands on my waist and back, his expressive, sensuous lips close to mine, and I felt my breath catch for a moment. "Thank y—”

My words were cut off as an explosion ripped behind me, the blast throwing both of us to the ground. I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, and then the world went black.