Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (5 page)

Focus
, she reminded herself.

‘When you turn the pressure down, can you hear the change in the sound of the steam tap?' he asked.

Low and husky—just like Gio's voice. ‘Yes.'

‘Good. Bring the nozzle up a tiny bit—remember, we're trying to keep the steam coming out almost at the surface of the milk—and let it froth.' He was standing behind her, one arm either side of her, his hands resting on hers to help her keep the jug in the right place. ‘When the jug feels hot to the touch, the milk's ready.'

She certainly felt hot right now. Hot and very bothered. Because his hands were strong and capable, and she could smell
his clean personal scent, mixed with a citrussy tang which she assumed was shower gel or shampoo. A scent that she found incredibly arousing; she just hoped that Gio couldn't see the way her nipples had tightened under her shirt.

‘You're picky.'

‘Details are important,' he said. ‘My customers expect the best. And I wouldn't produce anything less.'

‘And yet your office is untidy. I thought perfectionists were that way about everything,' she said.

He laughed, the smile-lines around his mouth deepening. ‘I'm a perfectionist about
some
things.'

For a brief moment—before she managed to suppress it—the idea flickered through her brain. What else would Gio be a perfectionist about? Kissing? Making lo—

They were making
coffee
, she reminded herself. Flirting and what have you was
not
on the agenda.

‘What we're looking for is texture. Tiny microbubbles that make the foam and the milk one—so it settles out in the cup, not the jug. It's got a sheen like quicksilver,' Gio told her. ‘We're looking for pure silk.'

Silk. Like his skin. Like his voice.

Oh, lord. She was going to drop the wretched jug in a minute.

‘OK. This'll do nicely. Now, what I showed you was free-pouring—but that's quite time-sensitive, and you need to build up to that. For now, we'll spoon.'

Her mouth went dry at the thought. ‘Spoon.'

‘Spoon the froth from the jug.'

Oh-h-h. The picture that had flickered into her mind at the word ‘spoon' had nothing to do with coffee or cutlery. She was really, really going to have to watch what she said.

‘Let the jug rest for a little while, so the foam and milk separate out a bit. Then you scoop the foam out of the jug and on to the surface of the espresso. A little bit for a latte.'

She did as he instructed.

Spoon.
She couldn't get that picture out of her head.

The picture of Gio's body wrapped round hers.

Naked.

‘Then you hold the froth back in the jug with the spoon and pour the milk on to the coffee. It should go through the foam and lift it up, and mix with the coffee.'

She'd barely heard a word he was saying. Tonight, she'd have to go and research it on the internet, so she could make some notes—and maybe try again tomorrow when it was quiet and preferably when Gio was on a break.

‘Like so.' He smiled at her. ‘The perfect latte. Try.'

‘It doesn't look as pretty as yours.'

‘You can cheat a bit—some people spoon a tiny bit of foam on top of the crema and make it into a swirl with the back of a spoon. Or you can use a needle to make patterns, like starbursts or the kind of feathering a pastry chef does with icing,' he said. ‘Or cheat even more and use chocolate syrup and a knife. But free-pouring's the proper art.'

‘And it takes weeks to learn, you say?'

His eyes lit up. ‘Sounds as if you're up for a challenge. I'll teach you how to do it. And if you can do it by the end of your trial period, I'll take you to Fortnum's and buy you the biggest box of chocolates of your choice.'

‘And if I can't?'

‘Then
you
buy
me
the chocolates.' He moistened his lower lip in a way that made her heart beat just that little bit faster. ‘And I should warn you that I'm greedy.'

Fran had a nasty feeling that she could be greedy, too.

And it took every single bit of her self-control to stop her sliding her arms round his neck and jamming her mouth over his.

‘L
ATTE
art,' Fran said, rolling her eyes, when Gio set the cup down on her desk the following morning. On the top was a heart—with concentric rings round it. ‘You're showing off, aren't you?'

He pantomimed surprise. ‘You mean, you noticed?'

‘Just a tad.' She'd noticed something else, too—the guitar case tucked away in the corner of the office. But she hadn't brought it up in discussion with him. After what he'd told her about the way his music studies had crashed and burned, she had a feeling that he was sensitive about it. She wasn't going to push him to talk about it unless he was ready. ‘Thank you for the coffee. Now, if you want me to sort out these figures for you, go away and leave me in peace.'

‘Your wish is my command.' He gave her a deep bow, followed by one of the knee-buckling smiles. ‘I'll come and get you when the cake lady's here.'

‘Cheers.' She smiled back, then got to work with the spreadsheet.

 

Gio leaned through the office doorway at the perfect moment: just when Fran had finished the stats. She printed them off and waved them at him.

‘I'll look at them afterwards,' Gio promised. ‘But come and taste the goodies first.'

He introduced Fran to Ingrid, the baker, who talked them through the samples she'd brought. ‘And I'm leaving before you
all start trying them,' she said. ‘There's nothing worse than doing a taste-test and not being able to give an honest opinion because you don't want to hurt someone's feelings. Give me a call, Gio, when you're ready. Nice to meet you, Fran, Sally and Ian.' She shook their hands, smiled and left.

‘Perfect timing,' Sally said. ‘The morning rush is over, the lunch-time one won't start for another twenty minutes—and we have chocolate cake. Oh,
yessss.
Those brownies are mine, all mine.'

Gio produced a knife and cut both the brownies into two. ‘No, they're not. We're splitting them all four ways. Except for the Amaretti, which are all mine.'

‘In your
dreams
,' Fran said, scooping one of them and taking a nibble. ‘Oh, wow. Intense.'

‘Intense, good or intense, bad?' Gio asked.

‘Definitely bad,' she fibbed. ‘Let me save you the trouble of eat—' She didn't get to finish the sentence, because Gio simply leaned over and took a bite from the Amaretti she was holding.

The feel of his mouth against her fingers sent a shiver of pure desire down her spine. Bad. Very bad. This was meant to be a tasting session. And they were tasting food, not each other. They were in the middle of his coffee shop, for goodness' sake! Sally and Ian were there, and a customer could walk in at any moment.

This was even worse than their coffee-making lessons. Because this time it wasn't just the two of them. She really,
really
had to get a grip.

‘Mmm. Perfect,' he said huskily.

He was talking about the biscuit. Not about her skin, she reminded herself sharply.

‘These flapjacks are good, too,' Ian said.

‘
Brownies.
Oh-h-h. I need more brownies,' Sally said, clutching her heart dramatically. ‘Save me. Give me brownies.'

‘Too late, Sal. You'll have to make do with carrot cake.' Gio handed her a piece wrapped in a paper napkin.

Lord, he had a beautiful mouth. Fran knew she should just stop watching him eat. The last thing she wanted was for her new boss to think she had the hots for him. And she could definitely
do without Sally and Ian noticing the state she was in and teasing her about it.

When the samples had been reduced to crumbs, they looked at each other. ‘Well?' Gio said.

‘They're good,' Ian said. ‘Better than our current range.'

‘And this is Fitzrovia,' Sally said. ‘Organic food is definitely on the up in this area.'

Gio nodded. ‘Our coffee's ethically farmed, so organic cakes and pastries fit with the ethos of Giovanni's. Especially as these have no packaging. Eco-friendly and caring—that's good. Fran?'

‘I checked out the local competition on the net. If we sell organic, that gives us differentiation from the others,' she said. ‘Is our coffee organic?'

‘No, but you can talk to the supplier and see what they can offer us, so it's a possible option—in the same way that we can do decaf on request,' Gio said. ‘Do the figures stack up?'

She nodded. ‘We'll need to put the prices up a little bit, because the wholesale price is higher than the non-organic cakes. But, as Sally said, our customers are the sort who put ethics above economics.'

Gio smiled. ‘Good. We'll trial fifty-fifty to start with, see how it goes. Starting on Monday. Give it a month, see how it's affecting sales. If they're the same, we'll make a wholesale switch.'

‘I think,' Sally said, ‘you should ring Ingrid and say we're not sure about the brownies—we need some more for testing. A lot more. A whole trayful—no, make that a whole ovenful.'

Gio ruffled her hair. ‘Yeah, yeah, Sal. She'll
really
believe that. Thanks, team. Fran, I need to go over to Docklands. Can you draft me a letter to Ingrid about the trial?'

‘Sure.'

‘Thanks. See you later.'

She loved the way he trusted her enough to get her to draft the letter, instead of dictating it to her over the phone when he got to Docklands. Although she'd adored her job at the voiceover studio, this job was turning out to be a real buzz, too. He'd listened to what she had to say about franchising, too. What she thought
counted
.

Though it wasn't just that, she thought as she headed back to the office. It was working with Gio that gave her the buzz. Because there was definite chemistry there—the way he'd eaten that Amaretti from her fingers…

But she needed to keep her feet on the ground. It was stupid even to contemplate any sort of relationship other than a working one with Gio. She already knew he didn't do relationships and he was at a place in his life where he didn't really know what he wanted. Yes, he flirted with her and teased her, but he did that with just about everyone—so she'd better not start getting any ideas.

She drafted the letter for Gio's approval and was just about to ring through the order to the supplier when she was aware that someone had walked into the office. She looked up, and recognised the woman from the photo on the computer.

‘Hello. You're Gio's mum, aren't you?'

Mrs Mazetti looked a bit thrown. ‘How did you know?'

‘Apart from the fact that he has your eyes, you mean?' Fran smiled, and flicked through the computer screens to show her the wallpaper. ‘This is how I know.'

‘Oh!' She looked pleased. ‘I didn't know he had a photo here.'

‘Do have a seat, Mrs Mazetti. Can I get you a coffee and a pastry or something?'

‘No, but thank you for offering. Is Gio around?'

Fran shook her head. ‘Sorry, he's at the Docklands branch this afternoon—do you want me to ring through to him and get him to come back?'

‘No, no, it's fine.' Mrs Mazetti flapped a dismissive hand. ‘I know I shouldn't really bother him when he's working. He hates being disturbed when he's busy.'

‘Is it anything I can help with? I'm Fran, his office manager, by the way.'

‘Angela Mazetti.' She took Fran's outstretched hand and shook it. ‘I thought you might be Francesca.'

It was Fran's turn to be thrown. ‘Why? Has he said something about me?'

Angela rolled her eyes. ‘Of course not. I'm his mother. Giovanni never tells me
anything
.'

‘Ah. Marco was your mole?' Fran guessed.

Angela laughed. ‘Oh, dear. Was it that obvious?'

Fran laughed back. ‘Gio says you're all ganging up on him and trying to get him to settle down, Mrs Mazetti.'

‘Call me Angela,' the elder woman said. She sighed. ‘We don't gang up on him really. We just worry about him. When you have a son of your own, you'll know exactly what I mean.'

Having a child wasn't on her list of immediate plans, Fran thought, but she tried her best to look sympathetic.

‘So are you settling in OK?' Angela asked.

Fran nodded. ‘Everyone's been really nice. And Gio's lovely to work with.'

‘Good.' Angela gave her a speculative look. ‘So you're just colleagues.'

‘Yes. And he's an excellent boss. He expects a lot from his staff, but he's fair and he's honest—so everyone's happy to make the extra effort.'

‘Hmm.' Angela stood up again. ‘Well, I can see you're busy, so I won't keep you. It was nice to meet you, Fran.'

‘Shall I tell Gio you dropped in?' Fran asked.

Angela raised an eyebrow. ‘I could say that I was just passing…but he'd never believe that.' She gave Fran a rueful smile. ‘And, from the look on your face, neither do you.'

‘Well, of course you'd want to check me out. Make sure I'm not some kind of bombshell man-eater who isn't going to treat your son properly—or some kind of incompetent airhead who's going to cause him extra work to sort out the mess she's made so he'll be under even more stress.'

Angela laughed. ‘Consider me suitably reassured. Welcome to Giovanni's, Fran. And if you're ever at a loose end on a Sunday, you're always welcome to come to lunch at our place. Don't ever feel you're intruding, because we normally have a houseful and there's always room for one more.'

‘That's very kind of you.' The sheer warmth of the invitation
made Fran's throat feel tight. But if she burst into tears she'd have to explain, and she didn't want Gio's mum to think she was a flake. ‘Thank you.' Please, please don't let Angela Mazetti hear the wobble in her voice.

‘Ciao,'
Angela said, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and left the office.

 

Fran was too busy for the rest of the afternoon to notice the time but, exactly as the previous day, she was aware of the precise moment that Gio returned: just about at closing time. She finished what she was doing and saved the file, then walked into the coffee shop. ‘Hi.'

Gio turned to face her. ‘Hi. Had a good afternoon?'

‘Fine, thanks. I've done the letters for you, a bit of research on that project you asked about, and all the orders are sorted for tomorrow and Monday.'

‘Brilliant. It's so good to know I don't have to stop what I'm doing and sort it all out myself. And having this extra time…You know, maybe my family's right and I do work too hard.'

Did that mean he wanted to skip the barista training this evening? The sudden swoop of disappointment in her stomach made Fran realise just how much she'd been looking forward to it.

But then he asked, ‘Do you still have time to stay and learn about cappuccinos?'

Pleasure fizzed through her—a feeling she tried to damp down, because she knew it wasn't just the fact she was learning something new. It was because she'd be close to Gio. ‘Sure,' she said, aiming for insouciance.

 

Gio was cross with himself for feeling so pleased that she was staying late again. And crosser still when he realised it was more than just pleasure at a new employee showing commitment to the café chain.

The real reason it made him happy was because he was going to be close to Fran.

When she'd hugged him yesterday, he hadn't been able to stop
himself hugging her back. And it had taken all his strength of will to let her go again.

This was bad. Really bad. Because now was just about the worst possible time to start a relationship, when he was thinking of taking the business up another gear and he had no free time. And Francesca Marsden was just about the worst possible person he could think of to have a relationship with, because she was his new office manager and he was going to need her help in the business. He couldn't afford to lose someone who'd already shown initiative and drive and an ability to second-guess him.

He locked up, then motioned her towards the coffee machines. ‘Same as yesterday with the milk and the espresso, but this time you're making cappuccino. That's a third coffee, a third milk and a third froth. You'll need to rock the jug a bit as you pour—or you can spoon the froth on top if you find it easier.'

He watched her as she worked. When she was concentrating, he noticed, she caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth. And it made him want to lean forward and touch the tip of his tongue to hers. Kiss her. Mould her body against his. Feel the weight of her breasts as he cupped them.

He swallowed hard, just as she looked up and slid the cup in front of him. ‘Is this OK?'

‘Looks good.' He tasted it. ‘You need a touch less milk and a touch more froth, but for a first attempt it's excellent.'