Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (9 page)

She nodded. ‘And bring your credit card.'

‘Credit card?'

‘Your sisters' birthday presents. We're going shopping in my lunch hour.'

And the minute he left, she was going to take a very, very cold shower. Get her brain and her body back to normal.

 

Shopping? More like a military operation, Gio thought when Fran marched him into the third shop in Oxford Street. ‘What did you do—scope things out on the net first?'

She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Don't tell me you'd rather spend hours wandering around, not really sure what you want or where to find it?'

‘Well, no,' he admitted. ‘But I don't understand how you knew the perfect presents to get for my sisters when you've only just met them.'

‘It's called looking at people. Noticing things,' Fran said. ‘Jude likes really understated jewellery. Very classic, very pretty. Her wedding ring's white gold and her watch is chrome, so yellow gold earrings wouldn't really be her style. The white gold ones with pink sapphires are more the kind of thing she'd like.'

Hmm. Fran didn't wear jewellery. Didn't have pierced ears. Would she…?

No. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about jewellery and Francesca Marsden. The fact he'd love to see her wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a sexy smile.

Kissing her yesterday had been a big mistake. Because he wanted to do it all over again. And this time not stop touching her until they were both naked.

And sated.

As if oblivious to what was going through his head, Fran continued, ‘Marcie, on the other hand, loves jewellery that makes a statement. She wears silver bangles set with big chunky stones. That triangular pendant set with a turquoise is the sort of thing she'd choose.'

‘And Bella?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don't you listen to anyone unless it's about work?'

Ouch. That was definitely below the belt.

‘Angela told us in the Chinese restaurant that Bella's a
handbag fiend. Here.' She looked quickly through the display, picked out an evening bag and handed it to Gio. ‘She goes out a lot in the evening, so a bag that's big enough to take her phone, credit card, keys and a coin purse is perfect. And this particular designer does seriously cute bags.'

‘That little Scottie dog on the front looks just like her new puppy. She probably showed you the latest pictures yesterday.' Gio shook his head in amazement. ‘See, this is why I needed you with me. You understand girl stuff. I'd never have thought of this.'

‘Don't flannel me. You normally text them at the last minute and ask them for a list of ideas and exactly where to buy them, don't you?' she asked.

Was he that predictable? Or was she just really, really good at reading people? But he loved the way she teased him. ‘It means they get what they really want. But this year, I wanted it to be different. So I told them all I was going to get them a surprise.'

‘And if I'd refused to come and help you?'

‘Then I'd have given them vouchers for a pamper day at their favourite spa,' he admitted. ‘But I prefer giving presents to unwrap. Ones that people really like.'

‘So all you have to do is notice the details.'

‘I do notice details,' he protested as he paid for the bag. ‘And because we did all the shopping in about three minutes flat, we have time for lunch.'

Though what he wanted for lunch definitely wasn't on the menu.

She pantomimed horror. ‘Tut, tut. Should we not be heading to a branch of Giovanni's?'

‘The nearest one's at Charlotte Street. Which means I'd feel forced to go back to the office—and aren't you joining my family's campaign to make me take more time off?'

She laughed, but let him lead her into a nearby café.

‘I meant it about noticing details,' Gio said when he brought their tray to their table.

‘Such as?'

‘You, for example.' The way her mouth was so full and lush and sexy when she'd just been kissed. Not that he was stupid enough
to say that out loud. ‘Your eyes are the most beautiful colour—the same as the sky at about ten o'clock on an August evening.'

‘Flannel.' She looked away.

‘Fran?' He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I apologise for embarrassing you.'

‘I'm not embarrassed.'

The bright pink of her cheeks said otherwise. ‘I'll take it away from the personal, then,' he said softly ‘The only jewellery you wear is a watch, and it's precisely eight minutes fast—which I'd guess is the amount of time it would take to sort out a voiceover studio between slots.'

‘Well deduced, Holmes.'

‘Why, thank you, Watson,' he teased back.

But he managed to keep the conversation light and impersonal, and didn't try to persuade her to take a longer lunch break when she said it was time to go back to work.

 

On Wednesday morning, just as Gio was about to leave his flat, his mobile phone rang.

He checked the display before answering: the Holborn branch. ‘Hi, Amy. What's up?'

‘You know I was having problems with the steam wand the other day, and you sorted it out? It's gone funny again. I'm trying to get it to work, but could you pop in on your way to Charlotte Street?'

‘Yeah, sure. I'll get Sal to open up here. Be with you in a few minutes.'

 

By the time he'd got to Holborn, the steam wand was working perfectly again.

‘I feel really guilty, dragging you out here over nothing,' Amy said. ‘But as you're here, I was wondering if we could have a chat about something? There's a writers' group who'd like to meet here on Wednesday evenings and they asked me if we could open late. I know we don't normally do evenings, but I've got a business plan. It'll only take me ten minutes to talk you through…'

More like half an hour, but Gio knew the Charlotte Street
branch was safe in Sally's hands—not to mention Fran being in the office if there was a problem elsewhere.

 

He didn't think anything of it until he was walking down Charlotte Street and noticed something odd about the exterior of the café.

Red balloons tied to the door, he saw as he got nearer.

Balloons that said ‘Happy Birthday'.

And when he walked into the café, spread across the back of the bar was a huge banner that said ‘Happy 29th birthday, Gio', surrounded by balloons.

Before he had the chance to take it in, his mother, father and grandmother stepped out of the office, together with Fran. Fran counted them in, and they started singing ‘Happy Birthday to You' to him, along with Ian and Sally.

Even the customers joined in.

He'd barely registered that today was his birthday—the post hadn't arrived before he left, and he never really bothered making a fuss over the day anyway.

‘I don't know what to say,' he said. ‘Balloons?'

‘There are twenty-nine—one for every year of your age,' Fran told him with a grin. ‘Count them, if you like. Now sit down and I'll make you a coffee.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘When did you do all this?' Then the penny dropped. ‘That call this morning from Amy—you set it up, didn't you?'

She nodded. ‘I needed you out of the way until we'd put up the balloons and banner. But she was going to talk to you about the writing-group thing anyway.'

‘You know about that?' At her raised eyebrow, he sighed. ‘You did the business plan, didn't you?'

‘It was a joint effort with Amy, but, yes,' she admitted.

She made an espresso, then heated the milk. And Gio watched, open-mouthed, as Fran made him a latte and free-poured a perfect rosetta on the top. ‘Happy birthday, honey,' she said with a smile.

He stared at the mug, and then at her. ‘You made me a rosetta.'

‘Mmm. I should've made it a cake and a candle, really. But that would mean using a needle and cocoa, and I thought you might like this a little bit more.' Her eyes glittered with mischief. ‘Not to mention a little wager we had—which had a deadline of this Friday, I believe.'

He groaned. ‘Oh, no. You've been practising, haven't you?'

‘Yup.'

‘Which means you win the chocolates.'

She spread her hands. ‘Don't blame me. You're the one who set high stakes. Which were, and I quote, “I'll take you to Fortnum's and buy you the biggest box of chocolates of your choice.”'

He noticed Sally was beaming, and leaned against the counter. ‘You've been giving her coaching, Sal, haven't you?'

‘For a half-share in those chocolates? You bet I have!' The barista chuckled. ‘Though, I admit, my pupil worked pretty hard.'

‘It's cheating. Absolute
cheating
,' Gio said.

‘Ah, no. You merely gave me a time limit. You didn't say that I couldn't get anyone else to help me,' Fran reminded him.

‘I don't know what to say.' He gestured at the balloons and the banner. ‘I really wasn't expecting this.'

Her smile broadened. ‘Well, I haven't quite finished yet. In fact, I'm expecting a delivery—' Gio heard the door click open ‘—about right now.'

G
IO
frowned as he saw Ingrid in the doorway. From the look of the baskets on the counter, they'd already had their cake delivery for the day. Why on earth would their baker need to come back a second time?

The answer lay in the large white box she was carrying. ‘One special delivery, Fran,' she said, and put the cake between Fran and Gio.

‘Thanks, Ingrid.' Fran removed the lid and opened the box to reveal a birthday cake, in the shape of a cup of coffee, covered in what looked like pure chocolate. ‘Happy birthday Gio' was written on it in white icing, and there was a rosetta piped underneath his name.

There were no candles; instead, there were tiny indoor sparklers along the top of the cake. And Gio had to swallow the lump in his throat when Fran lit them.

She'd arranged all this—just for him.

At really, really short notice.

‘Sparklers?' he asked.

‘Well, with twenty-nine candles, we would probably have set the cake on fire and then the café's sprinkler system would've gone off,' Fran teased. ‘Besides, these are meant to look like froth on top of the coffee. Smile!'

Before he'd realised her intention, she'd taken a photograph of him next to his sparkler-topped cake.

‘Make a wish,' she said as the sparklers burned out. ‘And remember to keep it secret or it won't come true.'

A wish. There was one right in the middle of his heart, but he wasn't quite prepared to name it to himself. Not yet.

She produced a knife from behind the counter and a stack of plates and napkins; he cut the cake into slices and Fran handed them round to everyone sitting in the café.

‘Is this pure chocolate brownie?' he asked.

‘Special order,' Ingrid confirmed.

‘For a special guy,' Fran added, then kissed the tips of her fingers, leaned over the counter and dabbed them on the end of his nose. ‘Happy birthday, honey.'

Gio caught the slightly misty look in his mother and grandmother's eyes. Fran was playing her part to perfection.

But he had to remember it was just a part—and it was going to stay that way, because he knew she wanted something he just didn't think he was capable of giving her. Security and a happy ever after.

And he wasn't supposed to be letting his heart get involved.

All the same, when everyone had gone and Fran had disappeared into the office to do her usual magic with the admin, he went out to the back and gave her a hug. ‘Thank you,' he said. ‘I honestly wasn't expecting this.'

‘It's your birthday. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I let it pass without comment?' She fished under the desk and brought out a neatly wrapped parcel. ‘By the way—happy birthday.'

She'd bought him a present? But…‘You didn't have to do this,' he said. ‘The cake was more than enough.'

‘Hey. You said I could choose whatever chocolates I liked in Fortnum's. Of course I'm going to buy you a birthday present.' She grinned. ‘You'll be spending a lot of money on me. I'm just as greedy as you are—'

Yes, please, he thought.

‘—when it comes to chocolate.'

Oh, lord. He needed to get his mind back to real life, not fantasy.

He opened the parcel to discover a black cashmere sweater that
felt like a soft caress against his skin. Like her mouth tracing a path down his throat, all warm and sweet and incredibly sexy. ‘Fran, this is…I don't know what to say.' He leaned forward to kiss her cheek in thanks, and somehow ended up brushing his mouth against hers. A soft, sweet, gentle kiss that made his body feel lit up from within, like the sparklers she'd put on his birthday cake.

He broke the kiss, and for one crazy moment he almost marched over to the door so he could lock it behind them and then stride back to his desk and kiss her properly, until they were both dizzy with need and took the kiss to its ultimate conclusion. The conclusion maybe it should've reached on Sunday, when they'd been kissing on her sofa. The conclusion he hadn't been able to get out of his head ever since.

And then common sense washed back in.

She'd agreed to help him out by pretending to be his girlfriend, for his family's sake. And he was really going to need her when he expanded the business. So the last thing he should be doing was taking advantage of her. ‘Thank you, Fran,' he said quietly, and left the office while his self-control would still let him.

 

At the end of the day, Fran stayed behind. ‘I forgot to tell you something.'

He went cold. ‘What?' That she'd found another job? That she'd changed her mind about accepting a permanent role at Giovanni's? That she had a prior engagement so she couldn't go to the family party on Saturday night?

‘Your parents and Nonna would expect me, as your girlfriend, to take you out to dinner tonight, seeing that it's your birthday.'

He shook his head. ‘It's OK. You don't have to do that. I'll get a takeaway delivered.'

‘No, really. I have to eat. And I have a couple of suggestions about the business, so we might as well multi-task it.'

How could he resist? ‘Are you saying you'd make me work late on my birthday?'

‘Let you, more like,' she teased back. ‘I'll meet you outside your place in an hour.'

‘So where are we going?'

‘Within walking distance.'

He rolled his eyes. ‘That's only half an answer.'

‘It's the best you're going to get. And the dress code is whatever you like.'

He loved the way she teased him. The way she'd come out of her shell over the last month. He'd wondered if meeting his family would bring out her shy streak even more, but it hadn't—quite the opposite. And he really, really liked this confident, bubbly woman who'd emerged from her slightly too serious exterior. ‘So I could wear really loud surfer shorts and the most hideously raggy T-shirt in the world?' he tested.

‘If you don't mind people pointing at you and laughing at you, sure.' She gave him the sauciest wink he'd ever seen, and sashayed out of the shop.

He swallowed the disappointment that she hadn't kissed him goodbye. Well, of course she hadn't. Nobody was here to report back to the Mazetti clan, were they? Besides, they'd agreed to forget about what happened on Sunday.

The problem was, his body refused to forget. He could almost feel the softness of her skin against his fingertips, smell her soft floral scent, feel the texture of her mouth against his.

It drove him crazy.

The more so because he really didn't know how to deal with this.

 

An hour later, Gio had just come out of the front door when he saw Fran walking towards him.

‘What, no surfer shorts?' she teased.

He'd opted for plain black trousers and the light sweater she'd bought him; despite the fact it was summer, it was chilly that evening. ‘I thought this might be more appropriate.'

‘It suits you.' She ran her hand lightly over the soft cashmere. And even though her palm hadn't actually been in contact with his skin, every nerve end was on red alert.

He was shocked to realise just how much he wanted Fran to touch him. Properly. Skin to skin.

This wasn't meant to happen.

And he was going to have to be very, very careful.

‘Though dressed completely in black, with those dark glasses on as well…' She tutted and sucked in a breath. ‘You look a bit like a James Bond wannabe.'

‘And how do you know I'm
not
James Bond?' he retorted. ‘I could be sending out hidden messages in those lattes. Those rosettas could be a special secret-agent code.'

She laughed, and tucked her arm through his. ‘So you're telling me your car is really super-turbocharged, instead of cornering like a tank and doing zero to sixty in about half a day?'

‘That's below the belt,' he reprimanded her, laughing. ‘So where did you say we were going?'

‘I didn't.'

‘No clues whatsoever?' he wheedled.

‘Nope.'

He gave in, and just enjoyed the experience of walking through London with her, arm in arm. She switched the conversation to favourite movies, and he hadn't really noticed where they were going until she stopped outside Netti's pizzeria.

‘Here?'
Talk about bearding the lion in its den.

‘It's the best pizzeria in London. And it's where you told me you celebrate red-letter days. So as today is your birthday—which I would say is a red-letter day—it seemed appropriate.'

The second he walked through the door, the room seemed to erupt with party poppers—and then there was a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You'.

As the paper streamers began to settle, he could see that the middle part of the restaurant was full, the usual small tables pulled together to form one enormous long table. All the staff from the four branches of Giovanni's were there, along with his parents, his sisters and their partners, and Nonna. There were two spare places at the far end; one of the chairs had a helium balloon attached, with the number twenty-nine emblazoned on it.

Marco gave him a hug.
‘Buon compleanno, cugino mio,'
he said.

Gio was still too surprised for any words to come out. When
Netti emerged from the kitchen to give him a hug and a kiss, he submitted gracefully. And then he let Fran lead him over to his seat.

‘I had absolutely no idea you were planning this,' he said. She'd already made a fuss of him that morning. He really hadn't expected her to plan a surprise for the evening, too.

‘That was the plan.' She smiled. ‘Though I can't take all the credit. It wasn't just me.'

‘Fran is a girl after our hearts,' Nonna said, patting Fran's hand. ‘It was all her idea. We just helped a bit.'

‘Happy birthday, boss.' Amy produced a large envelope and a box at the far end of the table, and it was handed down to him.

He opened the card to discover that all the staff of Giovanni's had signed it. And the present was the new boxed set of remastered CDs by his favourite band—a gift that only someone who noticed things the way Fran did would've thought to buy him. ‘I…this is fantastic. I'm a bit lost for words.' Understatement of the year. It had completely thrown him. ‘Thank you—all of you. I had absolutely no idea.' He looked at Fran. ‘How did you organise this?'

‘Same way anyone would organise an office party.' She shrugged. ‘It's not a big deal.'

Oh, yes, it was. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to organise this, in an incredibly short space of time and in utter secrecy.

‘People think a lot of you, Gio,' she said softly. ‘And they want to make a fuss of you, once in a while.'

A fuss he didn't normally let people make.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent an evening like this. Although the staff at Giovanni's always had a Christmas party, he usually stayed long enough to be sociable but left early, reasoning that they wouldn't want the boss around to put a dampener on festivities. Tonight, they were definitely letting their hair down—but they were all there because they wanted to celebrate his birthday with him. Share his special day.

 

Just before coffee was served, he said quietly to Fran, ‘This is the best birthday I've had in years. It's been really wonderful. Because of you.'

‘My pleasure.'

For a moment, their gazes meshed and held. Was he seeing what he wanted to see, or did that expression in her eyes mean…?

The moment was lost when Marco brought round the coffee.

‘And Amaretti for luck,' Nonna added, fishing a box from under the table and handing it to Marco so he could share them out.

‘Why for luck?' Fran asked.

‘You don't know the story? About three hundred years ago, the cardinal of Milan went to pay a visit to Saronno, a poor town where two lovers worked, but they had little chance of marrying. In honour of the cardinal, they invented the Amaretti biscuit, and wrapped them in pairs to symbolise their love. The cardinal took pity on their plight—he blessed them, allowed them to marry and presided over the wedding feast. And Amaretti biscuits have always been wrapped in pairs, ever since, to remind people of the importance of true love.'

True love.

What Nonna and his family thought was happening between him and Fran.

Guilt throbbed through him. He was lying to them. For the best of reasons, but still lying to them. And that wasn't who he was.

It wasn't who Fran was, either.

Nonna cleared her throat, and it was clear everyone was expecting him to kiss the girl who'd made it all happen, because they were all looking at him and Fran with the most soppy expression on their faces.