Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian BossTaken by Her Greek BossBlind Date With the Boss

by Kate Hardy

  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.

  So what else could he do?

  He leaned over towards her and touched his mouth to hers. It felt as if the room was full of erupting party-poppers again, a mass of glittering tinsel strands. And when he broke the kiss and opened his eyes, Fran looked as shell-shocked as he felt, with wide eyes and a white face. But all he could focus on was her mouth. A perfect rosebud. Lips he wanted to feel against his again.

  Except they weren’t alone, and he could hear catcalls and whistles in the background.

  Just how long had he been kissing her?

  Oh, lord. This was starting to get really complicated.

  The next morning, Fran was still shell-shocked. That kiss should’ve been for show. So why had it felt so real? Why had it felt as if the stars were dancing when Gio’s mouth had moved against hers—even more so than the time when he’d kissed her on her sofa?

  But she pulled herself together and headed for work as usual.

  ‘It was a good night, last night,’ Sally said, handing her a mug. ‘Though you look distinctly hung over this morning, Frannikins.’

  ‘I feel it,’ Fran said. Not that she’d drunk a huge amount; she just hadn’t slept well, the previous night. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Gio. Hadn’t been able to get the fantasies out of her head.

  ‘Gio said to tell you he’s in Docklands this morning, but he’ll call you later,’ Sally added. ‘You know, I’ve never seen him look this happy before, and I’ve worked with him for five years now. When I realised you two were an item, I was a bit worried at first—relationships at work normally make things a bit sticky. But you’ve changed him, Fran. Made him relax.’

  ‘Good,’ Fran replied, pinning a smile to her face. At first, she’d worried about how her colleagues would react to the idea of a relationship between herself and Gio, but they’d all seemed really positive about it. Now, Fran was more worried about what was going to happen once she and Gio had ‘split up’, how they’d react to that.

  But there was nothing she could do about it right now, so it was pointless fretting about it. She’d deal with it when it happened.

  She was busy with a set of figures when there was a knock on the office door. She swivelled round in her chair, and stared in surprise when she saw a man carrying the most beautiful hand-tied bouquet of flowers. ‘Fran Marsden?’ he asked.

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘Sign here, please.’

  Flowers? Who on earth would be sending her flowers? But she signed for them and set them on her desk. They were absolutely stunning: sugar-pink roses, white lisianthus, pink freesias and tiny white matricia. She couldn’t resist putting her nose into them and inhaling deeply; the scent was beautiful.

  She opened the envelope that was tucked into the cellophane, and recognised the handwriting instantly.

  Thank you. For everything. Love, Gio.

  Love.

  Her stomach clenched. Except this wasn’t, was it?

  When Gio walked into the office, he could see that Fran’s eyes were slightly red. The flowers were on her desk, just as he’d hoped—but why did she look as if she’d been crying?

  Or maybe…‘Oh, no. I should’ve checked before I had them delivered. I didn’t realise you suffered from hay fever.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  He leaned against the edge of her desk. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I have three sisters. So I know that “nothing” never really means that, especially when a woman looks as if she’s been crying,’ he said softly, and gently tilted her chin with one finger so she was facing him. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked again.

  ‘I’m just being silly. I can’t remember the last time someone sent me flowers,’ Fran said, ‘and I wasn’t expecting these.’

  ‘My intention wasn’t to upset you,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to say thank you.’

  ‘And it’s appreciated.’

  There was the tiniest wobble in her voice. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close and tell her everything was going to be fine, because he was there—becau
se he’d always be there and he’d never let anything hurt her.

  But that was the whole problem.

  He didn’t trust himself not to let her down, the way he’d let his family down all those years before—the way he’d been selfish and stupid enough to put himself first, and they’d nearly lost his father as a result. How could he make her a promise he didn’t know he could keep? So instead he kept things light. Ruffled her hair. ‘I’m off to Islington. I only popped in while I was passing to see if there was anything you needed here.’

  ‘No, we’re fine.’

  ‘And these aren’t in lieu of the chocolates, by the way—Sally’s already checked. We’ll be getting those tomorrow.’

  That at least made her smile. Which in turn made him feel less panicky. ‘Catch you later,’ he said, and left the office before he did something stupid.

  Like give in to the urge to scoop her up in his arms, kiss her properly, and carry her to his bed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AND then it was Saturday. The day of the party.

  Fran rang Angela in the morning to see if she could do anything to help.

  ‘Sweetheart, that’s so kind of you to offer. But there’s no need—Nonna, the girls and I have everything under control,’ Angela said. ‘We’ll see you tonight. And the idea is that you and Gio have fun, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Fran promised.

  Which left her with nothing to sort out except what she was going to wear. Although she had a perfectly serviceable little black dress—one she’d worn to functions when she’d worked at the voiceover studio—it didn’t feel quite right for the Mazetti party. She wanted something a little dressier. The kind of thing that Gio Mazetti’s girlfriend would wear, not his office manager.

  She was browsing in the clothes shops in Camden when her eye was caught by a dress. It was a deep cornflower blue, in floaty organza over taffeta. Absolutely nothing like what she’d intended to buy—she’d always thought herself too curvy to wear a strapless dress—but some impulse made her try it on.

  She was looking at herself in the mirror and wondering if she had the nerve to wear it when the sales assistant appeared with a lapis-lazuli necklace.