by Lisa Plumley
No wonder he’d gotten so good at “fixing,” Shane acknowledged to himself with a bitter smile. He’d been on a full-immersion fixer apprentice program since kindergarten.
That couldn’t be Gabby’s issue, though. Last night, she’d told him a lot about herself—but only in the vaguest possible terms. He knew she had two doting parents, no siblings, and a demanding but unspecified job. He knew she liked tradition. He knew she believed in taking responsibility for herself—which easily explained the cleaning cloth and the disinfectant.
Brutally, Shane shoved both items under the kitchen sink. Then he stared, surprised to find other supplies under there. Trash bags. Sponges. Dishwasher detergent. Scouring powder.
Of course. This was Lizzy’s doing. Good thing, too. It would have been tough to explain to Gabby why all his cupboards were bare. Still, Shane had been certain they were empty.
Just like him.
Hell. Pacing now, he glanced at his cell phone. At some point last night, he’d inveigled a phone number from Gabby. He’d sworn to himself he’d never use it. He’d only wanted … a memento.
Sure. That was it. A memento. That was reasonable.
But reason didn’t explain why Shane picked up his phone, dialed that number, and then waited impatiently for an answer.
He was calling Gabby. He couldn’t call Gabby. Theirs had been a one-night fling! It had been designed to make him less sentimental and sloppy, not more. Anguished and defiant, Shane clenched the phone harder. He got voice mail. He smiled.
He left a message, reasoning that that was what he needed to bring closure to this situation. After this, he’d be as hard as nails again. He’d be able to go back to work and conquer all.
Feeling weirdly lighthearted, Shane exhaled. Then he went for a head-clearing shower, got dressed in something totally unlike his usual self (again), rapidly reviewed his secondhand dossier over a breakfast of strawberries and whole-grain toast (he really had to start thanking Lizzy for her attention to detail, like stocking groceries), and headed off to the Campania pizzeria to begin the most crucial must-get “fix” of his life.
Gabriella was up to her eyeballs in invoices and red-inked past-due notices when the back-door call bell startled her.
Glancing up from her desk, she peered down the corridor and caught Pinkie lingering there questioningly, dressed in whites with her “lucky” pink kitchen clogs and a fresh pink bandanna.
“You want me to get that?” her pastry chef asked.
Gabriella took note of Pinkie’s flour-dusted hands, chocolate-smudged apron, and overall go-to-hell attitude. She shook her head. “No. I’ve gotten as far as I can here anyway.” She pushed up from her chair, then ran her hand over her eyes. Short of a major cash infusion, the Grimanis’ pizzerias weren’t going to be in the black for a while yet. “I’ll get it.”
It was probably a local farmer, delivering flats of tomatoes or basil. Or maybe it was the mushroom vendor’s brother, come to take up Gabriella on her job offer after all.
She hoped it was the latter. She was shorthanded again, after one of her dishwashers had pulled a no-show. Her currently flaky crew was driving her up a wall. At this rate, she’d have to promote Frosty, find another able-bodied lunkhead to do newbie-level jobs around the pizzeria, and hope for the best.
Feeling beleaguered, Gabriella opened the back door.
Shane Maresca, her X-rated hottie from last night, stared back at her. In the daylight, his short, messy hair was streaked with more sunlit auburn tones than she would have expected—if she’d ever expected to see him again. Ever. His eyes were more golden than brown, his skin more burnished than pale, and his muscles even more pronounced than before in a tatty T-shirt (sporting the logo of a local indie band) and well-worn khaki pants (paired with tough-guy work boots). It was surreal to see him there, as though Gabriella had conjured up an erotic fantasy man and had him special-delivered to her pizzeria.
Which she might have done, if she’d been able to. On the other hand … How in the world had he found her? And why?
A spurt of unreasoning joy filled her. Just because he had.
Then he blinked. “Gabriella Grimani, right?”
He’d found the real her. Uh-oh. She wasn’t ready for this. Even if it was nice (again) to see someone who didn’t look at her with disappointment, resentment, or betrayal in his eyes.
She wasn’t ready for Shane, for remembering, for reliving.
Maybe that’s why all she could do was gawk, one hand on her chest as if to protect her dumb, gullible heart from potential hurt, while Shane shifted and then held out his hand to her.
He smiled. “Shane Maresca. Remember me?”
She choked out a laugh. “As if I could forget. But how … ?”
“Must be fate.” Easily, he enveloped her hand in his. Touching him again felt great. He gestured inside with his free hand, seeming not the least bit put off by their bizarre circumstances—although he had seemed surprised to see her, if only for a second. “Can I come inside? It smells like beer and cigarettes out here.”
“Sorry about that.” Still befuddled, Gabriella stepped back to allow him inside. She would have sworn Shane dawdled in the doorway for a thrilling thirty seconds, letting their bodies brush together under pretense of navigating the close quarters. She shivered at the memories that his body and his nearness kindled in her. She wanted … him. But she couldn’t have him. Not now. “Bowser likes a few beers after his shift. Emeril smokes.”
“Have you got any?” Brightly, Shane looked at her. “Cigarettes, I mean. I’ve got a wicked craving right now.”
“Yeah. I know what that’s like.” Assaulted by memories of being in his arms, kissing him, running her hands all over his taut-abbed body, Gabriella experienced a moment of pure cognitive dissonance. Should she kiss him hello? Hug him? Berate him for not calling her? “I remember cravings from last night.”
Ditzily, she settled on an awkward cheek kiss. Her worlds were colliding. The pleasure-seeking her and the responsible her were stuck in the same place at once. She couldn’t handle this.
“Me, too.” Shane grinned. “I remember those cravings, too.”
At his nearness, her heart fluttered. She yearned to touch him. To explain why she’d left so early. To escape from here.
Gabriella was pretty sure she couldn’t do any of those things. Not anymore. Escape sounded really excellent, though.
“So, about those cigarettes.” Shane looked around interestedly, taking in her pizzeria’s back room. “Got any?”
“Oh. No, I don’t.” Confused, Gabriella frowned at him. “You didn’t smoke last night. I would have remembered.” I would have left before we hooked up. “I would have left before we hooked up.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like kissing smokers.”
Shane inhaled. “All the more reason for me to kick the habit.” He clenched his fists, then relaxed them. “For good.”
Oddly, he seemed almost … nervous. But just as Gabriella had that impression, Shane glanced at the back-of-house wall clock and surprised her with an on-the-nose assessment of things.
“I must be keeping you from some prep work,” he said. “Since Campania opens at 5:30, you’ll want to prep toppings, scale and round some dough, fire up the ovens. The usual.”
Gabriella gawked at him again. “Yes. That’s right. I will.” She was behind already, having come in late. “But how do you … ?”
“Research.” Shane stepped farther into the back room. He peered into the employee break room, studied the locations of her office and the walk-in, then identified the narrow walkway to the kitchen. He headed toward it. “I’m a restaurateur.”
Goggle-eyed, Gabriella followed him. Wow, his ass was fine. “Last night, you said you were a professional business hit man.”
She remembered, because it had seemed so outrageously macho. So was Shane’s smile, as he turned to face her again.
“I wanted to impress you. You can’t blame a guy for trying to impress a wom
an he likes.” His gaze slid over her figure, moving from her boxy chef’s coat to her baggy pants and practical kitchen clogs. It lifted, conveying unreasonable approval. Whites were not flattering, but Shane didn’t seem to agree. Deftly, he hooked his finger under her necklaces. “You must always wear these.” Meaningfully, his gaze deepened. “You didn’t take them off last night, even in the shower.”
His nearness was making her fidgety. His voice was making her hot. Really hot. She couldn’t help remembering some of the other, less respectable things he’d said to her last night—and the wanton way she’d responded to them, too. Desperate to regain some semblance of self-control, Gabriella nodded at him.
“They’re heirlooms from my Nonna Grimani. My family means the world to me. I would do anything for them.”
For a fraction of a second, her reply seemed to trouble him. Gabriella couldn’t imagine why. Then Shane rallied.
“Tradition, rules, and chain of command, right?”
“Absolutely.” As Shane let his hand fall away, she stepped back, hoping to clear her head. “You’re a restaurateur?”
She guessed that explained his fancy apartment and fat wallet. Shane must be successful, wherever he was from. They hadn’t really discussed their jobs in detail last night.
“I’m an aspiring restaurateur.” With endearing humility, Shane tossed her a modest—but somehow dazzling—smile. “Unlike you, I haven’t dared to take the plunge and open my own place. Not yet, at least. For now, I’m still very much an amateur.”
“You didn’t seem like an amateur to me last night.”
His smile broadened with evident male pride. “Unfortunately, those skills aren’t transferrable to the world of pepperoni and Parmigiano-Reggiano. I’ve done other things. I’ve been good at them.” A shadow of … regret? … crossed over his face. “But what I really want is to be a good pizzaiolo.”
“So you slept with me to get a foot in the door?” Gobsmacked, Gabriella stepped nearer, intending to go nose to nose with him. In this, she refused to back down. Yes, she needed extra staff, but not this way. “And now you think I’m going to … to do what? Just hand over my pizzeria to you?”
At the notion, warning bells went off in her head. Clearly, someone had already wreaked havoc on her family’s pizzerias. That’s why her father had had to close Reggio, Abruzzo, Tropea, Salerno, and Benevento. He hadn’t been able to keep them all open and afford to fight off the takeover attempt he’d endured.
“No!” Shane chuckled, bringing back several happy memories of how much he’d laughed with her while eating poutine. “I want to trail you, that’s all. Here, at Campania. I’ve already done the bookwork and the cost calculations necessary to open my own place, in California. What I’m looking for now, from you, is hands-on experience.”
Hands on. Gabriella couldn’t be sure if Shane meant that as a double entendre or not. But that’s how she took it.
“I’ve heard you’re the best,” Shane added, flattering her. “I just didn’t know you and Gabby Vivaldi were the same person.”
Being confronted with her own fib put Gabriella seriously off balance. Just like seeing Shane again did.
“I am the best.” At one time, much of Portland would have agreed. “Not that it’s made me any more popular around here.” Bluntly, she added, “I didn’t intend to ever see you again.”
“Which explains the fake last name.” Shane nodded. “I get it.” His easygoing demeanor had a lulling effect, making her want to lower her guard and overlook her doubts. Shane roughened his voice to an intimate whisper. “Can I still call you Gabby?”
Inwardly, she sighed. She so wanted him to do that.
But she couldn’t possibly allow him to. There were rules for these things. Especially if they found themselves having a today, a tomorrow, and a day after that. She couldn’t.
“I’d like that,” she admitted. Damn it! Where had her sense of resolve gone? Hoping to get it back, Gabriella squared her shoulders. “I’d also like to know why you didn’t call me.”
“I did.”
“I have my phone. It hasn’t rung once.”
Shane’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe you gave me the wrong number.”
Whoops. She had. Purposely. She’d forgotten that. Judging by his teasing demeanor, Shane knew what she’d done, too. But he obviously and generously didn’t intend to hold it against her. Why couldn’t he be a little less perfect today?
“Come on, Gabby,” Shane coaxed. “Let me trail you. Just for a while. It’ll be fun.” He touched her arm, then skimmed along her forearm to hold her hand. “I’ll be yours to command, whenever you want to. However you want to. Day or night.”
His invitation was blatant, full of double meaning, and completely irresistible. In the restaurant world, “trailing” was something like apprenticing. It was a tryout, basically. She would be able to command him. Biting her lip, Gabriella tried to come up with a reason she should say no. At least while Shane was touching her, she couldn’t dredge up a single rebuttal.
After all, she was shorthanded… .
“I saw that smile.” Shane squeezed. “I’m in, right?”
Sort of. “Not just like that, you’re not!”
“All right.” Equably, he nodded. “What do I have to do?”
Argh. This whole situation was so unexpected. Gabriella had awakened missing Shane. She’d shimmied into her whites while missing Shane. She’d tried unsuccessfully to focus on bookkeeping while missing Shane. Now the universe was offering him up on a silver platter. Maybe she should quit fighting it.
Impulsiveness was the only thing that had worked for her lately. Going for broke had succeeded when humility and regret—the emotions she’d expressed with her crew so far—definitely hadn’t. Maybe the universe was trying to send her a sign.
A sign in the shape of a supersexy, muscle-bound charmer with more charisma than any aspiring pizzaiolo had a right to.
Here in her world, there were lots of things she could teach Shane. It would probably be fun, too. But could she trust him? Especially with her family’s pizzerias under attack …
“All right. I get it,” Shane said. “You don’t trust me.”
“I—” Gabriella couldn’t refute that. It was true. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this is a huge coincidence! Seeing each other today after running into each other last night—”
“At a brewpub frequented by restaurant-industry types.”
“—is just—” Realizing the truth, Gabriella broke off. “Is just the kind of place a guy hoping to break into pizza slinging would go,” she admitted. “But the way we hit it off, so fast—”
“I have no explanation for that.” He stepped nearer. Engagingly, he studied her face. “No apologies, either. I loved it. I loved being with you. It was the best night of my life.”
His unapologetic cheesiness was what finally sealed the deal. Gabriella knew she should have stayed wary. She knew she should have looked deeper. But she really needed able bodies for her crew, and Shane was about as able-bodied as they came. Also, she couldn’t help wanting to trust a man who dished out clichés like “the best night of my life” with a straight face.
Shane was open. As open as he’d been last night. Gabriella knew she could use a little openness in her life. Post-haste.
“I liked being with you, too,” she admitted, feeling herself pulled toward him. She swayed, longing to kiss him again. His mouth would feel really good against hers. “I did.”
His eyes turned a shade darker. His expression became a fraction more serious. That was because he was contemplating a kiss, too. Gabriella recognized all the signs of desire in him.
Not a moment too soon, she thrust a mop at him.
“You can trail me,” she said authoritatively. “Minimum wage, long hours, no excuses. For as long as you can stand it.”
“Oh, I can go long term,” Shane promised. “Believe me.”
She did. But they weren’t talking about sexual stamina here. They were
talking about the grueling world of running a small restaurant, making pizzas by the hundred, and wallowing in flour, button mushroom trimmings, and spilled tomato sauce.
“This is exhausting, demanding, dirty work.” Truthfully, Gabriella added, “I don’t think you’ll last the day here.”
Shane, predictably, appeared up for the challenge.
“I’ll last as long as I have to to get the job done.”
Despite everything, she was impressed with his aura of get-it-done competence. She needed that around Campania. A lot.
Besides, she and Shane were so alike, in so many ways.
What could possibly go wrong while they worked together?
“So.” Shane sounded sure and sexy. “Where do I start?”
Startled out of her contemplations, Gabriella caught herself staring longingly at his hand. All he was doing was gripping a mop handle. For Pete’s sake! What was wrong with her?
“You start in the same place I did,” she told Shane with staunch resolve, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake. “At the bottom, learning from the ground up, one day at a time.”
“Right.” Patiently, Shane waited. “In practical terms?”
“You start in the break room,” Gabriella clarified, catching herself smiling as she did so. “Changing out of your civvies and into some whites. After that? Mopping. So get busy.”
Chapter Seven
It turned out that Shane didn’t like being bossed around by Gabby at work nearly as much as he liked it at home.
For one thing, her philosophies about rules, the chain of command, and tradition seriously grated on him. Hearing Gabby talk about rules made him automatically want to break a few. Knowing there was a chain of command begged him to circumvent it. Being confronted with her steadfast adherence to tradition only reminded Shane that that outdated, overvalued concept was destined to be exploited by his father’s company to sell instant “faux-thentic” pizzerias.
