So Irresistible

by Lisa Plumley

  He grabbed his chest, pantomiming a fit of passion. He flung his head back. He grabbed the prep table, then writhed.

  “Ah!” he yelled in fake passion. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  Watching his antics, Shane and Gabby rolled their eyes.

  But everyone else applauded. Bowser slapped his erstwhile nemesis on the back. “You’re all right, former fucking new guy.”

  “Thanks.” Fully accepted now, Frosty took a bow. He wiped his brow, pretending to be exhausted. “But I feel so cheap now.”

  Jennifer leaned in past the kitchen’s pass-through. “Frosty? What are you doing back here? Starting without me?”

  “Ten bucks says he finished without you, too.” Jeremy lounged beside her, indolently wrapping napkins around cutlery.

  “No, Jeremy.” Jennifer shook her head. “I told you, I’m sick of betting. It was fun at first, but now I’ve got to quit.”

  “Why?” Jeremy pouted. “Afraid to lose?”

  “No.” Patiently, Jennifer eyed him. “I’m afraid of taking any more of your money. You can’t afford it. I know you have—”

  “Double or nothing,” Jeremy said quickly. “Twenty bucks.”

  “No!”

  “Two hundred dollars!” Jeremy urged, looking jittery. “Come on, Jennifer! You can’t quit on me now. I’m counting on you.”

  Everyone in the kitchen fell silent, curiously watching them.

  Shane was the first to speak up. “Money trouble, Jeremy?”

  The server whipped him a beleaguered look. “What’s it to you, Uncle Moneybags? Do you want to contribute?”

  At that, Shane went quiet. He hadn’t mentioned any details of his life—however temporary and phony it was—here in Portland. Only Gabby knew about his luxury high-rise apartment. His money. His connections. Had she told someone? Had she told Jeremy?

  Unlikely. Jeremy had been pretty hostile to her all along.

  Easily, Shane shrugged. “I want to learn about pizza dough from the maestro here.” He aimed a nod at Gabby. “That’s it.”

  His amiable tone calmed down Jeremy. For the moment.

  “Whatever.” The server sulked, shooting a disgruntled glance at his coworker. “I still think Jennifer’s a buzzkill.”

  “Come on, Jeremy.” Jennifer shoved him jokingly. “Be nice.”

  “Let’s all just get back to work.” Sporting a newly revived air of authority, Gabby spoke loudly to be heard above the arguing and the music. “It’ll be 5:30 soon. Before we know it, we’ll have two hundred hungry mouths to feed.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.” Glumly, Scooter strode in. He hooked a thumb toward the hallway behind him. “I was just on the computer in your dad’s office, Gabriella, and—”

  “On the computer?” Gabby aimed a sharp look at him. She frowned. “Why? And it’s my office now, Scooter. Remember?”

  The dishwasher shook his head, looking too upset to heed that detail. “We might not do as many covers tonight as you think. We might not do two hundred covers ever again.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gabby demanded.

  “Yelp. Urbanspoon. Chowhound. Google. All of them,” Scooter said. “Every foodie site online is packed with the worst reviews of Campania you’ve ever seen. It’s a smear campaign, is what it is.” He shook his head again, his graying hair catching the light of the fluorescents overhead. “My daughter told me about it on the phone this morning. I don’t have Internet at home. Heck, I don’t have a computer! So I looked it up here.”

  “You should have told me.” Gabriella’s piercing gaze didn’t waver. “You shouldn’t have gone in my office!”

  Shane cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s the issue right now. It sounds as if someone is attacking the pizzeria.”

  He was sure he knew who it was, too. His rival fixer.

  This latest complication was potentially very damaging, especially to the out-of-town trade. These days, people relied on online word of mouth to make decisions. It was vital.

  “I didn’t even know you had keys to my office!”

  Scooter stared at Gabby. “Your dad trusted me with them.”

  “Yeah, well … my dad doesn’t run this place anymore.”

  “Sometimes I wish he did.” Scooter held his ground. “He wouldn’t have tried to shoot the messenger. That’s all I am.”

  Looking suddenly stricken, Gabby relented. She aimed a sorrowful, worried glance at Shane, then went to Scooter.

  “I’m sorry,” she told the dishwasher. “I didn’t mean to doubt you. I don’t doubt you!” Gabby cast another backward glance at Shane. Then, “Does anyone else have keys?”

  Pinkie jangled her set. Everyone else just stood by.

  Conspicuously, Shane remained silent. But he felt the weight of the filched keys he’d stashed in his locker, all the same. He suddenly felt unreasonably guilty about taking them.

  It was his job to do that, goddamn it!

  “What are we going to do about the reviews?” Emeril asked.

  Gabby frowned. “They’ve got to be fake. Right?”

  Scooter nodded. “Unless hundreds of people ate here since yesterday and wrote up scathing reviews simultaneously. Yup.”

  “So unless we can get them taken down”—concentrating, Gabby gazed around the kitchen—“we’ll take advantage of them.”

  “How?” Bowser shook his head. “I say we get everyone we know to write bogus positive reviews and crush all the bad ones.”

  “Those would still be fake.” Gabby paced. “Besides, I’m not stooping to the level of the person who did this.” With her eyes ablaze with determination, she faced them all. “I’m fighting.”

  “But how?” Pinkie seemed frustrated. “With what?”

  “With the media.” Energized now, Gabby strode on. “I know people at The Oregonian. And the TV stations. We can get this smear campaign in the news. We can generate some sympathy—and some good old-fashioned Portland rebelliousness, too. Curiosity alone might bring in a few people. All press is good press, right?”

  “Not exactly,” Shane cautioned, but it was no use.

  Gabby was on a roll. “In the meantime, I’ll rally our regulars,” she said. “I’ll call and invite them to a special customer appreciation night to thank them for their loyalty. That should fill in the gaps from the one-timers who might stay away. My dad kept his customer notebooks for a reason, right?”

  “It wasn’t for this.” Bowser looked dubious. “Screw the nicey-nice approach. I still say we should deluge those assholes with good reviews and push down all the bad ones.”

  “Gabriella’s idea might work,” Pinkie disagreed. “I’m pretty much done with my prep. I can help make calls.”

  Within moments, everyone was mobilized. Shane watched with amazement as Gabby’s crew rallied around her. First, he was surprised that most of them already knew about Robert Grimani’s customer notebooks. Second, he was impressed that all of them—newbie, longtimer, and secret “ringers” alike—pitched in.

  If he hadn’t already known who his ringers were, Shane might have been duped by them, too. But then, he only worked with the best. He only trusted the best. Like Lizzy.

  Although he wasn’t sure now if he could trust Lizzy.

  Or, Shane regrouped as he threw himself into the fray along with everyone else, maybe his ringers had fallen under Gabby’s spell, too. Maybe none of them wanted to see her pizzeria fail.

  If anyone could enchant a batch of hardened, trouble-causing, havoc-wreaking gunslingers like them, it was Gabby.

  Breathlessly, she stopped near Shane’s station.

  “I’m sorry,” Gabby told him. “Your initiation into the pizza dough process is going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine.” As long as I’m near you. “What can I do?”

  Eyes sparking with vigor, Gabby stuck his knife handle in his hand. “Start chopping mushrooms. Try not to stab anyone.”

  Shane traded glances with Jeremy. The server sniffed.r />
  “Don’t worry,” Shane said, loudly enough to be overheard. “This job doesn’t require that kind of bloodthirsty work.”

  “You could have fooled me, half an hour ago.”

  “I’m skilled, but not deadly. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  At that, Gabby’s grin flashed. “Oh yeah? You can prove that to me later tonight.” She gestured to the waiting flats of mushrooms. There must have been a hundred pounds standing by. “In the meantime? Chop as though your life depended on it.”

  “I’m on it.” Shane saluted.

  Gabby stopped him, looking horrified. “Don’t salute with your knife in your hand!” She shook her head. “You’re a menace.”

  “Maybe. But you’ve got more on your mind than me.” Shane motioned her away. “Get busy. You can trust me with this.”

  For a long moment, Gabby only looked at him. “I’m an idiot to say so,” she told him. “But I really want to do that.”

  “I want you to do that.”

  “Yeah.” For a second, her gaze turned wistful. She smiled at him. “That’s the trouble with us, isn’t it?”

  Then Gabby turned away and went off to save the day.

  Just the way, Shane was learning, she usually did.

  Long after closing time at Campania, Gabriella stood in the semidarkened dining room, remembering the chaotic night she’d just had. Her throat ached from shouting orders at the expo; her arms were sore from helping deliver pizzas to the hordes of regulars who’d shown up after being called to the pizzeria’s first-ever official customer appreciation night.

  She still couldn’t believe her strategy had worked.

  Prompted by phone calls from her and Pinkie, outraged by the media coverage that had taken the city by storm, Portlanders had shown up in droves to support Campania. They’d formed a line on the dinky sidewalk outside. They’d endured lengthy waits. They’d Tweeted their indignation at the online slam attack against one of their city’s most beloved pizzerias. A few of them had even brought picket signs in favor of Campania.

  Even now, a car drove past outside, its driver honking to show support. Gabriella guessed that meant the handmade HONK IF YOU ♥ CAMPANIA! sign propped up near the window was still there.

  Into the dimness, Shane meandered closer, his face weary in the combined glow of the streetlights coming through the window and the emergency lighting that Gabriella always left on.

  They lent just enough brightness to see that Shane still looked as delectable as ever. Big. Broad-shouldered. Handsome. He smiled as he joined her at booth number six. Everyone else was gone. That meant no one else saw Shane slip his hand companionably in hers, then pull her against his shoulder.

  Leaning into his support, Gabriella sighed. It felt so good to have Shane’s company, his confidence, his faith in her. Even now, when she’d regained the support of her crew, she needed that. She needed him. Shane was unlike anyone else she knew.

  Maybe that was because he was sabotaging her pizzeria.

  No, Gabriella told herself. It was too late for doubt. Too late for mistrust. For tonight, at least, she couldn’t do much to uncover Shane’s potential sabotage. All she could do was what she’d been doing—try to stick close to him, to watch him, to catch him (if she could) in the act of doing something wrong.

  The funny thing was, suspecting him felt a lot like dating him. She felt the same rush of danger in Shane’s arms as she had leaving the brewpub with him on their first night together. She still wanted him. But she couldn’t lose herself in him.

  It was a tricky line to walk. Ever since their encounter at the waterfront park, Gabriella had been trying to stay in control. She’d won her victory key to Shane’s apartment but hadn’t found the nerve to use it yet. She’d gone against her own rules and assigned Shane to the mushroom-chopping station, too.

  She knew he believed that his campaign against the rules had worked—that she’d sidestepped them to keep him near her.

  That was true, to a point. She’d done it to keep an eye on him. Because she’d realized, too late, that allowing Shane free access to the pizzeria’s storeroom, walk-in, and office areas while she was busy elsewhere was synonymous with inviting him to snoop on her. Letting him mop for days could have allowed him to gather the information needed to break her oven, try to damage her supplier relationships, and uncover her shaky finances.

  It was telling, Gabriella thought, that the latest attack on her pizzeria had been an outside job: the smear campaign.

  Feeling that she’d temporarily vanquished that threat for now, she let herself relax against Shane. She couldn’t be sure that he was the saboteur. She definitely didn’t want him to be.

  Just when I think I know you, his voice echoed in her head, you go and make me love you more.

  She wanted all this to be over. She wanted to win by earning enough money to reopen the other pizzerias. She wanted to win by triumphing over adversity and beating whoever was trying to crush her. She knew she could do it. She was strong.

  Except when it came to Shane. Because even though all Gabriella’s good sense told her he was trouble, the rest of her wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. The rest of her wanted to be the good person Shane believed she was.

  You are the only truly good person I’ve ever known.

  Just then, Gabriella didn’t feel like that person. Suspecting him made her feel terrible.

  But Shane’s hand in hers and his shoulder beneath her cheek almost made her a believer in his apparent goodness. His presence and his charisma were just that potent. Even when she knew to be wary, she wasn’t.

  Another car drove by. Its driver blared three honks.

  Shane smiled. “More community support. That’s nice.”

  Gabriella nodded. “I wish my dad could have been here tonight. I wish he could have seen the people rallying here.”

  Shane’s rumbled assent vibrated from his chest to her arm. They felt so close, so right. Why couldn’t she let things be?

  “You can tell him all about it on gravy night.”

  Gabriella grinned. “Next week,” she prodded. “When you come with me to my parents’ house for my mom’s Sunday gravy.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” Shane exhaled, still gazing outside. “Nobody’s ever volunteered to share their traditions with me.”

  “You must have some traditions of your own, though. Right?”

  Gabriella still couldn’t believe anyone’s life was that bleak. That devoid of caring. Everyone had a family history.

  “Does a tradition of abandonment count?” Shane joked, standing tall and tough. “I’ve got that in spades. Officially, too, from foster care. Do you know what hard to place means?”

  Silently, Gabriella shook her head. Shane’s harsh expression and faraway eyes should have scared her … but his hoarse, heartfelt tone moved her too much for that to happen.

  “It means people want to adopt cuddly little babies, not gangly preteen troublemakers. It means girls go faster than boys, little kids go faster than big ones, and delinquents like me … well, we circle the drain, pretending we don’t care.”

  “But you do care,” Gabriella said gently.

  He met her gaze head-on. “I already told you I do.”

  Uncomfortably, Gabriella looked away. She still didn’t want to deal with this—with the uncertainty Shane caused. By loving her. By being himself. By being unknowable. She had enough on her plate. Why had she started this in the first place?

  In the shadows, Shane turned her face to his.

  He kissed her. She remembered.

  She’d started this because she felt drawn to Shane, bonded with him in a way that defied reason and schedules and excuses.

  Gabriella tried to stick to reason and schedules and excuses anyway. “I’ve got to lock up.”

  “Go ahead.” Shane’s dark eyes glimmered at her. He stroked her face again, making her sway. “I’ll take you home afterward.”

  “I have my bike,” she protested. “I nee
d to ride it home.”

  “It’ll fit in my trunk.” Companionably, Shane moved his shoulder against hers. He held her hand, then gave her a grin. “I haven’t even seen your place yet. I’m starting to think that’s where the bodies are buried.”

  Gabriella shivered. She wanted Shane. But she needed to keep at least a little bit of distance between them if she was going to retain any wits at all. Going to her house was the last step. It was the only vulnerability she hadn’t allowed. Not yet.

  “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me,” Shane said.

  And that was why Gabriella had to do it. That was why she had to bring Shane to her house. Because if she didn’t, she might lose the best access to her potential saboteur anyone could have asked for. She absolutely couldn’t risk that.

  She blinked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I trust you?”

  “You tell me.” His smooth tone lulled her. “I’ll fix it.”

  She bet he would. And she wouldn’t be able to resist.

  She was so in over her head here.

  “Never mind.” Brightly, Gabriella summoned a smile. If Shane wasn’t the saboteur, she still wanted a future with him. “I’ll go lock up.” She trailed her hand down his chest. “After that, we can celebrate our victory tonight. Campania won!”

  “Campania won,” Shane agreed. “And so did you. So let’s quit tiptoeing around this thing and go get naked already.”

  Whew. At least he was back to talking about sex, not love. Sex, Gabriella could handle. Love, she wasn’t so sure about.

  Feeling reassured, she put a little extra sass in her step as she went to lock up the pizzeria. A man who wanted her was watching her—and as the woman who wanted him right back, Gabriella didn’t intend to disappoint either of them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Affecting an indifference she didn’t feel, Gabriella strode up the front porch of her Craftsman-style cottage with Shane in her wake. She lived in an offbeat neighborhood of southwest Portland, one that had originally been home to turn-of-the-century Italian immigrants. They’d brought their loves and their businesses and their traditions to the Pacific Northwest with them, and Gabriella still had ties to their descendants today.