by Lisa Plumley
Abruptly realizing Shane wasn’t there, Gabriella rolled over. In Shane’s place was a note. On his pillow was a daisy.
He’d obviously stolen it from her neighbor’s yard. Gabriella didn’t care. There were tons of flowers in her neighbor’s yard. In fact, that very same neighbor sometimes taunted Gabriella about her woebegone roses from Nonna Grimani. That made a tiny bit of pilfering—for a good cause—seem okay.
Smiling, Gabriella reached for the daisy. She pictured Shane, legendarily tough and capable, leaning over the white picket fence between their yards to pick that flower.
Her smile broadened. She glanced to the window, wondering if her neighbor had discovered the theft yet. Probably not. What was one daisy in a veritable botanical garden’s worth of flowers? It was sweet that Shane had chosen a daisy, too.
Gabriella loved daisies. She loved their simplicity, their charm, and their straightforwardness. Daisies weren’t fancy.
But they were beautiful—almost as beautiful as Gabriella felt when she was with Shane. With a sigh, she let her gaze travel over her messy, sun-splashed bedroom. Clothes were strewn everywhere. Her mischievous cherry-print apron—the one that had started it all—lay in a heap on her bureau, right beside one of her red stilettos. Remembering the look in Shane’s eyes when he’d stripped off those items made her smile again.
Shane was so sexy. So open. So fun to be with.
Except when he scampered off at sunrise.
Wearing a faint frown, Gabriella opened his note.
Hey, beautiful! it read in his signature cocky scrawl. Meet me at the pizzeria. I have a surprise for you.—S
At that, excitement sizzled through her. Would it be an erotic surprise? A romantic surprise? An apron-related surprise?
Maybe, Gabriella decided, it would be a practical surprise, something like Shane deciding to take on more work at Campania. She direly needed help. A partner like Shane would go a long way toward ensuring her eventual success with the pizzerias. Because while right now Gabriella was in just-hang-on mode, trying to keep her head above water long enough for things to improve, she knew she needed a better long-term plan than mere survival.
With Shane’s help, she reasoned, she could make a plan. It might require compromise—more compromise than she’d been able to muster with her dad—but it might work, too. She might win.
She might be able to convince Shane to set aside his plans for his own amateur-restaurateur small pizzeria. She might be able to persuade him to work for her full-time. He was smart and capable, and he definitely had a knack for dealing with people.
Yes. It could work. If they both tried, it could work.
Impressed with herself for being willing to accept help—and especially to compromise when necessary—Gabriella set aside her daisy. She left Shane’s note on her nightstand for safekeeping. Then she tossed aside her bedclothes, clambered out of bed naked, and went to get ready for her day. Big things were ahead.
Finally, at long last, things were looking up.
“I met your dad on a date.” Lizzy said those incredible words as though they were a grocery list of soup supplies. She slid into place in an easy chair across from Shane. Barefoot and still wearing her robe, she met his gaze squarely. “It was a long time ago. I was … a different person. I met Gregory—”
“Hold on.” Incredulous, Shane stopped her, his reasons for coming momentarily forgotten. “You went on a date with my dad?”
“Well, your parents are divorced, Shane. They have been for years,” Lizzy pointed out reasonably, inadvertently reminding him that their divorce had happened shortly after they’d adopted him … almost as though Shane had somehow driven them apart. “I’m no home wrecker.” She shrugged, then adjusted her glasses. “Gregory was lonely. I was in the market for a rich boyfriend—”
“My dad was your boyfriend?”
“You know,” his assistant observed, “usually you refer to him as your ‘father,’ keeping that extra little bit of distance between you. But now, he’s your ‘dad.’ Isn’t that interesting?”
Shane offered an expletive. “Did you fuck my father?”
Lizzy laughed. “No. Actually, I lifted his wallet. On our first date. When he caught me leaving, we became friends.”
This just got weirder. Shane boggled. “You’re a thief?”
“Well, at one time, I—” Lizzy broke off. She shook her head at Shane, looking as unknowable as ever. “The point is, Gregory was impressed with my ‘chutzpah.’ That’s what he said. He’s not even Jewish. I thought that took chutzpah. We hit it off.”
“Did you keep it?”
“His wallet?” Lizzy gave him a rare grin. “Not that time.”
“You became friends with him, but you stole from him?”
“The second time I did it to prove a point. It was—” His assistant regrouped. She put her hands together, looking serene. Controlled. And damn mysterious. “Why do you want to know this?”
Because I want to know if I can trust you.
Unfortunately, the only way to know that was to do it.
“I didn’t want to know any of it.” Defensively, Shane held up his palms. “You’re the one banging my much older father.”
“What can I say? Gregory is a silver fox.” Lizzy glanced behind her, toward the hallway leading to her bedroom, as though hoping she wouldn’t be overheard. “But I already said I didn’t—” She swung back around to him, her gaze sharpening. “Aha.”
“Aha, what?”
“Aha, that was all a trick to get me to let you in.”
Of course it was. Shane couldn’t hold back a satisfied grin. “I would have found out the truth sooner or later.”
“Later is always better. That’s my motto.” Staring at him in obvious disbelief, Lizzy shook her head. “You’re not supposed to use your fixing tricks on me, you jerk.”
“Mmm-hmm. I know I’m not.” Speaking of which … “Now that I’m here, I have an assignment for you.”
Lizzy’s eyes brightened. “Does it involve subterfuge?”
“Your eagerness for subterfuge is disturbing.” Shane grinned at her. “And usually, exactly what I need. But this time? No. All I need is for you to make a purchase for me.”
He handed his assistant the envelope he’d prepared. It contained detailed instructions, a written time line, and—
“This is a lot of money.” Lizzy arched her brows, holding up the electronic funds transfer authorization he’d included. “From your personal accounts, too.” Her attention swerved to his face, probing him for information. “What’s this about?”
“I’m trusting you with it. That’s all you need to know.”
“All right.” Taking the bait, Lizzy returned the EFT authorization to the envelope. She scanned the other documents Shane had included, then squinted in thought. “It will take a miracle to get all this lined up according to your time line.”
“Good thing you’re a miracle worker.” Having done what he’d come here for, Shane stood. Apologetically, he angled his head toward the bedroom. “Sorry to intrude on your morning-after.”
“No problem.” Lizzy put away the envelope. She rose to stand beside him, hands in her pockets. In her robe, with her crazy hair and no makeup, she seemed much too young and defenseless to have done any of the things she’d implied she’d done. “It’s a casual thing. I just want to maintain separation.”
Separation. That would have been a smart thing for Shane to have kept between him, Gabby, and his favorite pizzaiolo, Gabriella. But after last night … well, it was too late for that.
“Good thinking.” Shane hoped his expression didn’t give away his feelings on the matter. “I have to get to Campania.”
He turned to leave. His assistant stopped him.
“Hey—speaking of the pizzeria … what’s the latest?”
Unhappily, Shane paused. He felt stuck. Torn between the familiarity of his fixing world and the rightness of Gabby’s.
Reluctantly, Shane withdrew a
USB stick from his pocket. He tossed it onto Lizzy’s coffee table, reasoning that, at this point, the information it contained couldn’t be used for much.
“I got this from Gabby’s place this morning.” At least he was maintaining his fixer credibility, he told himself, in case of … what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. But he’d done it now. “It contains a digital video of Robert Grimani, shot by a local news crew during an interview last year. In it, he’s explaining how to make Campania-style pizza dough. Step-by-step.”
Shane still didn’t know why he’d copied and taken it. He guessed it was the force of habit. On his way out this morning, he’d glimpsed Gabby’s open laptop. The video of her dad had still been on it. She’d shown that video to Shane last night, in anticipation of his moving on to pizza dough training today.
Past midnight, Shane had been too drunk on sex, hyped up on hot cocoa, and high on all the things he and Gabby had talked about to give that video much thought. But today, he’d reconsidered. Today, he’d remembered Gabby’s explanation for it.
“Mr. Grimani had second thoughts about releasing it,” Shane paraphrased for Lizzy, “after he realized how much the video revealed about his pizzerias’ recipes and processes. So no one outside Campania and its sister pizzerias has ever seen it.”
“But to Waltham Industries, this would be a gold mine.” Lizzy picked up the USB stick. Marveling, she shook her head at Shane. “And here I thought you’d gone soft. You’re still on the job.” She seemed pleased. “We’re going to win this one.”
Shane gave a noncommittal sound. He knew it probably wouldn’t come to that. “Just get busy with that other assignment. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Will do, boss.” Lizzy waved the USB stick. “I’ll put this with the rest of your Grimani pizzeria stash for safekeeping.”
At her mention of his accumulated research, Shane looked away. He didn’t want to think about his assigned fix.
According to his father, he was failing at this job. But Shane knew that he still looked as ready for a win as ever. At least to Lizzy, he did. To Gabby, he would have looked guilty of sabotage—something she’d plainly begun suspecting him of, before last night. Ironically, Shane had gotten in deeper than ever before while at Campania—because even he would have balked at sleeping with a target, even in his darkest days—yet he’d produced the fewest results of his entire career.
If only Gabby knew how close she’d come to disaster….
Unreasonably, Shane felt … proud of himself. Not for his “fix,” but for himself. He could have annihilated the Grimanis’ pizzerias. He could have resisted the pull of Gabby’s appeal, turned away from her charm, hardened himself to the job at hand.
Instead, he’d discovered another side to himself—a side that loved playing with fire and knives, staying up past midnight, and being part of a misfit family of pizza slingers.
Even more unreasonably, Shane wanted to tell Lizzy about the things he’d discovered. About himself. About Gabby.
But he’d already risked enough for today by confiding in his assistant. He still didn’t know the full extent of Lizzy’s association with his father. She was skilled at subterfuge, as evidenced by her eager acceptance of the task he’d given her and all their history together. There was every reason Lizzy might have employed some of that subterfuge on him.
The sound of a door shutting down the hallway made Shane’s decision for him. “Sounds like your love monkey is awake.”
Lizzy blushed. “Oh, get lost, you perv.” She shooed him toward the door, her robe billowing. “I’ve got things to do.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“Your things to do.” She opened the door. “Shoo.”
Laughing, Shane did. He might not be certain he could trust Lizzy. But he could be certain that he sure as hell wanted to.
When Gabriella arrived at a still-silent Campania, hours before opening time, the first thing she noticed was the temperature. For early May, it was way too warm inside.
Alarmed, she took off her jacket. She threw it toward the bench in the employee break room, then hurried to the thermostat.
Shane stopped her. Seductively, he said, “Hey, you.”
She turned and saw him waiting for her in her office’s doorway, wearing jeans, a button-down, and a beatific smile.
That smile of his looked as blissed out as she felt.
“Hey.” Seeing him, Gabriella melted. They kissed. At the feeling of Shane next to her, she couldn’t help smiling back. “You should have hung around this morning. I could have made breakfast. We could have had coffee. Maybe more than coffee.”
Teasingly, she waggled her eyebrows, temporarily forgetting her concern about the pizzeria’s temperature. It was still possible that Shane’s “surprise” for her involved fun sexytime.
With Shane, she was always up for that.
“I would have liked that. All of it.” He stroked her face, looking at her as though she were precious, rare … and supermodel beautiful. He tore away his gaze long enough to glance back at her office. “But I had a surprise to rig up here. Remember?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Just then, Gabriella didn’t care about a surprise. She caressed Shane’s chest, loving the feel of his muscles bunching beneath her hands. “What is it?”
“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“Fine. Be pedantic.” She smiled. “Where is it?”
“In your office.” Shane stepped aside, jangling a set of keys, gesturing to escort her in. “I took your keys when I left this morning,” he confessed. “Just for today. Here.”
He handed them back. Gabriella took them, surprised she hadn’t noticed they were missing from her lanyard. Ordinarily, she’d have needed them to open the back door. But today, Shane had left it open for her. She’d been expecting to meet him, so …
Still. She should have kept better track of her keys.
“I got you something,” Shane went on. “See it?”
Bewildered, Gabriella glanced around her office. The same yellowing OSHA poster, battered filing cabinets, old-fashioned desk, and piled-up paperwork met her gaze. Then … “Oh my God.” She raced forward, spotting the newness at last. “You didn’t!”
“I did.” Shane smiled at her. “Every time you come out of here after doing payroll or supply orders or billing, you look ready to tear out your hair. Or dynamite your old computer.”
Gabriella laughed, acknowledging that truth.
“And although I’m sure I’d love you bald,” Shane went on, “I do like your sassy haircut. So I got you a new computer.”
Gabriella stared at it, overcome. “This looks … expensive.” She turned to him. “Shane, you really shouldn’t have. This is too much. It’s too generous!” She touched it. “It’s so new!”
He eyed her telltale expression, her sparkling eyes, and her ever-more-overt urge to hug the stupid electronic thing.
“Stop being polite,” Shane said. “You’re keeping it. You know it. I know it. Hell, you’re practically drooling on it.”
She was. Embarrassed, Gabriella stepped back. “This will make my life so much easier. Fighting with that old computer—” She broke off, reluctant to admit the truth. Then she just went for it. “I kept it in case my dad came back, because he was comfortable using it. But if this place is ever going to be mine—really mine—then I have to make it mine, don’t I?”
Shane nodded, his dreamy-eyed gaze still fixed on her.
“I have to quit doing things halfway,” Gabriella said. “That’s only keeping me treading water. I have to go for it!”
“I can help you.” Shane held out his hand, his words echoing his earlier offer. “In more ways than you know. Because the thing is, I—”
Abruptly, Gabriella remembered something. The temperature.
“It’s so hot in here,” she blurted, suddenly worried.
Shane seemed flummoxed by her outburst. For once, he didn’t turn her statement into a double entendre that sent them both
hurtling toward the nearest horizontal (or vertical) surface for a fast, clothing-optional rendezvous. Instead, he frowned.
Whatever he’d been about to say next vanished.
“It’s too hot in here,” Gabriella continued, recalling her original urge to check the thermostat. She strode toward it now, saw its setting, and felt dread overtake her. “The dough!”
“What about the dough?” Shane followed her. “Did you hear me before, about helping you? I’m trying to tell you—”
Gabriella waved him off. “Sorry. Later.”
She reached the racks containing today’s allotment of mixed and proofed pizza dough—150 pounds of it. As she might have predicted, every single ball of dough was blown out.
This was a disaster of epic proportions. Ordinarily, they retarded the pizza dough’s rise by keeping it cool in the first phase after mixing. But it couldn’t be stretched and used while cold. It needed to be brought to cool room temperature first.
It didn’t need to be subjected to summer-style heat.
“This is unusable.” Gabriella stared at her day’s dough in utter disbelief. “All of it.” She shook her head, pacing as she did. She flung her arm toward it. “After this dough was taken out of the walk-in, someone must have turned up the thermostat.”
“Pinkie?” Shane suggested. “Maybe, by mistake, she—”
“It couldn’t have been Pinkie.” Overlooking his familiarity with the pizzeria’s routines for now, Gabriella considered the situation. “She knows better. I mean, yes, Pinkie usually takes out the dough. She gets here early. It’s part of her routine. But it’s too early for her to have done this!” Upset, she glanced around. “Where is Pinkie, anyway? She should be here.”
“Someone’s been sabotaging this place,” Shane reminded her gently. It was the first time she remembered him mentioning it directly. “If all this dough is ruined, what does that mean?”
