99 Problems
By Becky Black
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2017 Becky Black
ISBN 9781634863834
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
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All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
99 Problems
By Becky Black
For a memorial service, everyone seemed quite jolly, Rob thought as he followed the stream of people out of the church. There was much chatting going on. He wandered away from his parents, looking to do some networking. Since coming home from his MBA six months ago, he’d been too busy working to do much of the networking an up-and-coming young businessman should do. At least that was his excuse, because if he gave in to his dad’s advice, he’d have to take up golf, and the thought made him shudder.
He looked around for someone to chat to and spotted…well, first he spotted Liliana Bianchi, dressed in unrelieved black, and he knew her, because she hadn’t changed a bit in twenty years. Though she might be a little shorter. Or was that only an effect of standing next to the tall man at her side? Holy cats, is that…?
“Chez?” he said, approaching them, holding out his hand. “Is that you?”
“Rob?” Chez said.
A briefly startled expression crossed his face. His frankly gorgeous face. He had not been this pretty when Rob saw him last, almost a decade ago when they were both sixteen, and Chez had gone off to one sixth-form college and Rob to another. His skin had cleared up, for one thing.
“Mrs Bianchi,” Rob said to Liliana. “We have met before. Rob Catteneo.”
“Oh,” she said, eyebrows raised. “From the new firm.”
The new firm, yes, since the Catteneo family had only been selling ice creams in this town since 1973, a mere forty years. Unlike the old firm, the Bianchi family, who’d come over from Italy in the early 1950s.
“I was at school with Chez,” Rob reminded her.
“Chez?” She looked up at her great-grandson. “What is this ‘Chez’ he calls you, Cesare?”
“It’s what my friends call me, Nana.” Chez swept wavy black hair out of his eyes as the strong wind off the sea blew it across his face. “They called me that at school.”
“School? This is not school. This is church.” She looked at Rob again with recognition in her dark eyes. “Ah yes. Roberto. The cheeky one.”
“Nana!”
Rob grinned. “You do remember me.”
“It’s Robert, Nana,” Chez said. “Not Roberto.”
Her snort told Rob what she thought of that. The Bianchis hung onto the old ways, the old names, and, whenever they could, the old genetics. His last name might give him away, but since his dad had married a local girl, Rob looked as Anglo-Saxon as most other men in this town. Chez looked like he’d just stepped off his Vespa in Milan to go buy a cappuccino.
“Still playing football?” Rob asked Chez.
“When I have time.”
Rob remembered him being a pretty good winger back in school. Though hampered by the fact he’d been tall yet willowy and a stiff breeze could have knocked him over, never mind a hard tackle. He’d been one of those boys who’d hit his adult height long before he gained enough weight to go with it. He wasn’t willowy anymore, though. He’d filled out nicely. His dark suit showed off his long legs, slim waist, and broad shoulders to perfection. Still rangy and lean, but not a waif anymore. Rob would give up his best van pitch in exchange for a chance to peel that suit off him but tried not to drool too obviously. He didn’t know if Chez was gay. He probably wasn’t. There’d been name-calling at school, but that hardly counted as conclusive. Most likely he had a beautiful wife and a bunch of cute kids.
“I suppose you’re busy these days,” Rob said.
When Rob had learned Cesare, the younger brother, was now running the Bianchi family’s ice cream business, he’d been baffled. The Bianchis always passed the business on to the eldest son. That’s how an old-fashioned firm like theirs worked. But the older brother, Teo, had relinquished control last year and gone off down south somewhere.
“Cesare works so hard,” Liliana said. “We’re all so proud of him. He’s a boy who knows how to be loyal to his family.”
Despite the praise, Rob saw pain cross Chez’s face. Not liking this hint of reproof against his big brother? What was the story there? Mum and Dad didn’t know. Rob wanted to find out, because he had plans for Bianchi’s. And now he’d seen Chez again, he had to say he looked forward to putting those plans into effect.
“It’s great to see you again,” Rob said. He pulled out a business card and handed it to Chez. “Give me a call. We should get together some time, have a drink, talk about school, eh?”
Chez offered his business card in return. Not a good design. Looked cheap. But he displayed little enthusiasm for talking about school. That was okay. Rob had a whole range of subjects he’d love to talk to Cesare Bianchi about. Their fingers brushed as Rob took Chez’s card. And for an instant, their eyes met. Rob saw something there, something deep in the large dark eyes.
A plea.
* * * *
Rob heard a car pull up in the yard outside Catteneo’s headquarters on the industrial estate. Not many people likely to be around here at this time of night, so he knew who it had to be. The person he’d been delighted to get a text from asking for a meeting. He went to the roller-shutter door and raised it. In the light pouring from the interior of the building, Chez stopped and raised a hand to shield his eyes.
“Rob?”
“Yeah, sorry for dazzling you. Come in.”
When he’d got the text from Chez, he’d considered it very promising. Rob had proposed getting together in the pub for a drink, but Chez had come back asking for a more discreet meeting. A secret meeting. Now that was seriously promising. Although his suggestion to meet at Catteneo’s headquarters at 10:00 p.m., rather than at Rob’s flat, had discouraged Rob again. Come on, he told himself. He’s not coming here to hook up, unless he’s got a kink for doing it on a pallet of Mr Whippy mix. A shame, because Chez looked quite lickable in jeans and a dark blue ribbed-cotton top and no jacket. He held his car keys in one hand and his phone in the other, as if they were weapons at the ready.
“Want to come into the office?” Rob said as he closed the roller shutter.
“This is fine.”
He really wanted to stand around in the big space divided between storage and the mechanic’s bay? One of the vans stood there, waiting for a service in the morning. Rob shrugged and leaned against a stack of wafer boxes.
“So what can I do for you, Chez?”
“I just wanted some advice.”
/> “From me?” From the man running his family’s main rival business? The business now twice the size of theirs.
“Not business advice. Not really.”
Shame. He could use some. “What then?”
“More how to deal with the family. We’re both in the same position, taking on the family business. I have ideas, changes I want to make. But persuading the family to make any changes is nearly impossible.”
“If you’re in charge, then do it, whatever they say.”
“It’s not that easy. My dad can’t run the business anymore. His doctor ordered him to retire. But he still…well, controls a lot.”
Rob frowned. He understood the dilemma. His family hadn’t been the fastest to change either. The “new firm” they might be, but they were traditionalists, too. But Rob had stuck to his guns and, when his changes had worked, his dad started taking him more seriously. Would Chez have the balls to do the same? He suspected the Bianchis were way more controlling than his own parents. And Chez had no training to run the business. No wonder his father felt the need to keep so much control.
“What happened with your brother anyway?” Rob asked.
“A…falling out. That’s not what I’m here to talk about. If you can give me any clue about how I can make them listen to me, I’d be grateful.”
His gratitude would be much appreciated. Rob wondered how it would manifest. “Proof of the pudding,” Rob said. “They won’t listen until they believe you know what you’re talking about. And the only way to prove that is by succeeding. Take a chance. You are in charge. Whatever your dad says, the decisions are yours. When your changes work out, then they’ll start listening.”
“And what if they don’t work out?”
“What are your plans?” Rob asked.
Chez laughed, nervously. “Okay, I’m hardly going to tell you that.”
“I suppose not,” Rob conceded. “How about some more advice instead?”
“From Mr MBA?”
“I’m bursting with advice. I can’t buy a paper without telling the newsagent how he could increase his sales of Curly Wurlys.”
A slightly less nervous laugh this time lit up Chez’s face, and he brushed back his glossy hair. “All right then, let’s hear it.”
“Okay. Your firm’s USP is Liliana’s ice creams.”
“Uh, our USP?”
“Unique selling point.” Damn, he really doesn’t know this stuff. “We sell a few premium ices, especially in our parlour, but bought-in stuff. I would kill to have the handmade ices Liliana creates. They’re unique, award winning, and you’re not making the most of them. You should expand your parlour for starters and start selling her ices from the vans.” He reached over and rummaged in a box, pulled out a small card cup branded with Catteneo’s logo. “In these. Maybe a couple of different sizes.”
“I don’t know how Nana’s ices would go down on the vans. They’re a bit sophisticated for kids.”
“I know. I had the coffee and white chocolate one a couple of days ago. It tasted like an orgasm.” He looked Chez right in the eye as he said orgasm. Chez’s eyes widened before he dropped his gaze and looked away. “But they’d appeal to the mums. Charge a premium mark-up on them. Rotate the flavours every week. You could sell them to take away from the parlour as well. They’d go down a bomb on the seafront.”
Chez took the cup from his hand. “You use these in your vans?”
“Yes. For the premium ices.”
Chez examined it. Was he trying to imagine Bianchi’s logo and colours printed on there instead of Catteneo’s?
“You’re being very generous with your advice,” he said. “Considering we’re rivals.”
“A good rival keeps me on my toes.”
“Right. I—” Chez stopped and stared as they heard the sound of a car outside the roller door. “Who’s that?”
Rob saw a look of panic in Chez’s eyes and on instinct hurried over to turn off the light. A car door slammed. In the moonlight from the skylights above, Chez took on a deer-in-the-headlights expression of frozen terror.
“I can’t have anyone see me here. If it gets back to my family…”
“Come here.” Rob grabbed him by the arm and steered him to the ice cream van awaiting its service. Fortunately the back door was unlocked. Rob urged Chez inside and climbed in after him. Both ended up kneeling on the floor, peeking over the sliding window serving hatch. A small door beside the big roller door opened and a man came in. Rob relaxed. Just one of his drivers, Sam. He had one of his kids with him, a teenage girl.
“Wait here,” Sam said to the kid. “I’ll be two minutes.”
He headed off across the floor. At Rob’s side, Chez ducked down out of sight, his breathing very fast. Sam went on through to the staff areas. Probably picking up something from his locker. The kid stayed by the door, messing about on her phone. Neither of them noticed the two men in the van.
“Why are you hiding?” Chez whispered.
Good question. Rob was the boss and could be here any time of the day or night.
“Seemed like fun,” he answered quietly.
And the thought of being in close quarters with Chez had been an incentive. He dropped lower, below the level of the window, sitting on the floor beside Chez. He felt the heat of him, and the scent. Vanilla. He must have been working in the parlour’s kitchen with Liliana and carried the scent in his clothes and hair. A man couldn’t grow up in the ice cream business and not find the scent of vanilla evocative of home, of love.
Chez shouldn’t make him think of home. Twenty years ago the Catteneos and the Bianchis would have called themselves worse than rivals. Enemies. But those times were long gone. Such nonsense belonged in the past. Rob reached out for a handful of Chez’s shirt and pulled him in close for a kiss.
Chez gasped and made a brief movement as if to pull away. For a second Rob feared he’d misread the other man, that he wasn’t gay, despite the looks and the vibe Rob got from him. If he’d got it wrong, he might revive all the bad feeling between their families.
But no. After the initial shock, Chez responded. He sighed, lips parting, eyes closing, inviting, eager. Rob pulled him closer until they pressed together. He wanted Chez so badly he’d happily forgo a comfy bed and take whatever Chez offered right there on the floor of an ice cream van. Rock it till the chimes jingled “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic” at full blast.
Lost in the kiss, the scent and feel of Chez, the surging of desire in his belly, he was only aware they’d ended up on the floor with Chez on his back and Rob on top of him when the slam of a door made Chez gasp and push him away.
“Come on, Dad!” the girl called.
“Coming,” Sam said.
They heard footsteps across the concrete floor, some barely coherent words, then the outside door closing. Silence. Rob looked down at Chez.
“Want to take this back to my flat?”
“No!” Chez moved suddenly, scrambling out from under him. “I can’t.”
“Chez…” Damn. Was that old family rivalry too strong? Would it feel like sleeping with the enemy for him? “Nobody has to know.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t risk it.”
He climbed out of the van and brushed dust from his clothes. He dug his car keys out of one pocket, patted the others, then looked around in a worried way. Rob spotted his phone lying on the floor of the van and handed it to him. “Thanks. And thanks for the advice. I have to go.” Rob knelt up and watched him almost run across the floor to the door. He peeked out. Outside, the sound of Sam’s car leaving faded away. Only when it was silent out there did Chez give Rob one last look and leave.
* * * *
“Two vans? It must be a very big wedding.”
“Tell me about it.” The wedding planner on the phone sounded weary. Must be a big job even for her.
“Hold on a moment,” Rob said, checking the calendar of bookings for the vans. They did have a van available on the date of the wedding, but…“I’m afraid
I can only offer you one of our vans on that date. I could…” He paused, thought about it. He could subcontract, get another van in for the day, maybe even one of Chez’s. Or he could cut out all of that. “I could recommend a firm to hire the second van from.” Did Bianchi’s even do event bookings? It sounded like the kind of modern innovation they’d resist tooth and nail. But Chez would surely be open to the idea. “They do some unique flavours that will appeal to the adults among your guests, while the children have their cornets and 99s.”
“That sounds ideal,” the wedding planner said. “Okay, I’ll book your van, then give them a call.”
Rob had his mobile out even while he was finishing off taking the booking and giving the client Bianchi’s number. He typed a text to Chez with one thumb.
Ur about to get an event booking. U do event bookings right?
Five minutes after Rob got off the phone, he got a text back.
We do now. Thx.
Five minutes after that, he got a call.
“Thanks for the recommendation,” Chez said. “Events are one of the things I’ve been trying to persuade Dad we should do.”
“And he’s not keen.”
“But I’m taking your advice. Do it and prove it works.”
“Good for you. It’s a useful additional income stream. Take plenty of Liliana’s ices along. That’s what I told her you’re good at.”
“Yes, she mentioned that. I will. We’ll do some summer-wedding-appropriate flavours.”
“Great. I’ll concentrate on the kids’ side of things. You do the sophisticated stuff.”
There was a silence. Then Chez spoke. “You’re going to be there?”
“Didn’t the client mention that? She wanted two vans, but I only had one available, so I recommended she get the second one from you.”
“Oh, right. No, she didn’t say that specifically.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be there myself,” Rob said. “You know how busy Saturdays are. Might send Hannah. She likes doing the weddings. She likes the hats.”
“Right. I’ll probably do it myself, since it’s our first one.”
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