Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (4 page)

Gio laughed. ‘That's easy. Just go to one of my family's back gardens on a Sunday afternoon.'

‘A sandpit and a horde of boys under the age of seven isn't
quite
the same thing, Gio.'

‘They're male, Italian and gorgeous, yes?'

She groaned. ‘Yes.'

‘And there's sand.'

‘But no sea.'

‘That's a minor detail. Plus, everyone has a freezer full of Nando's best ice cream. What more do you need?' he teased.

Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Welcome to the madhouse, Fran.'

‘Thanks. I think.' Fran smiled back.

‘Let me show you round,' Gio said. He gave her a tour of the
coffee shop, then showed her into the small staff kitchen, rest room and office at the back of the shop.

Judging by the papers piled in a haphazard mountain on the desk, filing clearly wasn't his thing—and he obviously knew it, because he looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I do know where everything is. I'm just not that good at putting things away.'

‘And I bet your computer's the same. All the files lumped under one directory.'

‘I'm not quite that bad.' Gio's blue eyes softened. ‘I've just been too busy lately to keep on top of the filing. I did tell you I needed someone to sort me out. I'll get you a coffee and then I'll talk you through the computer systems.'

He reappeared shortly after with two mugs of coffee.

‘You need these.' She handed him an envelope. ‘Details for your personnel records.'

He opened the envelope and looked through the files. ‘CV, emergency contact details, NI number, bank details—great, thanks—hmm, no, don't need these.' He handed the references back to her without even a cursory scan of the text.

‘Why not?'

‘The new studio owners are probably going to feel guilty about pushing you out so they'll have written you a very glowing reference to make up for it. On the other hand, they're also too short-sighted to see what they've passed up—so I doubt if their views are worth the paper they're written on.' He smiled to take the sting from his words. ‘Besides, I told you yesterday, I'm a good judge of character. So even though one or two of my baristas came with less-than-glowing reports from previous employers, I went by my gut instinct and I was proved right. They came good.'

‘One of your grandmother's sayings?' she guessed.

‘If you see the best in people, they'll give you their best.' He nodded. ‘Actually, there was one thing we didn't discuss yesterday. Money. You're working for Giovanni's, so you need a salary. What were you on at your last place?'

She told him.

He sighed. ‘I can just about match that, but I'm afraid I can't raise it. You'd probably get a lot more from a financial services company or one of the big ad agencies.'

‘But you,' she said, ‘promised me free rein.'

He smiled. ‘I trust you not to make changes just for the sake of it.' He talked her through the different systems on the computer, showing her how the information was coded for each of the four branches and how they fed into an overall system. ‘Your username is “marsfran”, and this is your password.' He scribbled her initials and a series of numbers on to a piece of paper.

‘You sorted this out for me already?'

He shrugged. ‘It didn't take long. Besides, I'd left some papers here that I needed last night.' He hadn't stayed particularly long. In peace and quiet with no interruptions, you could get a lot done in a couple of hours. Which was why he was usually in not long after dawn. Before the rush started.

‘I'm beginning to see what your cousin means about you being a workaholic,' Fran said dryly.

‘Don't tell me you're going over to their team. I need you on my side.' He smiled at her. ‘Well, the best way to get used to new systems and what have you is to play with them. If you get stuck, just give me a yell. I'll leave you to it to book yourself on the food hygiene course—the place I normally use is in the address book under “food hygiene course”—and take a look through the systems.'

‘And do your filing?' she asked, raising one eyebrow.

Gio pantomimed innocence. ‘I didn't ask—but as you've just offered…'

She laughed. ‘I'll see what I can do.'

‘Give me a yell if you need anything or you get stuck. Otherwise, I'll bring you some coffee and an almond croissant.' He smiled at her. ‘I haven't forgotten about the barista training, but the morning rush is probably
not
the best time to introduce you to the delights of the espresso machine and the milk frother. Maybe if there's an afternoon lull? Or just before I strip the machines down after we close?'

‘You're the boss,' she said lightly. ‘You tell me.'

‘Later,' he promised, winked, and left her to it.

 

The day went surprisingly quickly. Fran sorted out the filing and worked through the different systems, making a list of questions for Gio as she went. He came in a couple of times, bearing a cup of coffee or a cool drink—and one time bringing her a list of what he needed ordering from the suppliers for delivery to each branch, the following morning—but for the most part she was on her own in Gio's office.

The wallpaper on his computer screen was a family photograph. His parents, she guessed, plus three younger women who had to be his sisters, and an older woman who was probably his Italian grandmother. Gio was standing right in the middle of them, with a huge smile on his face. Whatever his protests about not wanting to settle down, he clearly loved his family. And he'd given up his dreams for them. He was a man who wasn't afraid to make sacrifices. Who'd give everything for those he loved.

At the end of their shifts, Sally and Ian put their heads round the door to say goodbye. Fran felt a weird glow spread through her. Her first day, and already she was accepted as part of the team. Just as she'd been at the voiceover studio. Maybe this was going to work out just fine.

She logged off the computer, and then Gio walked in. ‘Wow. Are you Mary Poppins in disguise? You know, waving a magic wand and everything tidies itself up and marches in the right order into the right file in the right drawer?'

She laughed. ‘All you needed was a system. And it wasn't actually that bad. There was a kind of order to the chaos.'

He perched himself on the edge of the desk. ‘The office looks better than it has in years. I normally don't let Dad anywhere near here—in his day he kept things absolutely spotless, and seeing it in a mess would be an excuse for him to get back in here and start working stupid hours again.'

Considering the hours Gio worked…‘Like father, like son?'

‘But I'm twenty-eight, not fifty-eight. And I haven't had a
heart attack.' Gio made a face. ‘I just want him to take things easy and not worry.' He waved a dismissive hand. ‘But we need to sort out this barista training. We said we'd do it now, after closing, but you were in early this morning. So tomorrow I don't want to see you until eleven, OK?'

She blinked. ‘But…'

‘No buts.' He held up one hand to forestall any protest. ‘Your hours are Monday to Friday, nine to five with an hour for lunch. If you work more than that, you take time in lieu or you fill out an overtime form. I don't expect you to work the same hours I do.'

Reminding her—in a nice way—that he was the boss and she was the employee. And she'd better keep that in mind. This was an employer–employee relationship, nothing else.

‘So how's your first day been?' he asked.

‘Good,' she said. ‘I like Ian and Sally. And the people in the other branches were fine when they spoke to me.'

‘That's a point,' Gio said. ‘I need to take you to the other cafés so you can meet the staff there, too. Maybe tomorrow afternoon, or Friday morning.'

‘So this is where you're based, most of the time?' she asked.

‘Most of the time,' Gio agreed. ‘Though I try to do a shift in each of the outlets, once a week. It gives the team a chance to talk to me about any problems that need fixing or any suggestions they have for improvements or innovations—and it gives me a chance to make sure everything's ticking over as it should be and there aren't any problems that need sorting before they get unmanageable. But this was the first branch Dad opened, so the office space is here.' He spread his hands. ‘Ready to learn what it takes to be a barista?'

‘Sure.'

He talked her through how to use the machines and the steps needed to make an espresso. And then it was her turn. Despite taking notes, she'd forgotten one or two points—but Gio was standing behind her, ready to show her what to do. Not close enough to touch, but she was aware of how near his body was to hers. She could almost feel the heat of his body. And when his
left arm reached out to the grinder, his bare skin brushed against hers, for just the tiniest fraction of a second, but it felt as if electricity zinged through every nerve-end.

Mentally, she went through the steps. Grind, dose, tamp—she tapped the filter gently and watched the contents level, then pressed it down as he'd shown her—fit the filter into the machine, flick the switch and let it pour…She counted for twenty seconds in her head, then turned the tap off.

‘Looks good,' Gio said, looking over her shoulder. His breath fanned her ear, and she felt a shiver of anticipation run down her back.

Stop it, she warned herself. He's your
boss.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about him on a personal level? Why couldn't she stop wondering how his mouth would feel against the curve of her neck? Why couldn't she stop thinking how easy it would be to take one tiny step backwards so that her body was in close contact with his, and his arms would curve round her waist, holding her to him…?

‘Stir it,' Gio said softly.

She did, half-expecting the coffee to stay black with just a tiny bit of foam clinging to the edges of the cup, but the crema reformed. ‘Wow.'

‘Now watch and wait.'

She watched as the thousands of tiny, tiny bubbles began to disperse. And as the caramel-coloured foam started to dissolve, so her awareness of Gio's nearness grew. To the point where she was having a seriously hard time keeping her cool. It wasn't that he was invading her personal space—it was that she
wanted
him to.

Which was a seriously bad idea.

He was her new boss.

Which meant hands off.

She'd seen what happened with office romances. The way the working relationship turned so awkward that one of them had to leave—and until that happened everyone was walking on eggshells. Messy. Complicated. Not something she wanted to happen here.

Gio glanced at his watch when the crema had almost vanished.
‘Just over a minute. Good. OK, you can do a second one. This time it's for tasting.'

When he'd tasted it, he said, ‘Good. Just the right amount of smoothness. Try it.' He held the mug to her lips.

Her mouth was right where his had just touched. Oh, lord. This was getting ridiculous. She'd spent years working without ever falling for a colleague or a client. So why was she reacting this way to Gio? Besides, he probably taught all his baristas this way, standing close to them so he could reach out and guide them where necessary.

This wasn't personal.

It just felt like it.

‘Good?' he asked.

‘Good.' Her voice sounded very slightly squeaky; she really hoped he hadn't noticed.

‘Excellent. Thus endeth your first lesson. We'll do lattes tomorrow.' He smiled at her. ‘See you tomorrow. I'm over in Holborn first thing, but you can buzz through to me if you need anything. And I'll take you round the other branches tomorrow afternoon.'

Class most definitely dismissed, Fran thought, even though he'd done it in the most charming way. ‘Do you want me to stay and help clean the machines?'

Ouch. That sounded like an attempt to be the teacher's pet.

‘No, that's fine. I've kept you here long enough. And, Fran?'

‘Yes?'

He smiled at her. ‘Thanks. I appreciate what you've done today.'

‘No worries. See you later.' She replaced her notebook in a tray in the office, collected her handbag from the bottom drawer, and lifted her hand in a casual wave goodbye as she left the coffee shop.

Putting distance between herself and Gio Mazetti was a good idea, she thought. And hopefully by the time she saw him again, she'd have it fixed in her head that they were colleagues only—and staying that way.

T
HE
next morning, Fran felt awkward going in to work so late—especially as Gio wasn't there—but Sally and Ian, the baristas, greeted her cheerfully enough. Sally had a mug of coffee ready for her just the way she liked it before she'd even reached the office. Gio had emailed her from Holborn, asking if she'd get some information for him about specific aspects of franchising, so she spent the rest of the morning researching, and the afternoon setting up a spreadsheet that would do automated graphs showing the figures for each coffee shop.

 

She knew the second that Gio walked into the coffee shop; even though she couldn't see him from the office, she was aware of his presence. Something that made the air tingle.

So much for her pep talk, the previous evening, spent in front of the bathroom mirror, repeating over and over again that Gio Mazetti was her boss and way off limits. It wasn't as if she'd been bothered before about being single or on the shelf. Why should things be different now?

‘Hi.' He walked into the office and leaned against the edge of her desk. ‘Good day so far?'

‘Yes. You?'

‘Pretty good. I've got a new supplier coming to see us tomorrow morning—someone who does organic cakes. So we'll need to do a taste test and, if we like it, work out what we're going
to have to charge to keep the same profit margin and where the break-even points are. She left me the price list.' He handed her a folder. ‘Tomorrow, can you sort me out some suggested figures for a trial?'

‘No problem.' She flicked into her tasklist and typed rapidly.

‘Thanks. Are you still OK for another half-hour lesson on baristaing, tonight?' he asked.

So he was still going to teach her, not get Sally or one of the others to take over? A warm glow spread through her. ‘Sure.' She tried for a light tone. ‘This is where I get to do the milk, yes?'

‘Yep. Have you got the orders from Holborn and the others?'

‘Yes, and I was just about to ring the supplier,' she said with a smile.

He smacked his palm against his forehead. ‘Sorry, sorry. I'm teaching you to suck eggs.'

‘No. But you've been doing this for years. It must be hard to give up control.'

‘A bit,' he admitted. ‘You've got your course booked?'

‘I was going to ask you about that. I can go on Tuesday or Thursday next week. Which one would fit in best with whatever you've got planned?'

‘Either. And I'm not expecting to see you in here before or after, whichever day it is,' he said firmly. ‘Straight to college from home—and straight back home from college, OK?'

‘Yes, boss.' She saluted him. ‘Though I assume you'd like me to let you know if I pass?'

‘When,' he corrected. ‘Of course you'll pass.'

She'd already told him she wasn't good when it came to exams, so it felt good that he had that much confidence in her.

‘When you've phoned the order through, come out the front and I'll take you on a whistle-stop tour of the Giovanni's empire.' He smiled at her, and left her to it.

When she emerged from the office, a few minutes later, she was surprised when Gio led her to a car.

‘Wouldn't it be easier to go by Tube?'

‘With all those line changes? Even Holborn, all of two stops
away, means a line change. If you add in Islington and Docklands…' He grimaced. ‘It's a lot less hassle to do it this way.'

The car wasn't what she'd expected, either. It must have shown on her face, because he said with a grin, ‘Just what were you expecting me to drive, Fran?'

Well, he'd asked—she might as well be honest. ‘A Harley. Or maybe a two-seater.'

He laughed. ‘First off, if I had a motorbike, it'd be a Ducati—I'd always pick an Italian make first. But if you've ever tried having a guitar case as your pillion passenger…' For a second, his face clouded. And then he looked wistful. ‘A two-seater…Yeah.'

‘A Ferrari?' It was the only Italian sports car she could think of.

‘Along with taking out a second mortgage to pay for the insurance? No.' He shook his head. ‘My first car was a two-seater—an Alfa. I bought her the day after I passed my driving test. Dad went bananas that I'd spent so much money on an old car with a soft top that always leaked, but she was the love of my life. The day the mechanic told me there was no way he'd be able to fix her up to pass the MOT and I'd have to scrap her…' He sighed. ‘I rang every car museum I could think of to see if I could donate her somewhere she'd get a kind retirement.'

‘And you found somewhere?'

‘No.' He opened the passenger door of the estate car for her. ‘Dad had to take her to the scrap dealer's for me. I couldn't face it.'

Oh, bless. On impulse, she gave him a hug.

And then wished she hadn't when every single nerve-end started tingling.

And tingled a bit more when Gio's arms came round her to return the hug. ‘Thank you,' he said. ‘For not laughing at me.'

‘Course I wouldn't laugh at you,' she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as rough and croaky to him as it did to her, and she ducked into the car.

She just about managed to recover her composure by the time he slid into the driving seat. ‘So how come you've got an estate car now?' It was the complete opposite of a little two-seater sports car.

‘Because Marco got really fed up with me borrowing his to do the cash-and-carry run, and nagged me into getting my own. Although my suppliers deliver nowadays, I haven't got round to changing the car to something a bit smaller and easier to park.' He slanted her a look. ‘Don't tell me you drive a two-seater?'

‘I don't have a car.' She shrugged. ‘Don't really need one, for London.'

‘What about when you go home to see your family?'

‘Train and taxi.'

‘So on a bright spring day, you never get up and decide to go to the seaside?'

‘No. But if I wanted to, there's a reasonable train service from London to Brighton.' She glanced at him. ‘Is that what you do on your days off? Go to the seaside?'

He gave her a non-committal murmur; given what she'd already heard his family say to him, she interpreted that as meaning that he almost never took time off.

As he turned on the ignition, the car was flooded with indie rock. Very loud indie rock.

‘Whoops.' He turned the stereo off. ‘Sorry. One of my worst habits. Volume.'

She'd half-expected him to listen to classical guitar music. Or maybe that was too painful—a reminder of what he'd lost. ‘No worries,' she said. ‘And I don't mind if you'd rather have music on when you're driving.'

‘Just not at that volume, hmm?' he asked wryly, but switched the stereo on again, this time lowering the volume to something much more bearable.

The journey was quick, and he parked in a side street near the Holborn branch. The feel of the place was very similar to the Charlotte Street café, but Fran was intrigued to see that it had its own identity. Different art on the walls, for starters. But the staff were just as warm and friendly as they were at Charlotte Street, and Amy—the head barista—seemed pleased to put a face to the voice from the previous day.

Islington was next, and then Docklands; again, Fran noticed
that there wasn't a uniform style to the cafés. ‘If you're going to franchise the business,' she said to Gio on their way back to Charlotte Street, ‘shouldn't the cafés all look the same?'

‘Yes and no,' Gio said. ‘I suppose there needs to be some kind of corporate identity. A logo or what have you. But I don't want them to be identikit. I want each café to fit in with its surroundings and suit the clientele in the area. Which means they're different.' He lifted one shoulder. ‘I want to keep it
personal
. And sell bakery goods produced locally, to local recipes where possible—so if we expand further afield that would mean Banbury cakes in Oxfordshire, parkin in Yorkshire, Bakewell pudding in Derbyshire and that sort of thing. We'll sell the best coffee and the best regional goodies.' He frowned. ‘So I suppose that's an argument against franchising.'

‘But if you go the other route and open more branches, you're not going to have time to do a shift in every one, every single week, to get feedback from your customers and staff. Especially if some of them are outside London,' she pointed out. ‘With four, you can do it. With five, it's going to be a struggle. With ten—no chance.'

He sighed. ‘I'm doing the wrong thing. I shouldn't be looking at franchising—I should be inventing a time machine, so I can make the time to visit all the branches myself.'

‘What was it your Italian grandmother says about trusting people?' she asked gently. ‘If you expand, Gio, you're going to have to learn to delegate. Trust your managers to do what you do and to give you the feedback. You don't have to do it all yourself.'

‘I'm trying to delegate. I'm trusting you to sort the admin side.' He coughed. ‘Well. Apart from sitting on your case, earlier.' He parked in a little square just off Charlotte Street.

‘Where are we?' Fran asked.

‘My parking space, near my flat.' He smiled. ‘Told you I lived near the café. It's a ten-minute stroll from my flat to work, tops, which makes life very easy.' He glanced at his watch. ‘Are you sure you're still OK for a lesson in lattes?'

‘Sure.' Which was when Fran realised that she'd actually
been looking forward to it. All day. And even though she'd spent most of the afternoon with Gio, most of the time they'd been with other people.

This would be just the two of them.

Alone.

Strange how that thought made her heart beat a little bit faster.

They arrived back at the Charlotte Street branch just before closing. Once Sally and Ian had left, Gio bolted the door and switched off most of the lights. Then he smiled at Fran. ‘Ready?'

‘Yup.' She fished her notebook out of her handbag.

‘OK. Rule one of milk—it has to be fresh and cold, or it won't froth. It's the proteins in milk that make the foam. And the way we do it is with a steam wand—your goal is to get the froth hole in the wand at the same level as the surface of the milk, so you'll get nice small bubbles throughout the milk instead of huge bubbles at the top.'

‘Why do you need small bubbles?'

He smiled. ‘I'll show you.' He talked her through how to use the steam nozzle on the machine, starting with half a pitcher of cold milk and gradually working it up so it became warm and frothy. ‘This is perfect for a latte. And latte art.'

‘Latte art?' Fran asked, mystified.

‘It's how you pour the milk in such a way that you make a pretty pattern on the top—the crema comes through in the design. You make a rosetta, swirling the leaves out, and you finish with the stem to pull it all together.' He tapped the jug against the table; then, with what looked like a tiny wobble of the wrist, he swirled the milk on and a flower suddenly appeared in the middle of the foam.

‘That's pretty,' she said. ‘You make it look very easy—would I be right in saying it's quite difficult?'

‘It's advanced baristaing—an extra,' he admitted. ‘It's what the coffee tastes like that counts most, not what it looks like. If you've made vile coffee, it doesn't matter how pretty it is—the customer won't want to come back. And then again, some people don't even notice; they add sugar and stir, and your rosetta's gone so you might just as well not have bothered. But it sometimes
makes the customer's day when they see a heart or an apple or a flower or a rosetta on the top of their coffee.'

‘Latte art.' He had to be teasing her.

He spread his hands. ‘If you don't believe me, look on the internet. There are pages and pages of photos of latte art.'

She still wasn't sure if he was teasing her or not. But she liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his eyes glittered.

‘OK. Remember how to make an espresso?' he asked. ‘Normally, you'd froth the milk at the same time, but as it's your first time we'll do the milk second.'

‘Grind, dose, tamp, fit the filter and pour,' she said.

He nodded, looking pleased. ‘Go for it.'

To her relief, the espresso came out well.

‘Now to steam and froth the milk.' He guided her through the process, just as he had when he'd taught her to make an espresso. When he moved the steam nozzle for her with a clean cloth, his arm brushed against hers, the brief touch of his skin making her temperature sizzle.

This was crazy. She was known for being level-headed at work, good in a crisis. Reliable, calm and efficient. So why did she feel right now as if fireworks were going off inside her head? Why did she want to leave the coffee where it was, forget the milk, twist round in Gio's arms and brush her mouth against his?