LITMIR.BIZ

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fitted in, right smack in the middle of things. She’d belonged. And that, to her, had been way more important than her admittedly good salary. ‘We had a sales guy handling the sales side of things, a sound manager to do the technical stuff, and my boss did the copywriting and most of the schmoozing.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m going to miss it. Horribly. But, hey, life moves on. I’ll get over it. Find something else.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry. I’m making you really late.’

      Gio shook his head. ‘It’s really not a problem, Fran. My evening’s my own. Though I do need to clean the machines so they’re ready for tomorrow morning—so, if you don’t mind me sorting that out while we’re talking, come and sit by the bar.’

      Fran looked at him properly for the first time. Gio Mazetti would get a definite ten on the scale of gorgeousness. Olive skin, dark straight hair that flopped across his forehead and which he’d obviously pushed back with one hand at various times during the day because it stuck up in places, a sensual mouth—and the most stunning eyes. With his colouring and his Italian name, she’d expected them to be dark brown. Instead, they were blue.

      A mesmerising deep, almost midnight, blue.

      She followed him to the bar.

      ‘So when do you finish?’ he asked.

      That was what had knocked her for six. ‘It all happened today and I cleared my desk this afternoon. I’m on five months’ gardening leave, as of now,’ she said.

      ‘Five months is pretty generous,’ he commented, starting to strip down the coffee machine.

      ‘I worked at the studio for five years, so I guess the terms are one month for every year I spent there,’ she explained. ‘But the terms of my leave also mean that I can’t contact any of my former clients during those five months.’

      ‘So if you go to a competitor, you can’t take your contacts with you.’

      He’d hit the nail right on the head, and Fran’s spirits took another nosedive. ‘In five months’ time, my contacts will be out of date, because things change so quickly in advertising and radio and publishing. And that’s assuming I can get another job in a voiceover studio—as I said, it’s not that huge an industry, so even in London there aren’t many openings.’ She shrugged. ‘On the plus side, my skills are transferable. I dunno. Maybe I’ll try some of the advertising agencies, see if I can work on the client management side. If that doesn’t break the terms of my gardening leave, that is.’

      ‘Tell me about what your job involved,’ Gio said.

      ‘I kept the schedule for the studios so I knew which slots were free if we were doing a rush job, and which actor was working on which job. I used to talk to the radio stations and audio publishers to sort out timescales, and to the agencies so we had the right voice for the right job. Plus a bit of PA work for the boss and keeping up to date with invoicing and payments.’

      ‘Hmm.’ He finished cleaning the machines and leaned on the counter opposite her. ‘So you’re good at organisation and you’re used to keeping track of lots of different projects at the same time, and dealing with lots of different people at lots of different levels.’

      That pretty much summed it up. And there was no point in false modesty: she might as well get used to stating what her skills were. She needed the practice for interviews. ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you understand finances.’

      There was a difference between being honest and sexing it up. She wasn’t going to claim to be an accountancy whiz-kid. ‘I can do basic book-keeping and set up spreadsheets and produce graphs,’ she said.

      ‘Can you read a P and L statement?’

      ‘Profit and loss? Um—I might need to ask some questions, but, yes, I think so.’

      ‘And you understand how profit margins work, the difference between fixed and variable costs?’

      She nodded.

      He smiled. ‘Excellent. In that case, I might have a proposition for you.’

      ‘What sort of proposition?’

      ‘A business proposition.’

      Well, of course—it wouldn’t be anything else, would it? Some of the actors at the studio had flirted mildly with her, but Fran knew from experience that men basically saw her as a colleague or a friend, not as dating material. She was the one they came to asking for help to woo the girl of their dreams, rather than being the girl who’d caught their eye in the first place. And she was fine with that. Right now her life was complicated enough, without adding in all the muddle of a romantic entanglement.

      ‘It’s something that might solve a problem for both of us,’ he added mysteriously. ‘Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll explain.’

      Dinner? Didn’t he have a wife and family waiting for him at home?

      The question must have been written over her face, because his smile broadened. ‘Before you ask, I’m single. My nonna says that no girl in her right mind will sit around waiting for a workaholic to notice her existence. She also says it’s time I settled down, before I hit thirty and I’m on the shelf.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve seriously been considering telling her I’m gay.’

      A frisson of disappointment slid down Fran’s spine. Where a gorgeous man was concerned, there was always a rule of three: he’d been snapped up at an early age, he was a rat, or he was gay.

      ‘But apart from the fact I’m not—’

      Oh. Not attached and not gay. So did that put him into the rat category?

      ‘—she wouldn’t believe me anyway. Because I’m a hopeless liar,’ he added with a rueful smile.

      So maybe the rule of three didn’t apply in this case. Gio might just be the exception that proved the rule.

      He smiled at her. ‘Don’t look so worried. What I’m trying to say is that you’re safe with me. I’m not trying to hit on you.’

      Which was true, Gio thought—up to a point. He’d noticed Fran Marsden weeks ago. There was something about her: she was quiet, maybe even a little shy, but she always knew exactly what she wanted instead of dithering over the menu, always had the right money, and always had a smile for the barista who made her cappuccino, not taking the service for granted. Efficient and courteous. He liked that. So he’d made a point of working a morning shift in the Charlotte Street café on Wednesdays, when he knew she’d be in; even if he hadn’t served her himself, seeing her put a sparkle into the middle of his week.

      But he’d never intended to act on that attraction. He knew better than to mix business with pleasure, and he’d never overstep the boundaries with a customer.

      Besides, Nonna was right. There was no point in asking her out because no woman would put up with the hours he worked. And it wasn’t fair to suggest a relationship to someone who was just trying to pick up the pieces of her life after some bad news. Especially the way he was feeling right now—restless, at the point where the chain of coffee shops had stopped being a challenge and started being a burden. Though he’d invested so much of his life in Giovanni’s, he had no idea what he wanted to do instead.

      Except…

      No. That particular dream had crashed and burned. He wasn’t going back.

      But if the idea that had been spinning round in his head for the last few months worked out, he could help Fran pick up the pieces and maybe help stop his restlessness at the same time.

      He knew he was acting on impulse, but he’d always been a good judge of character in the past. And he was pretty sure that Fran Marsden was just the kind of woman he needed to help him. ‘I think this could be good for both of us,’ he said. ‘So, will you have dinner with me this evening? I happen to know the best pizzeria in London.’

      ‘Pizza,’ she said, the tiniest

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