Kate Hardy - Passionate Affairs - Breakfast at Giovanni's

Marco groaned. ‘You’re going to ask for a Giovanni special, aren’t you?’

‘Yup.’ Gio spoke in rapid Italian. Fran couldn’t follow the conversation at all, but Gio’s accent was incredibly sexy. And he had the most gorgeous mouth. Even when he wasn’t talking, there was a permanent tilt to the corner of his lips, as if he were smiling. A real knee-buckler of a smile, too. Yet, at the same time, there was a sense of suppressed energy and restlessness about him. Gio Mazetti was a puzzle. And she found herself wanting to know more about him.

‘ Basta —enough. I’ll ask. But as you’re her favourite nephew…’ Marco rolled his eyes.

‘I’m Netti’s only nephew,’ Gio corrected with a grin.

‘As I said. Her favourite. So there’s a pretty good chance she’ll say yes.’ Marco smiled. ‘One bottle of pinot grigio and a jug of iced water coming up.’

‘What’s a Giovanni special?’ Fran asked.

‘Ah.’ Gio coughed. ‘It’s just the topping I like on my pizza. I went through an—um—let’s say experimental phase in my teens. This one stuck.’

‘Experimental?’

‘Blue cheese—preferably dolcelatte—and mushrooms.’ She frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound particularly experimental.’

‘No. That would be the other ingredient,’ he said drily. She was intrigued now. ‘Which is?’

‘Avocado.’

She blinked. ‘Avocado on pizza? Cooked avocado?’

‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,’ he advised.

He was full of energy, full of ideas, a little offbeat—and the more time Fran spent with Gio, the more she liked him. His good humour was infectious.

What she couldn’t work out was why he’d asked her to dinner. What his proposition was going to be.

When the wine arrived, he didn’t bother tasting it; simply thanked Marco, poured out two glasses, and raised his own in a toast to Fran. ‘To us—and the beginning of what’s going to be a beautiful friendship.’ Again, that mischievous half-smile appeared. ‘Horribly corny. But it’s true anyway. I think we’re going to suit each other.’

‘How do you mean?’ she asked, slightly suspicious.

‘I’m sure you’re used to dealing with confidential material at the studio,’ he said. At her nod, he asked, ‘So I trust you’ll keep my confidence now?’

‘Of course.’

‘OK.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m at the point in the business where I need to make some decisions about expansion—either I can open more branches or I can franchise Giovanni’s so we open outlets in other cities besides London. There’s a fair bit of day-to-day admin in running a chain of coffee shops, so I need to free up some of my time to let me move the business forward.’

It all sounded perfectly logical.

‘So I need to find someone who has fabulous organisational skills. Someone who’ll be able to be my number two in the business, who can take over from me in juggling rotas and sorting out time management issues, maybe hiring temps or talking people into doing overtime if we have staff off sick. Someone who can sort out the admin, ring the engineers if one of the coffee machines breaks down, help keep the team motivated and not be fazed by dealing with figures and statistics. Someone who’s fantastic on the phone and good with people.’

A new challenge. One where she’d be working with people. Using all her skills. This sounded right up her street.

As if he’d read her mind, he added softly, ‘And I think that person’s you.’

‘You’ve only just met me. How do you know I’m what you’re looking for?’ she asked. ‘For all you know, I’m not really an experienced office manager. I could be a pathological liar.’

‘I’ve worked in this business long enough to be a good judge of people,’ he said simply. ‘I trust my instinct. You’re no bunny-boiler. And if you were a pathological liar, you’d have told me that not only could you read a P and L statement, you could do business projection modelling and write your own computer programs, while juggling six flaming torches and tap-dancing on a tightrope all at the same time.’

She couldn’t help smiling at the picture he’d painted. ‘Juggling, tap-dancing and tightrope walking aren’t quite my forte. Though I can use a computer and I know where to get help if I’m stuck.’

‘Exactly. You’re straight and practical and honest.’

Which wasn’t quite what a woman wanted to hear from a man, but this wasn’t a date anyway, she reminded herself. This was business.

‘In short, you’re exactly what I’m looking for.’ He paused. ‘Though, since you brought it up, how do you know that I’m not a pathological liar?’

‘Because if you didn’t own or at least run the coffee shop, you wouldn’t have been the only one there after closing time, you wouldn’t have the keys and you probably wouldn’t be called Giovanni.’

‘He isn’t. His real name’s Fred,’ Marco interposed, bringing them the scamorza.

‘Just ignore him. He’s only jealous because his coffee’s not as good as mine,’ Gio retorted with a grin. ‘ Cugino mio , any time you want a lesson on getting the perfect crema on an espresso—’

‘—I’ll ask your dad,’ Marco teased. ‘Enjoy your antipasto , signorina…?’ He waited for a name.

‘Fran,’ she said with a smile.

‘Fran.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Short for Frances?’

‘Francesca.’

‘An Italian name. Hmm.’ Marco gave Gio a knowing look, and was rewarded with a stream of Italian.

Fran, judging it wiser not to ask, tried her scamorza. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said.

‘Course it is. My aunt Netti’s a fabulous cook.’ Gio gave her another of those knee-buckling smiles. ‘So, Fran. Francesca . Your family has Italian blood?’

‘No idea.’And she really wasn’t comfortable talking about her family.

He didn’t seem upset that she’d been a bit short with him. ‘So we’ve established that we trust each other, yes?’

She wasn’t quite sure how to answer that.

‘Trust has to start somewhere,’ he said softly. ‘And if you see the best in people—expect the best from them—they’ll give you their best.’

‘Is this another of your Italian grandmother’s sayings?’

‘Yup—she’s a very wise woman, my nonna . When I was a teenager, I used to think she was just rabbiting on. But, the older I get, the more I realise she knows what she’s talking about.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Actually, you remind me of her in a way.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘It was.’ He ate another mouthful of scamorza. ‘As I said, this job’s got your name on it. But you’ll also need to understand the business from the bottom up.’

‘Running a coffee shop?’

He nodded. ‘Specifically, Giovanni’s. What makes us different from the competition. What makes us special. What makes people come to us instead of one of the national chains or the independents. So I need someone who understands about coffee.’

Fran shook her head. ‘That counts me out. I know what I like—cappuccino and latte—but when it comes to all these complicated orders…’

Gio took a sip of wine. ‘Firstly, all coffees are based on espresso. And Giovanni’s doesn’t go in for coffee that takes half an hour and a degree in rocket science to order. We make it easy for the customer. A basic espresso for those who like black coffee; latte, cappuccino and Americano for those who like varying degrees of milk or frothiness. Hot chocolate, mocha for those who like a mixture, tea with milk or lemon, and iced coffees and smoothies in summer.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘Pastries and biscotti in the morning, paninis for lunch and cakes for the middle of the afternoon. It’s a matter of knowing what our customers like and second-guessing the right quantities so that we don’t run out, but also don’t have to throw away too much.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose it’s like you’d book your studio slots so you weren’t empty half the time and double-booked the rest of the time.’