there, and a customer could walk in at any moment.
This was even worse than their coffee-making lessons. Because this time it wasn’t just the two of them. She really, really had to get a grip.
‘Mmm. Perfect,’ he said huskily.
He was talking about the biscuit. Not about her skin, she reminded herself sharply.
‘These flapjacks are good, too,’ Ian said.
‘Brownies. Oh-h-h. I need more brownies,’ Sally said, clutching her heart dramatically. ‘Save me. Give me brownies.’
‘Too late, Sal. You’ll have to make do with carrot cake.’ Gio handed her a piece wrapped in a paper napkin.
Lord, he had a beautiful mouth. Fran knew she should just stop watching him eat. The last thing she wanted was for her new boss to think she had the hots for him. And she could definitely do without Sally and Ian noticing the state she was in and teasing her about it.
When the samples had been reduced to crumbs, they looked at each other. ‘Well?’ Gio said.
‘They’re good,’ Ian said. ‘Better than our current range.’
‘And this is Fitzrovia,’ Sally said. ‘Organic food is definitely on the up in this area.’
Gio nodded. ‘Our coffee’s ethically farmed, so organic cakes and pastries fit with the ethos of Giovanni’s. Especially as these have no packaging. Eco-friendly and caring—that’s good. Fran?’
‘I checked out the local competition on the net. If we sell organic, that gives us differentiation from the others,’ she said. ‘Is our coffee organic?’
‘No, but you can talk to the supplier and see what they can offer us, so it’s a possible option—in the same way that we can do decaf on request,’ Gio said. ‘Do the figures stack up?’
She nodded. ‘We’ll need to put the prices up a little bit, because the wholesale price is higher than the non-organic cakes. But, as Sally said, our customers are the sort who put ethics above economics.’
Gio smiled. ‘Good. We’ll trial fifty-fifty to start with, see how it goes. Starting on Monday. Give it a month, see how it’s affecting sales. If they’re the same, we’ll make a wholesale switch.’
‘I think,’ Sally said, ‘you should ring Ingrid and say we’re not sure about the brownies—we need some more for testing. A lot more. A whole trayful—no, make that a whole ovenful.’
Gio ruffled her hair. ‘Yeah, yeah, Sal. She’ll really believe that. Thanks, team. Fran, I need to go over to Docklands. Can you draft me a letter to Ingrid about the trial?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks. See you later.’
She loved the way he trusted her enough to get her to draft the letter, instead of dictating it to her over the phone when he got to Docklands. Although she’d adored her job at the voiceover studio, this job was turning out to be a real buzz, too. He’d listened to what she had to say about franchising, too. What she thought counted.
Though it wasn’t just that, she thought as she headed back to the office. It was working with Gio that gave her the buzz. Because there was definite chemistry there—the way he’d eaten that Amaretti from her fingers…
But she needed to keep her feet on the ground. It was stupid even to contemplate any sort of relationship other than a working one with Gio. She already knew he didn’t do relationships and he was at a place in his life where he didn’t really know what he wanted. Yes, he flirted with her and teased her, but he did that with just about everyone—so she’d better not start getting any ideas.
She drafted the letter for Gio’s approval and was just about to ring through the order to the supplier when she was aware that someone had walked into the office. She looked up, and recognised the woman from the photo on the computer.
‘Hello. You’re Gio’s mum, aren’t you?’
Mrs Mazetti looked a bit thrown. ‘How did you know?’
‘Apart from the fact that he has your eyes, you mean?’ Fran smiled, and flicked through the computer screens to show her the wallpaper. ‘This is how I know.’
‘Oh!’ She looked pleased. ‘I didn’t know he had a photo here.’
‘Do have a seat, Mrs Mazetti. Can I get you a coffee and a pastry or something?’
‘No, but thank you for offering. Is Gio around?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Sorry, he’s at the Docklands branch this afternoon—do you want me to ring through to him and get him to come back?’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ Mrs Mazetti flapped a dismissive hand. ‘I know I shouldn’t really bother him when he’s working. He hates being disturbed when he’s busy.’
‘Is it anything I can help with? I’m Fran, his office manager, by the way.’
‘Angela Mazetti.’ She took Fran’s outstretched hand and shook it. ‘I thought you might be Francesca.’
It was Fran’s turn to be thrown. ‘Why? Has he said something about me?’
Angela rolled her eyes. ‘Of course not. I’m his mother. Giovanni never tells me anything.’
‘Ah. Marco was your mole?’ Fran guessed.
Angela laughed. ‘Oh, dear. Was it that obvious?’
Fran laughed back. ‘Gio says you’re all ganging up on him and trying to get him to settle down, Mrs Mazetti.’
‘Call me Angela,’ the elder woman said. She sighed. ‘We don’t gang up on him really. We just worry about him. When you have a son of your own, you’ll know exactly what I mean.’
Having a child wasn’t on her list of immediate plans, Fran thought, but she tried her best to look sympathetic.
‘So are you settling in OK?’ Angela asked.
Fran nodded. ‘Everyone’s been really nice. And Gio’s lovely to work with.’
‘Good.’Angela gave her a speculative look. ‘So you’re just colleagues.’
‘Yes. And he’s an excellent boss. He expects a lot from his staff, but he’s fair and he’s honest—so everyone’s happy to make the extra effort.’
‘Hmm.’ Angela stood up again. ‘Well, I can see you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. It was nice to meet you, Fran.’
‘Shall I tell Gio you dropped in?’ Fran asked.
Angela raised an eyebrow. ‘I could say that I was just passing…but he’d never believe that.’ She gave Fran a rueful smile. ‘And, from the look on your face, neither do you.’
‘Well, of course you’d want to check me out. Make sure I’m not some kind of bombshell man-eater who isn’t going to treat your son properly—or some kind of incompetent airhead who’s going to cause him extra work to sort out the mess she’s made so he’ll be under even more stress.’
Angela laughed. ‘Consider me suitably reassured. Welcome to Giovanni’s, Fran. And if you’re ever at a loose end on a Sunday, you’re always welcome to come to lunch at our place. Don’t ever feel you’re intruding, because we normally have a houseful and there’s always room for one more.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ The sheer warmth of the invitation made Fran’s throat feel tight. But if she burst into tears she’d have to explain, and she didn’t want Gio’s mum to think she was a flake. ‘Thank you.’ Please, please don’t let Angela Mazetti hear the wobble in her voice.
‘Ciao,’ Angela said, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and left the office.
Fran