So Irresistible (11 page)

Alerted by that, Lizzy gave him a puzzled look. “This morning? What made you want to quit this morning?”

Gabby
, Shane knew.
Gabby
had made him want to quit. Realizing that he’d been hired to take over
her
pizzeria—to forever alter
her
family’s legacy—had shaken him to the core.

So had Gabby’s staunch loyalty in her family’s defense.

My family means the world to me
, she’d said when he’d remarked upon her necklaces.
I would do
anything
for them
.

He’d never seen anyone look more defiant, more fired up, more
passionate
than Gabby had in that moment.

Ruefully, Shane pursed his mouth, considering how much to tell Lizzy. “I have a . . . not inconsequential obstacle in this job.”

Gabby was formidable. He couldn’t underestimate her.

For a long moment, Lizzy only wrinkled her nose at him. She glanced around his apartment (and at him) as though searching for clues. She reached back in her memory to recall their earlier conversation, employed every ounce of street smarts she had....

“You
slept
with the target!” she blurted. “You got lucky last night with Gabriella Grimani, the owner of Campania!”

Lizzy’s tone of triumph irritated him. “You don’t have to sound so damn cheerful about it. It’s a fucking mess, I said.”

Her dancing eyes suggested otherwise. “I
knew
you would!”

“Then you should have told me.” Pacing again, Shane thrust his hand in his hair. “Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

“You two are so alike, you’re practically two sides of the same coin. On paper, at least, you’re
perfect
for one another—except for being on opposing sides, of course. I know
that
,” Lizzy crowed, “because
I
read the dossier from front to back.”

“So did I!” Shane groused. “The photo of ‘Gabriella Grimani’ was a blurry snapshot of a fifty-something woman.”

“Probably Donna Grimani, Gabriella’s mother.”

“Probably.” Deeply distraught at the idea that he’d been duped by another anonymous fixer—not to mention misled by his own stupid sentimental impulses last night—Shane clenched his fist. “That means I can’t trust a damn thing in that dossier.”

“Well, was the sex good, at least?” Lizzy chirped, angling her head to the side. “I mean, if you have to be a screwup—”

“I’m
not
a screwup.” Shane rounded on her. “Not anymore.”

Alarmed by his threatening tone, Lizzy raised her palms. “Whoa, there, Hulk! I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Tell me about it.” His assistant doled out an uncommon smile. “Nobody likes you when you’re angry. Good thing it doesn’t happen very often. Usually your charm prevails.”

Seeing that smile of hers—so infrequently given—made Shane wonder, not for the first time, exactly what Lizzy had been through in her life. When they’d met, she’d been closemouthed. She still was. At least when it came to talking about herself.

“Okay, fine. No sex talk,” she amended. “Will the job be safe?”

“I think so.” Shane paced, considering it. “Only stage three personnel were supposed to see this place, once I’d secured the pizzerias. Gabby wasn’t ever supposed to—”

“‘Gabby’?” Lizzy arched her brows. “Cozy nickname.”

“Yes.” He ignored her meaningful look. “Bringing Gabby here set up a dichotomy,” Shane went on. “It didn’t match the approach I had in mind.”
Plus, when I saw her this morning, looking so sassy and pretty and in charge, I couldn’t dredge up a single coherent thought
. “Like I said, I had to think on my feet. I told her I’m an aspiring restaurateur who’s doing research while considering opening a small pizzeria of my own.”

“Good one.” Lizzy approved, dutifully noting his revised tactics. “You always were good at improvising.”

He shrugged. “It was expedient.”
It got me nearer to Gabby. That’s all I wanted
. “She’s letting me trail her at Campania.”

Lizzy nodded, well versed in the lingo for a variety of industries after the jobs they’d done together. “If you’re doing applied research, we won’t have to downplay your wealth,” she remarked. “Only your connections to Waltham Industries.”

Shane brooded, unhappy with the situation. “Whatever you need to do. I’m on it. But Gabby doesn’t care about my money.”

Lizzy raised her eyebrows. “She loves you for your lies?”

Uneasily, Shane frowned. “I haven’t told that many.”

“Not yet, you haven’t.” Cheerfully, Lizzy set her glass on the liquor cabinet. “Well, I’m out of here. I have plans.”

Shane went still. “What plans?” He stared at her. “Do they have to do with whatever you were hiding when I got here?”

Lizzy shook her head. “Would I actually tell you?”

“I don’t like it when you’re
this
mysterious.”

“That’s the name of my game, boss.” She waved, then picked up her purse. “So . . . are you going to sleep with her again?”

Lizzy could mean only one woman.
Gabby
.

“It wouldn’t be smart, if I did,” Shane returned.

“I didn’t ask if it would be smart.” Her tone suggested that would be silly. “I asked if you were going to do it.”

“If I do,” Shane dodged, “you’ll be the first to know.” Pointedly, he glanced down the hallway to his impeccable bedroom, where Lizzy had ostensibly developed Sherlock Holmes–style talents of deduction. Dryly, he added, “Apparently.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? Given the circumstances?”

“Are you goading me? You know opposition makes me rebel.”

“Hmm.” In thought, Lizzy withdrew her keys. “Yeah. I know. So whatever you do,
don’t
get crazy with Gabriella Grimani.”

She
was
goading him. Unsurprisingly, Shane’s most rebellious instincts clamored to the fore. Now that he’d cut them all loose, he was having a hard time stuffing them back where they belonged. Grouchily, he waved at Lizzy. “Get out of here before I make you analyze pizza dough formulas with me.”

That’s what the notebook was for. To compare Campania’s approach with prefab industry-standardized dough formulas. Part of the Grimanis’ success was due to their pizzas. The rest . . .

Right now, given the clean but run-down state of the pizzeria, the rest of their success owed itself to intangibles. Once Shane gathered more information, he’d pinpoint them.

“I’m already gone.” Smartly, Lizzy saluted him. “See ya.”

 

 

After his assistant left, Shane started working with his usual diligence. But within moments, he set aside Gabby’s pizza-dough formula notebook. Not because his eyes were crossing reading about water hydration levels, ambient room temperature, yeast ratios, overall humidity, 00-flour protein content, and salt measured in milligrams, but because something . . . different prodded at him. Something that took on fresh significance now.

You must be new in town
, Gabby had said when they’d met.
Or you’d recognize me, just like the rest of these . . . people
.

The rest of these . . .
people at the brewpub
.

Fifteen minutes later, Shane strode into the place, ready to take a new tactic with this fix. The formulas could wait. Right now, he needed to know everything there was to know about Gabby—everything that
didn’t
involve her sweet smiles, luscious lips, and long, naked legs, at least. He knew those intimately.

Now he needed to know the rest, starting with what Gabby
hadn’t
said—but had been about to say—on the night they’d met.

You must be new in town
.
Or you’d recognize me, just like the rest
of these . . .
people
.

Now Shane knew what she’d been about to say. He’d have bet his currently garaged Ferrari or his summertime apartment in the 16th arrondissement, near the Trocadéro, in Paris, on it.

Just like the rest
of these . . .
pizza slingers
.

Or something very much like it. Because Gabby had been trying to hide her work at the pizzeria from him. She’d been trying to hide
herself
from him. Inexpertly. But that hadn’t worked last night, and as Shane ordered a Guinness, he swore it wouldn’t work tonight, either. He needed intel.
Real
intel. Reconnaissance gathered by him, vetted by him, trusted by him.

He hadn’t gotten very far with getting to know his new coworkers—Gabby’s closest friends—today. He’d been too busy learning a “proper” figure-eight mopping technique and getting the lay of the land at Campania. But tonight . . . all bets were off.

Tonight, Shane intended to excel. He only hoped he was researching Gabby for the job at hand . . . and not to satisfy his own unquenchable curiosity about her. Because he’d already gotten too personal, too fast and too deeply, with this fix.

Especially with a rival fixer out there, Shane couldn’t forget what his priorities were, what he
really
needed to win.

Starting with his father’s respect—and ending with happiness . . . or at least a way out of the abyss that haunted him.

“‘Gabby Vivaldi,’ I presume?”

At that tersely voiced question, Gabriella looked up from the employee work schedules she was slaving over. A sense of foreboding swept over her, triggered by hearing her alias.

Gabby Vivaldi
. She’d given someone a false name
one
time. One time! Now her erstwhile aka was dogging her mercilessly.

First Shane had uncovered her deception. Now . . . Pinkie had?

“I got a voice mail from Shane Maresca this morning.” Her pastry chef strode into her office, wearing a miniskirt, laced-up Doc Martens, and a “Killers” T-shirt. Her platinum blond hair was short and spiked. She brandished her cell phone. “But it’s not for me. And it’s not for you. It’s for ‘Gabby Vivaldi.’”

“That’s me.” Gabriella wriggled her fingers. “Gimme.”

“It’s pretty mushy,” Pinkie warned. “X-rated, too.”

Gabriella lifted her chin. “Now I’ve got to have it,” she joked, all but daring Pinkie to make fun of her. “Please.”

At that, her friend relented. Her cell phone’s slight weight struck Gabriella’s palm. She listened to Shane’s message, feeling happy to know he
had
called her this morning. She
had
meant something to him—something more than a trailing gig.

“I had a really good time last night, Gabby,” Shane said, winding up his call. “I would love to see you again. Soon.”

Hearing his deep, husky voice made Gabriella press her thighs together in desperate, unwise, below-the-desk yearning. Her hand trembled as she returned Pinkie’s phone to her.

“Thanks.” Breathlessly, Gabriella gestured toward her friend’s phone. “I forgot I gave Shane your number last night. I was a little . . . giddy. I’ll give him my real number next time.”

Pinkie’s brow arched. “Then there’ll be a next time?”

“Well, he might need to call me about . . . work issues.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Pinkie’s gaze was skeptical. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t trust him enough to give him your real name or phone number, but you trusted him enough to hire him?”

Gabriella was surprised to see betrayal on her friend’s face. But only for a second. Because Gabriella had grown used to that look lately. She had to be strong enough to move past it.

“I need warm bodies in this place,” she said. “Shane is—”

“
Beyond
warm. I get it.” Pinkie shrugged, almost seeming to soften. Then, “Are you going out for after-work drinks again tonight? Everyone else is already down at the brewpub.”

It was tempting. Maybe she’d see Shane there, Gabriella reasoned. Maybe she’d make a dent in repairing her battered friendships. Maybe she’d forge new camaraderie. All the same . . .

“No. I’ve got a lot to do here.” Gabriella gestured at the grid that housed her schedules. Before service, she was busy overseeing prep work. During service, she was glued to her position as expeditor. After service . . . she was getting frisky with the most intriguing man she’d ever met. “I’m way behind.”

Her friend folded her arms, still looking betrayed. Also, oddly hopeful. “You had no trouble cutting loose last night.”

Pinkie’s salacious tone wasn’t lost on Gabriella. She felt her cheeks heat. Just because hookups were common among her crowd of friends and coworkers didn’t mean she was comfortable having her personal life collide with her work life.

Besides, right now, she was too tired to think straight. Having an all-night sex marathon did that to a person.

Time to cut to the chase. Deliberately, she asked, “Is this an invitation? Are you inviting me to after-work drinks?”