Page 12 of Operation Sunshine
Franco was first out, which was no surprise at all, striding in as if he owned the place, or at least had just returned from winning a city-wide charisma contest. His grin alone could have powered the espresso machine.
“Good morning, Mr. Manager.” Franco held his arms wide as if he meant to hug Ben from across the room. “Ready to meet your new, vibrant, dysfunctional family?”
Ben opened his mouth, closed it again. He’d prepared for logistical pushback, but Franco’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and that grin?
Bewitching enough to make Ben forget half his carefully worded notes.
Raj entered next, silent and solid, his dark eyes sweeping the room with military precision. He gave Ben a curt nod that managedto convey both respect and a threat, before sliding into a seat next to Franco.
Mina bounded in behind him, a tornado in human form, clasping a half-eaten croissant. “Have I missed anything?” She nearly tripped over Franco’s foot and squeaked.
“Relax, goblin,” Lexie drawled as she took an empty chair. “Drama hasn’t started yet.” She folded her arms, her colourful tattoos covering every inch of skin from her wrists upwards, disappearing under the sleeves.
Drama? Okay,thatdidn’t bode well.
Willow ushered out the last two, Ollie and a girl Ben hadn’t seen before, although he knew from his notes this had to be Chloe who worked a couple of days a week. Ollie held a glass filled with what looked like water.
At least, Ben hoped it was water.
“Hey, Ollie, why don’t you break the ice for us?” Franco suggested. “Maybe lead us in a rousing rendition of ‘I Will Survive’ again?”
“Only if you do the choreography this time,” Ollie shot back, resting his head on Lexie’s shoulder like an exhausted child.
Franco groaned dramatically. “My hips still haven’t recovered from the last staff party.”
“Just don’t let Franco choose the playlist,” Raj muttered. “Last time, we had three hours of French electro-pop and crying waiters.”
Ben rubbed his temples. He felt as though he’d been dropped into a travelling circus mid-performance.
Then he caught Franco’s gaze flicking to him, amused but searching.
What are you like when you’renotperforming?Because it had to be a performance. No one could be this… electric all the time.
Willow cleared her throat and sat up straight, suddenly all faux-authority. “Okay, remember we’re pretending to be civilised humans today. Let’s all be nice to Mr. Business Man so he doesn’t combust.” She stared at him. “Ben, the floor is yours.”
Ben swallowed hard, glancing at his notes. His throat tightened.
Here we go.
Franco’s stomach flipped like a pancake on a too-hot griddle.
Ben looked painfully clean, so crisp he might shatter if someone threw a tomato at him. His eyes scanned the room, wary, determined, maybe a little wild. Franco’s fingers twitched with the urge to loosen him up, to muss that perfectly combed hair, to kiss away that frown.
He settled for leaning back in his chair, watching.
Like a cat with a mouse, but hotter.
Ben coughed. “Good morning, everyone.”
The staff chorused back an unconvincing, “Morning,” as if they were in detention.
“Thank you for coming early. I know it’s not easy. I… I’ve been observing the restaurant these past few days, and I wanted to share some thoughts and get on the same page.” He paused, and Franco took advantage of the lull to fix his gaze on Ben, locked onto him like a tractor beam. He watched the blush creep up Ben’s neck, impossibly pink against his collar.
God, he’s adorable.
He also looked as if he might bolt if someone so much as clapped too loudly.
Franco changed position, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. Enough movement to make Ben’s gaze snap to him again.
