Page 10 of Operation Sunshine
He bit his lip, his mind wandering to the way Ben’s throat had flexed when he swallowed earlier. The faint, involuntary shiver whenever Franco got too close.
There was something under all that stiffness, some hidden softness or heat that Franco wanted to uncover like a pearl in an oyster.
He realised too late that he was smiling.
Willow squinted at him. “Why are you grinning like that?”
Franco cleared his throat and grabbed the lemon slices, shoving them into a container. “No reason,” he said quickly.
Raj made a disgusted noise. “God help us. The last thing we needis you making heart eyes at the boss. Don’t we have enough chaos around here?”
Franco ignored him, closing the container and turning to the sink. His heart thudded, giddy and reckless.
Tomorrow. A staff meeting. An actual chance to see Ben try to wrangle them all.
Franco couldn’t wait.
Chapter Three
Ben stood in front of the mirror in the restaurant’s toilet, holding a comb as though any second now it might attack him. His hair refused to cooperate. One stubborn piece kept sticking up at an angle that screamedI have no idea what I’m doing.
He smoothed it down repeatedly, each attempt only making it worse.
“Christ,” he muttered. “It’s just a meeting. You’ve pitched billion-dollar mergers. You’ve survived boardroom bloodbaths. You can handle a handful of servers and cooks.”
One glance told him his reflection didn’t buy it.
He scanned the tiny room, looking for anything to subdue his unruly hair. There was only a small bottle of hand soap. Outside, he could already hear muffled voices, the clatter of pans, someone shrieking about a missing oat milk.
The restaurant’s heartbeat had started early.
He took one last look at himself, noting the pressed shirt, the sleeves rolled exactly two turns, the clean but slightly scuffed white sneakers, and the notebook peeking from his pocket.
Ready, he lied to himself.
Franco stood by the espresso machine, fiddling with the steam wand as if it was an electric guitar solo.
Lexie slumped over the counter next to him, her head buried in her arms. Mina was sprawled on a barstool, chewing on a croissant she’d half-stolen from the morning pastry prep. Raj stood by the pass, sharpening a knife at a speed that suggested he might be imagining someone’s head instead of an onion.
Raj glanced at the others. “I was talking to Arun this morning about possible changes Ben might want to implement.”
Franco smirked. “And what did the hubby say?”
“He’s going to introduce a biometric fingerprint clock-in system,” Lexie blurted.
Mina brushed croissant crumbs from her blouse. “Nah, he’s going to ban staff meals and make us meal-prep quinoa salads.”
Raj snorted. “Arun said he’s going to install a second floor just for spreadsheets.”
Franco snickered. “My money is on him assigning KPIs to the basil and rosemary plants on the windowsill.”
Mina nearly choked on her croissant, Lexie gave Franco a thumbs-up, and Raj howled with laughter.
Franco felt as if he’d been hooked up to an espresso IV all night. His skin practically buzzed with anticipation.
He’s going to stand in front of us, all stiff posture and crisis energy, trying to wrangle us into shape.
Franco couldn’t decide if he wanted to watch or derail the whole thing.
