Page 25 of Operation Sunshine
As Ben flushed and headed back inside, Franco allowed himself one brief moment of quiet satisfaction.
Let the others panic. Let them sabotage and strategise.
He’d play the long game.
After all, who better to handle a control-freak restaurateur with a hidden smile than a charming saboteur who knew exactly what he was doing?
Even if he was starting to mean it.
Franco pushed through the swinging door with the dramatic flair of a man returning from war, shedding his apron like a cloak. The kitchen was in its usual state of barely controlled chaos: the prep station was half-sanitised, someone’s phone was blasting ABBA from a shelf above the spices, and Raj was arguing with the sous-vide machine again.
Chloe looked up from polishing cutlery. “Well?”
Willow appeared behind a stack of ramekins, her arms crossed. “Did you distract him, or did you just stand there and blink at each other like socially repressed Sims?”
Franco dropped onto a crate near the fridge, shaking his head in mock despair. “You wound me. I was exquisite. Ben smiled—voluntarily, I might add. He even made a joke.”
Gasps echoed all around him.
Raj paused mid-stir. “A joke? Did he hurt himself?”
“No.” Franco grinned. “Although he looked confused afterward, as though joy was unfamiliar terrain.”
Chloe scoffed. “I’m not convinced it was nothing more than a glitch in the matrix.”
Willow leaned forward. “So did you actually flirt, or just... hover attractively?”
Franco reached for a slice of sourdough someone had left unattended. “Hovering is also a form of flirting, I’ll have you know. So is lingering.Andmeaningful eye contact.” He buffed his nails on his shirt. “And Imayhave said something about seduction tactics.”
Ollie looked up from his task of silently butchering a lemon as if it owed him money. “Wait, did you kiss him?”
Everyone paused, all eyes on Franco.
He gaped at them. “Of course I didn’t. This isn’t some bloody soap opera, and I’m not trying to get fired. Well, notyet, anyway.”
“Coward,” Raj muttered.
Willow snorted. “Okay, but here’s the important question—did it work? Did he forget the inventory log?”
Franco gave a regal little nod. “Temporarily. He’s gone back to theoffice to reconsider the futility of spreadsheets. But I did get him out of there, if only for a moment.” He took a half bow. “You’re welcome.”
Chloe tossed a dish towel over her shoulder. “Well done, Your Highness. Now we just need you to keep this up until we can swap the break schedule back and ‘lose’ the portion scoops again.”
Franco arched a brow. “You people are monsters. Handsome ones, but monsters.”
Willow leaned against the bench with a wicked grin. “And you’re our sacrificial lamb. Or should I say—our thirsty decoy.”
Franco raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep him charmed. But I expect hazard pay. And possibly a staff award titled ‘Most Likely to Tame the Spreadsheet Demon.’”
“You’re not taming him,” Raj called from the sink. “You’re simply distracting him with cheekbones and chaos.”
Franco pouted. “Hey, you didn’t mention my fabulous arse. I’d call that a distraction.”
Willow jerked her head toward the door at the sound of footsteps. “Showtime!”
Chloe shoved Franco toward the coffee machine. “Make yourself look useful. Make eye contact. Lower your voice.Brood, damn it!”
Franco grabbed a rag and began sensually wiping the espresso machine as though he was in a European indie film.
