Chapter Six
Franco was elbow-deep in basil oil when Willow slid into the kitchen like a feral cat.
“Operation Distracto is a go,” she whispered.
Franco glanced up in time to see her snatch a cherry tomato off the prep counter. “If this is another plan to slip tequila into the tiramisu, count me out. I’m still recovering from Raj’s ‘Jell-O Shot Thursdays,’” he groused.
She smirked as she leaned against the worktop. “Better.” She lowered her voice. “ You’re going to seduce the boss.”
Franco froze, his chef’s knife hovering mid-slice. “Come again?”
Willow leaned in conspiratorially. “Ben’s driving everyone quietly insane with his little clipboard. You’re the only one who doesn’t freeze up when he’s within a five-metre radius. Ergo—diversion duty. Keep him distracted while we all adjust to his... corporate feng shui.”
“By ‘distract,’ you mean...?”
She gave an innocent shrug. “Flirt. Confuse. Keep him from noticing Ollie still hasn’t updated inventory or that Chloe keeps sneaking outside for smokos that last longer than her shifts. ”
Franco snorted, resuming his slicing. “So, you want me to be a sexy smoke screen?”
“Exactly.”
He huffed. “You’re all cowards.”
Willow let out a snort. “And you’re the only one who doesn’t mind his resting tax audit face.”
Franco rolled his eyes. Deep down, however, the suggestion didn’t sit wrong.
Quite the opposite, in fact. Ben had been making changes with the precision of a scalpel, not a machete, but still…
This was a staff used to improv and duct tape.
Structure wasn’t sexy. Ben Whitaker, on the other hand?
Too neat, too careful... and somehow still utterly watchable.
Franco sighed and wiped his hands. “Fine. I’ll keep him busy. But if I end up in a team-building seminar because of this, I’m burning down HR.”
Willow patted his arm. “That’s the spirit.” She left him to his basil.
He smiled to himself. I’m way ahead of you lot. Flirting with Ben at the market had been fun: sure, he’d been testing the waters to see how far he could push. But to be given the green light to flirt? Besides, Franco did that with everyone.
That doesn’t mean it has to go anywhere.
He knew better.
Franco wore his heart on his sleeve with everyone else, but when it came to his own emotions?
He built walls.
By the time lunch rolled around, the restaurant was mid-chaos with a side of espresso. The dish station was newly rearranged—Ben’s doing—which meant no one could find anything, and Raj was muttering like a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown .
“I swear to God, if he moves the sanitiser again, I’m going to sanitise him ,” Raj growled, elbow-deep in foam and frustration.
In the front, Chloe kept “forgetting” her break schedule, and Ollie had definitely poured himself an “accidental” Negroni at 11.30 a.m. The new portion control scoops Ben had introduced were already mysteriously missing: Willow claimed the dishwasher “ate them.”
Franco found Ben in the back office, his sleeves rolled up, his brow furrowed as he stared at a colour-coded spreadsheet.
“You know,” Franco said, leaning in the doorway, “the more serious your face gets, the more I’m convinced you used to be a tax collector in a previous life.”
Ben looked up, startled. “Is the kitchen on fire?”
“No more than usual.”
He blinked at Franco, his brow furrowed with obvious suspicion. “Then why are you here?”
Franco stepped inside, his hands in his pockets. “I thought you could use a break. You’ve been glaring at Excel for over an hour. It’s starting to fight back.”
Ben rubbed his temples. “I’m just trying to get the margins to make sense. Some of the dishes are wildly underpriced. Did you know the duck confit is barely breaking even?”
“I did not,” Franco said in a light tone. “But I do know it makes people happy.”
Ben gave him a dry look. “Happiness doesn’t pay the rent.”
Franco tilted his head, watching him. “You always this charming when you talk cost efficiency?”
Something flickered in Ben’s eyes. “Only when seduced by financial ruin.”
Franco grinned. “God, you’re fun when you let yourself be.”
Ben dropped his gaze to his desk. He looked tired. Except it was more than that. He looked worn, as if the effort to steer a new ship without mutiny was fraying him at the edges.
“How’s it really going?” Franco asked, his voice more hushed .
Ben looked up, then leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Some of the changes are working. The bottleneck at the dish station’s starting to clear, and I’ve seen less food wastage since I introduced the new portion guidelines. But it’s slow. And I can feel everyone is still a bit resistant.”
Franco raised an eyebrow. “You surprised about that last bit?”
“No. Impatient, maybe. I know it takes time. I just—I want to do this right, without being the villain.”
Franco walked over and perched on the edge of the desk. “You’re not the villain, mate. You’re the guy trying to turn a leaky boat into something that floats. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but nobody hates you.”
Ben gave a wan smile. “Willow suggested I ‘loosen my aura.’” He huffed. “I’m not even sure what that means.”
“It probably means stop looking as if you’re about to file a complaint with the universe.” He stilled when a low laugh rolled out of Ben. Franco smiled. “And there it is.”
The chink in Ben’s armour.
Ben glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression. “Why are you really here, Franco?”
“Is this some metaphysical question, or do you want to know how I ended up at this place?”
He chuckled. “Neither of those. I wondered what you were doing in my office.”
Franco tilted his head. “Would you believe I enjoy your company?”
There was a pause, then Ben smiled. “Actually... yeah, I would.”
The silence stretched, charged and a little dangerous.
Franco nudged him with his knee. “C’mon. You’ve earned ten minutes of daylight. Step outside with me before you calcify.”
Ben hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Ten minutes.”
They ended up leaning against the rear wall, beneath the meagre protection of a dripping awning, watching rain drops bounce off the patio tables.
“I bet it’s great out here in the summer,” Ben murmured .
Franco pointed to the gazebo that stretched out over the rear garden.
“This is covered with millions of tiny white lights. And Raj’s hubby Arun makes hanging baskets filled with the most gorgeous flowers.
There’s a sound system too.” He glanced at Ben, his lips twitching when he noticed Ben pat his pocket as though searching for his ever-present notepad.
Franco snickered. “You ever actually stop moving, or is that illegal where you’re from? ”
Ben chuckled. “Only if someone schedules it.”
They stood there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, the cold air between them warming slightly.
“Do you really think this place can work?” Ben asked after a beat. “Long-term?”
Franco thought about it: the cracked tiles, the temperamental oven, the staff who were more like a dysfunctional band than employees.
“I think it already does,” he said finally. “It just doesn’t look the way you’re used to.”
Ben nodded. “Then maybe I need to change how I look at it.”
Franco glanced sideways, smirking. “Now that’s a seduction technique.”
Ben shot him a dry look. “Am I being seduced?”
Franco’s grin deepened. “Was that an invitation? I mean, do you want to be seduced?”
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. And meaningful eye contact.” He buffed his nails on his shirt. “And I may have 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, not yet , 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 the office 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.”