Best of Bosses 2008(58)

So soon? He carefully schooled his voice to neutral. ‘Sure. I’ll tell her. Thanks for calling.’

But when he replaced the receiver he sat for a while with his elbows propped against his desk and his chin resting on his hands, staring into space.

Fran could move back home again.

Out of his flat.

He didn’t actually have to tell her about the call. He could just ‘forget’. But she’d find out anyway because the letting agency was bound to ring again to see when she was planning to move back in.

Part of him wanted to give her the message—and then ask her not to go. To stay with him, to move in to his flat properly.

The more sensible part of him knew it was a bad idea. For a start, he didn’t know if she’d say yes: Fran had already made it clear that she liked having her own space, and she took up so little room in his flat that you’d hardly know she was staying. Even in the bathroom, her things were kept neatly and separately from his, and could be packed in about three seconds.

But even if she did say yes…he still wasn’t sure. Was he simply trying to fit into the role his family wanted for him, settling down at last? Or did he want Fran for himself? And was he the right one for her in any case? Would he end up letting her down, the way he’d screwed up with his family all those years ago?

He didn’t have the answers. Needed time to work it out.

Which meant letting her go back to her own place.

And didn’t they say that if you wanted someone to stay, you had to give them the freedom to go?

Lord, he hoped she’d decide to stay.



When Fran returned from lunch with Jude, full of smiles and laughter, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the news straight away. It took him an hour to work up to it. And then, keeping his voice light, he said, ‘Sorry, I meant to tell you. The letting agency rang while you were at lunch. Your flat’s ready.’

‘Right.’ Her expression went straight into neutral. Which meant he hadn’t a clue what was going on in her head. Couldn’t read a single signal.

‘So I wondered if you wanted a hand. Maybe paint the place the colour you like, before you move back in.’ In other words, stay with him a bit longer.

‘I…Thanks. That’d be nice.’

He wasn’t sure if her smile reached her eyes, because she’d turned away.

‘I need to get a new sofa bed, too. And shelving. And curtains.’ She shrugged. ‘Though the colour’s going to depend on what colour carpet they’ve put in. Something neutral, I hope.’

‘Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off and go have a look?’ he suggested. ‘You’ve put in more than enough hours lately to make up the time. And it’d be better to see it in daylight than evening light.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

He smiled. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Sure.’

Though he noticed she didn’t kiss him goodbye.

He really, really hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. But he had a nasty feeling that everything was unravelling around them.



Well, what did you expect? Fran asked herself as she got on to the Tube. That he’d ask you not to go—that he’d suggest moving in with him properly?

How stupid could she get?

Number one, this had all started off as a fake relationship, to keep his family happy.

Number two, what had happened between them since her flat had been flooded—well, despite that amazing night where he’d cooked for her and made love with her in a bed of rose petals, to the point where she’d felt as if their souls had connected, it was still early days. And the fact that Gio was prepared to let her go so easily showed that he wasn’t ready to make their relationship a real one.

He might never be ready.

It wasn’t necessarily her—if she thought about it rationally, she knew Gio probably wouldn’t be ready to commit to anyone for a long, long time, because nothing was going to tame his restlessness—but it still hurt. And it was very clear to her now that once she’d moved back to her own flat and Isabella had returned to Milan, later in the week, they’d be reverting to their original plan.

Ending the ‘relationship’ quietly.

She knew now that she couldn’t face working with him afterwards. Not as his ‘ex’. Having to deal with the disappointment of his family and the sympathy of their colleagues would be way too messy. And the idea of watching from the sidelines when Gio was ready to let himself fall in love—with someone else…

It left her no choice.

Quite how she was going to get through Isabella’s farewell dinner, she had no idea. But she was going to act as if her life depended on it. No way was she going to let Gio see how much this hurt.