Hot Potato

17. Decision Time

"Avert your eyes, Gianna. You shouldn't see this."

I winced. Think fast – how do I get out of this one? "They're far better in the flesh than on the screen."

Duncan laughed. "There's your disarming humour, Gianna. Turning dark to light." He moused the cursor to the top left and clicked the red to close the window.

I breathed a sigh, more audibly than I had intended.

"Indeed! Appears Freddy was into porn. Acceptable behaviour, but not at all appropriate for work." He clicked the >> on the bookmark bar. "Let me see what else he had in here."

I stood close behind him, looking over his shoulder as he crouched to scroll through the bookmarks and browsing history. After a minute or so, he said, "So far, nothing untoward. Seems he had used incognito windows for non-work."

"Yeah, he must have. But not for the food sites; his bookmarks and history are a treasure trove for me. If he looked for PR agents, I'll likely find them here. Also, in the email archives."

"I'll leave you to that, then." He straightened up from the computer and turned, his arm brushing across my breasts and his face reddening as he realised. "Oh, gosh! So clumsy of me. So sorry."

"No, it was me. I was standing too close."

"There you are again, Gianna, accepting undeserved blame. I knew you were close, so I should have been more careful."

I chuckled. "And who's now taking the blame? What if I had wanted the contact?"

Duncan tilted his head. "Did you?"

I shrugged. "Do you?"

"Oh, fu-fuddle. You fuddle my mind." His face was again well reddened.

I took three steps back and nodded to the swelling down his thigh. "Among other things, it appears."

"Fuu..." He shook his head. "Oh, fuck the propriety. Fuck, you're hot. Fucking hot."

I giggled. "Not appropriate language for work, but perfectly fine in bed."

He stood with his mouth agape, moving but speechless.

Too far, Gigi. Then nodding toward the corner, I said, "Let's sit for a while. Allow your excitement to ease."

Duncan bobbed his head. "Thank you. Can't go out there like this."

As we settled into chairs at the small, round table, I asked, "Will Mr Colewell understand the need for marketing?"

"If I explain it as you have."

"And the need to remain closed for a week or more?"

"What? Why that long?"

"To reestablish accounts with the suppliers, to create new dishes and menus, to train the cooks how to prepare and plate them, to teach the servers how to describe and sell them, to have the sommelier design a complementary wine list, to –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! So much. But, yes, I see the need for time."

"And to find a marketing company to put together a program to entice the public. Remember, it's not a case of build it, and they will come."

Duncan bobbed his head for a while in silence, then he said, "It would be best if you speak with him."

"Probably."

"I have a progress meeting with him tomorrow morning. You could do it then."

"By phone? On Zoom?"

"No, in person. He doesn't do electronic meetings unless the distance dictates."