“That man isnotJ. T. I’ll be just fine. ”
Britt was distantly aware that every time she heard the nameJ. T.,it was like a tiny mallet was driving a tiny tack into her heart.
“Ookaaay,” Sherrie said dubiously. “But if—”
But Britt had dropped off her orders with a pair of diners and zipped over to Franco’s table.
“I’m Britt,” she said briskly. “I’ll be your server. What can we get started for you?”
“Well, hello Britt. I’m Franco Francone,” he said to Britt. “Maybe you’ve seenBlood Brothers?”
He clapped his menu shut, leaning back, and smiled at her as ifshewas the best thing to happen to him all day and was positive he was the best thing to ever happen toher. She could imagine this pretty effectively captivated a large portion of the female population.
She, of course, only knew Franco Francone as one of the stars of the “Controversy” section of J. T.’s Wikipedia page.
“So I’m told by every single person in this place, Mr.Francone, and if they didn’t tell me, all those heads craning in your direction might be a hint. Forgive me, but I never did watch your show. What can I get for you?”
“J. T. said I should open with ‘I have a Porsche.’ which must mean that won’t impress you in the least. Because he’s not going to give me any kind of advantage with someone as gorgeous as you.”
J. T.Tap. A little spike right into her heart.
She was immune to Franco Francone, though.
Well, mostly.
“Isn’t that cute, Mr.Francone. I’m guessing he knows you pretty well.” She said this ironically.
She realized too late that Sherrie may have had a point. She might not actually be equal to a conversation that featured the nameJ. T.She could feel herself weakening. As if she was actually losing blood with every mention of his name.
“What impresses you, Britt?” Franco asked.
“Customers who eat fast and leave big tips.”
He laughed. “J. T. and I are friends. And I get the sense that you’re loyal, Britt, which is a great quality. Maybe my favorite quality in a person. But right now you’re being loyal to a guy who’s probably negotiating a reunion with his ex-girlfriend. And I hate to say it, but Rebecca always gets what she wants.”
He said this almost apologetically. But grimly, too.
He must have seen something in her expression then, because he leaned back suddenly.
“Whoa,” he said. “You’re even scarier than Rebecca when you’re mad.”
“You’re a bit confused, Mr.Francone,” she said smoothly. “I frankly don’t care about any of that or either of them. I do care about what you might want for breakfast.”
“Good to hear. Want to go for a ride in my Porsche after breakfast?”
“I’m not a golden retriever, Mr.Francone. Acarride doesn’t excite me. What can I get for you?”
“Then let me take you to dinner. Because I already like you. And I think you’re stunning. J. T. always did have a flawless eye for singular beauty. No wonder he was so closemouthed about you.”
Singular? She almost snorted. “Everyone likes me, Mr.Francone. Being likeable is a minimum requirement of my job. I’m aware I have a certain appeal. And I’m not certain I likeyou.”
He was smiling at her in earnest now, a real smile. “You will be by the end of dinner.”
And for a mad millisecond she wavered. She suspected an evening with him would be entertaining, or at least yield a story to tell later, if nothing else.
“It might make J. T.su-ffer,” he wheedled on a singsong.
It was the wrong thing to say.