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Stick Shift
Mary Leo
Girl, get it in gear!Lucy Mastronardo is heading in the right direction–good job, good apartment, good fiancé–until a detour to Naples throws her off the map! Sure, she's just days away from tying the knot, but her next big promotion hits a roadblock and Lucy can't steer away from the last-minute business trip. With reassurances to everyone, including her vanilla-pudding-cup fiancé, she vows to return before she has to say, "I do."Lucy's certain she'll have everything sorted out in no time. But then her drop-dead due dates are laid to waste by the wacky staff and the tempting restaurant owner next door. The one who makes her think there's more to life than deadlines and rules.Will Lucy continue her drive in automatic–or will she take control and learn to downshift…?
Dear Reader,
About three years ago, when I was living in Irvine, California, I accepted a job at a high-tech company in San Diego, about one hundred miles away. I worked twelve hours on my first day, and for almost three months afterward I never had a day off. During that time I became a regular at the local hotels and motels, courtesy of my new employer. At one point, when I had stayed in San Diego longer than anticipated, I was stuck wearing the same outfit for three straight days. My company generously provided me with its very own top-of-the-line logo clothing: two blouses and an oversize sweatshirt.
When the chip finally taped out, the project team was treated to lunch at a trendy beachfront restaurant. I hitched a ride back to work with my boss in his black Lamborghini. And as the world sped by me, the idea for Stick Shift was born.
This is my first book, and I’m thrilled to be a part of the FLIPSIDE series. I so look forward to writing many more, because I now have the time—I don’t have that twelve-hours-a-day job anymore, and just between you and me, I burned the logo clothing.
Best wishes!
Mary Leo
“This food should not be fed to a dog!” the deep voice growled beside her
It had been a miserable transatlantic flight, and now Mr. Charming Italian—who smelled deliciously of garlic—wanted to complain about his breakfast. He might be gorgeous, but Lucy wished he would just shut up.
Actually, she thought her tiny omelette du jour, filled with some kind of unrecognizable cheeselike substance, was rather tasty.
“How you eat that? It’s not food. It’s plastic.”
Despite herself, Lucy had to answer him. “I think it’s wonderful! Best eggs I’ve ever eaten.”
He made a dismissive gesture and called for an attendant.
Lucy continued to enjoy her breakfast, making little yummy sounds as she chewed. Though parts of the omelette were beginning to taste like dishwater, she’d never say so out loud.
“Take this away. I should eat my shoe rather than smell what you call an omelette,” he said to the male flight attendant. “Look,” he continued as he pulled off his black leather sandal and everyone turned to watch, even Lucy. “My shoe tastes better.” He took a bite.
Ironically, part of his sandal came off in his mouth. Lucy couldn’t believe her eyes. Mr. Garlic was actually chewing his shoe.
Stick Shift
Mary Leo
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stick Shift is Mary Leo’s debut novel. She's had careers as a salesgirl in Chicago, a cocktail waitress and keno runner in Las Vegas, a bartender in Silicon Valley and a production assistant in Hollywood. She has recently given up her career as an IC layout engineer to pursue her constant passion: writing romance.
Mary now lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and new puppy.
To my provocative husband, my three incredible children, RWASD, WA, Kathryn Lye, Janet Wellington and the hardworking women in electronics
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
1
LOVE WAS highly overrated, Lucy Mastronardo thought as she yawned and set her alarm clock for 5:00 a.m. All that spooning and mooning crap was for romance novels and love songs, not for real life.
She had always dreamed of the logical mate: a man who had the same goals as she did, a man who found happiness in schedule and conformity, a man who planned out every detail of his life, their life, a man who happily sent her off to another continent a week before their wedding because it was “good for your career.”
Yes, she could sleep quite soundly knowing that computers made the world go round, not love.
BY THE TIME Lucy awoke at six, having managed to sleep right through the alarm clock’s annoying buzz, she was already running late.
The drive on Interstate 280 out of San Jose, California was not what she had expected. Normally, on a Sunday morning it was an empty freeway, but there had been two minor accidents, turning the quick forty-five-minute jaunt into a tedious hour-and-a-half drive.
Then, as if that wasn’t frustrating enough, she needed to call her mother to tell her where she was going and why. But the thought of talking to her mother while she tried to maneuver a crowded freeway gave her an immediate stomachache. She decided to put the call off until later, way later, when she was stationary and had some control over her emotions. If she phoned now, she would probably end up causing accident number three and totally miss her flight. Definitely not an option.
Parking at San Francisco airport should have been a snap, but, of course, she had to circle and circle and circle the lot some more, driving up one aisle and down another, until she ended up following a middle-aged man and his white standard-sized poodle through the maze of cars as though she was on stalking detail for the FBI.
When the poodle-man finally found his vehicle, he messed around inside playing with his dog until Lucy was ready to get out and slug him.
Finally, she tapped her horn.
He turned around to look at her.
The poodle turned around to look at her.
They both gave her the evil eye before he drove away.
Fine, she thought, I’m starting my trip out with a curse from a guy and his dog.
The scene inside the airport wasn’t any better. From the moment she rolled her suitcase onto the speckled high-grade linoleum, it had been a test of will. Long lines choked the airport, turning the whole travel experience into a nightmare journey.
Fortunately, Alitalia’s line seemed to be shorter than the others, which was a good thing, considering she had less than an hour to board her flight to Rome.
While she stood in line with the hundreds of other harried souls in the crowded airport, trifling with the prospect of making that phone call to her mother, and once again deciding to do it later, a young girl in some kind of blue uniform handed out cookies from a silver tray. Like a cookie was somehow going to sooth nerves and make the wait a more pleasurable experience. On the other hand, Lucy mused, if cookie-girl were handing out day-long passes to a spa or vouchers for free housekeeping, now that would most definitely turn this wait into something worth waiting for.
Silly thoughts made the time pass quickly and after Lucy got her prized boarding pass, she had to sprint to the gate, nearly knocking down a few people along the way, until she caught up to a guy who stood in front of her on the moving walkway. He wouldn’t step to the right so she could get around him. An annoying guy, with a Giorgio Armani black suede jacket slung over his shoulder, carrying a totally “now” Louis Vuitton brown bag, wearing obviously Italian sandals. The man was an ad for high fashion, who remained ahead of her right before the X-ray line.
He took forever to put his things up on the conveyor belt, as if each item were something sacred, something precious.
Lucy thought about going to the other line, but it was even longer. She wondered why she had hesitated. Why she had stayed to watch when she was in such a hurry. She drew in a deep breath while leaning slightly forward and immediately knew the answer. It was his scent of garlic, not the kind that repelled, but the fresh kind. The aroma that permeates the air when you cut into a really sweet clove.
He went to the tray and removed a small ladle from his shirt pocket, a few dollar bills from another, a garlic press and a head of garlic from his jacket. The security guard immediately confiscated the garlic press.
Lucy stood right next to him while he emptied his pants pockets of change, car keys, a silver money-clip, a clump of fresh basil and a handful of pistachios.
After he finally walked through without a beep or a buzz, and the guards were satisfied that a garlic press couldn’t be used as a weapon, he stuffed everything back into his pockets, one item at a time. She never got a good look at him because he never quite turned around, but it didn’t matter. It was the familiar scent that had lured her—garlic, the scent of romantic dinners and passionate love.
Seth, her fiancé and soon-to-be husband, was allergic to garlic. It gave him diarrhea and cramps.
Frustrated with the whole spice adventure, Lucy flew past Garlic Man without so much as a question from the guards or a beep from the metal detector; she had been very careful packing.
Suddenly, there was less than ten minutes to catch her flight. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Garlic’s scent, and the fact that he looked oh-so-sweet from behind, she would have pushed him aside and yelled out her annoyance. Garlic mixed with a little basil were foods she had learned to live without. Like onions, all they did was give you bad breath and indigestion. But for a moment, a twinkle in time, she had enjoyed the ambiance.
She ran the rest of the way. Fortunately, the boarding gate wasn’t very far. Her momentary foolishness about a common herb had almost cost her the flight. She and someone running up behind her were the last two people to board the plane.
Lucy found her row and sat next to the window. Just as she secured her seatbelt and let out an I-made-it sigh, the Italian Garlic Show walked up, boarding pass in hand.
Before she had time to react to the amazing coincidence he said, “Scusi, signorina, but you are in my seat.”
She turned. “I don’t think so,” Lucy said, annoyed. “I always sit next to the window.”
“Yes. It helps from getting nauseous,” he said, standing in the aisle, looking down on her.
“No. I don’t get sick. I just like the view.”
“And what a beautiful view it is,” he said, obviously flirting.
She blushed and pulled out her ticket. Sure enough, she was in the wrong seat. “I’m sorry. I just assumed—”
“An easy mistake,” he said and just stood there. Waiting.
She waited, thinking he would be the gentleman and tell her to stay where she was.
He didn’t.
“Please take your seats,” a male flight attendant said.
Mr. Garlic smiled.
Lucy smiled, but no one moved.
“Is there a problem?” the attendant asked.
“No. No problem,” Lucy said.
“We’ll be taking off shortly. Please be seated,” the attendant repeated.
“Certainly,” Mr. Garlic said, smiling. But he didn’t budge.
Finally, Lucy gave in with a huff. She gathered her belongings and moved out of the row.
“Grazie,” he said and climbed into his victory, sliding his bag under the seat in front of him and draping his jacket around his shoulders, then carefully fastening his seatbelt.
When he finally settled down, he turned and threw Lucy a contented smile, as if he wanted to start up a conversation on the virtues of correct seating or something.
She was so not in the mood for his smiling chatter.
Instead, she decided to ignore him for the rest of the trip. If she wanted to look out of the window she would gaze out of the opposite one. However, there were three rather large people sitting across the aisle from her, entirely blocking any hopes of seeing anything.
Fine, she thought. I’ll just work and sleep. I have a lot to do to prepare for my meeting. I don’t need a view.
But a curious thing happened once she strapped herself in and the plane shook with its thrust down the runway. Despite her circumstances and the weirdo sitting next to her, instead of apprehension and her usual flight-fright, Lucy felt excitement.
