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

      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