Beauty and the Brooding Boss

by Barbara Wallace

  Babysitter. He meant her. That meant he was talking to Stuart Lefkowitz. Trying to get rid of her perhaps?

  Crossing the main space toward the doorway, she stopped shy of the entrance and peered through the crack. Markoff had his back to her. She could see his shoulder muscles rippling with tension beneath his shirt. When he turned, she saw a similar tautness playing across his profile.

  “Did it ever occur to you,” he said, “that I can’t write with someone breathing down my neck twentyfour seven?”

  Alex’s jaw twitched while he listened to the voice on the other end. Suddenly, his eyes grew disbelieving. “What did you say? Yes, I know what ‘breach of contract’ means. You wouldn’t…”

  There was silence, followed by a slow controlled intake of breath. Incredulity had changed to outright fury. “Fine. You’ll get your damn book.”

  Kelsey jumped as he slammed the cell phone on his desk. Breach of contract? They were threatening legal action? No wonder Mr. Lefkowitz had been so adamant about her staying. And no wonder Markoff resented her. He was right. She was a babysitter.

  On the other side of the door, Alex let out a frustrated groan, and she heard footsteps. Fearing discovery, she instinctively drew back, scrambling mentally for an explanation should she be confronted for eavesdropping. A second later, the banging of a door told her she was safe; that he’d left through the garden. Sure enough, looking outside, she could see him stomping off toward the woods.

  With the angry conversation she heard fresh in her mind, she finally let out the sigh she’d been holding since her arrival.

  This was going to be a long summer.

  That night Kelsey unpacked, settling into the room that would be her home for the next three months. Since Alex never mentioned which bedroom would be hers, she selected one that looked like a guest room. Like the front of the house, the room she picked was dark and woodsy, draped in hunter green and brown. The only thing missing was a deer head hanging on the wall.

  The aroma of cedar wafted from the closet, adding to the rustic appeal. As she unpacked her clothes, she tried to count the number of times she’d gone through this routine. And it was a routine. First came the bureau, taking up as little drawer space as possible—a throwback to sharing a room with multiple people—then the closet. The entire process seldom took more than fifteen minutes. She’d learned early to travel light and not get too settled, so all her worldly possessions fit into two large suitcases. This summer it was the most she’d ever packed, she noted. Then again, the two years she just spent subletting was the longest she’d ever spent in one place. Guess in sticking around, she’d acquired a few more things.

  Closet done, she reached for her satchel, the final part of her ritual. Immediately, her fingers found her most prized possession. The ceramic mug was cool to the touch despite sitting in her bag all day long. Hard to believe that once upon a time, brightly painted flowers had circled its surface. They were nothing more than faded speckles of paint now. There was a crack along the top of the handle from too many washings. Smiling, Kelsey cradled the mug in her palm. She could picture the same mug, colors still bright, resting on a countertop, a female hand pouring coffee into it. If she tried really hard, she could picture her mother bringing the cup to her lips, though as time passed, that memory got harder and harder to conjure up.

  All of a sudden she felt overwhelmingly small and alone, as if the simple act of remembering transported her back in time. For a moment, she wasn’t a grown woman controlling her own destiny, but a little girl back in the system, gripping the last talisman she had from her old life. Living with her mother hadn’t been great, but at least she’d been wanted. At least that’s how she chose to remember those years.

  She leaned against the headboard, knees drawn close, the mug pressed to her breast. This was part of the routine too, this momentary lapse into loneliness. She’d get over it soon enough. She always did. Soon as she familiarized herself with the surroundings. Although this time the feelings were stronger than usual. Hardly surprising given Alex’s animosity.

  She gave herself five more minutes of self-pity, then put the emotion back on the shelf and walked to the window. Her bedroom overlooked a less landscaped part of the garden, closer to the trees, increasing the feeling of isolation. Outside, through the tree line, she noticed the sky still bore traces of daylight even though it felt far later. “Country living,” she mused, raising the sash. The greeting quiet was unsettling. Nothing but the rustle of leaves and a few intermittent high-pitched trills. How on earth would she sleep without the under-current of traffic? Or streetlights? Didn’t Markoff believe in outdoor lighting?

  Of course not, she answered with a roll of her eyes. Lights would ruin the whole “darkness” theme he had going.

  To her right, a branch snapped. She leaned over the sill, half expecting—or maybe fully expecting—to see a wild animal dashing out from the trees. What she saw instead surprised her more. It was the silhouette of a man.

  Markoff.

  He was walking the perimeter of the property, just inside the tree line. Head down, he picked his way carefully, as if counting his steps. Kelsey watched him approach with a catch in her throat. He looked so alone. Not at all like the hostile man who had greeted her this afternoon. This man reminded her of a specter. That was the only word she could think to describe him. There but not there.

  He came closer, and Kelsey drew back, not wanting to get caught watching. No sooner did she pull into the shadows than she noticed he’d stopped. His face slanted upward to her window. Kelsey stifled a gasp. What light remained hit his eyes just right, turning them to shining silver. Even from two stories up, she could see the emotion churning behind them, bright and unguarded. She couldn’t name what emotion she saw, but whatever it was, it struck a familiar chord, pulling her in and making her insides twist. It felt like he was looking straight at her. Or rather, inside her. Which was silly, since he couldn’t see her from where she stood.

  Eventually he moved on, leaving the night air charged with his presence. Quietly, Kelsey lowered the shade. A few moments later, she heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by a bedroom door clicking shut.

  His room was next to hers. She hadn’t realized. Through the wall, she heard the scraping of a chair and she swore what sounded like a long, desolate sigh followed by another and another, each sounding more frustrated than the next. Suddenly there was the rattling rush of glass and paper punctuated by a groan. The door opened and footsteps, heavy, angry footsteps, sounded in the hall. Kelsey knew the front door would slam before she heard it.

  Okay, so maybe she was wrong about the nighttime quiet. But she was right about it being a long summer. Maybe she should have stayed in New York and worked those three jobs after all.

  And be tied to Grandma Rosie’s debt for even longer.

  Letting out a long breath, she collapsed backwards on the bed. “Thanks a lot, Grandma,” she muttered. Looked like Markoff wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a choice.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “ALL I can say is thank God for coffee. Especially—” Kelsey took a long sip “—fresh-ground Italian roast. I swear this stuff might be the only thing keeping me upright today.”

  Her companion, a large orange tabby, said nothing. Kelsey had found the furry critter dozing on the terrace when she arrived at dawn, and he’d been keeping her company ever since. She suspected the animal was a stray. Unless Alex had a hidden soft spot, she didn’t see him as the pet-owning type.

  Then again, those eyes she saw last night definitely hid something….

  Forget it. He didn’t deserve sympathetic thoughts. Not after the way he kept her up last night with his continual pacing and sighing.

  “I thought writing was a sitting profession, not one that required moving across the floor all night long.” She took another drink and waited for the caffeine to kick in. She was going to need to be alert if she was going to spend the day deciphering his handwriting. “I’ll tell you
one thing, Puddin’-cat, I don’t care how brilliant a writer he is, the man definitely needs to improve his social skills. He acts like my being here is some kind of plague. How much you want to bet he’s annoyed that I helped myself to the coffee this morning?”

  The cat pulled a paw over its eyes in response.

  “Exactly,” Kelsey replied. “Though seems to me, if you’re going to leave a fresh pot brewing at the crack of dawn, you shouldn’t be surprised when people help themselves.” The smell alone had been nirvana after a sleepless night. “Fair’s fair, right?”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Kelsey nearly jumped out of her skin. Standing at the edge of the terrace was a very dark and bothered Alex Markoff.

  Immediately, her insides somersaulted. How was it he could look so intimidatingly perfect at this hour? He wore a navy blue T-shirt the same shade as his sling, the hem of which skimmed the waistband of his jeans. Jeans, she noted, that looked made to hug his hips. He’d been up and about from the looks of it. His skin glistened with perspiration, the moisture darkening the collar of his shirt. Dark curls peeked out from the back of his neck with the unruliness that only came from damp hair. Though it shouldn’t, seeing them made her wonder what he might look like stepping from the shower.

  “Good morning,” she said once she caught her breath.

  He stared at her with unreadable eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you talking to?”

  “Just the—” She pointed to the sunny spot on a terrace that was now deserted. “Myself.”

  “Do you always do that?”

  “When there’s no one else to talk with. What’s that they say, ‘You’re your own best company’?”

  “So I’ve always believed.”

  As she tucked her hair behind her ear, Kelsey swore he checked for an earpiece. Really, did he think she was lying? “Looks like I’m not the only morning person after all. I helped myself to the coffee, by the way.”

  “I heard.”

  Along with how much else? Quickly, she raised her mug, hoping he wouldn’t notice her skin flushing. “Have you been up long?” she asked over the rim. “I would think after such a long night, you’d be sleeping in.”

  “Why do you think I had a long night?”

  Why did he seem to scrutinize everything she said as though she had a hidden meaning? Along with staring at her with those probing gray eyes?

  “I heard you,” she explained, resisting the urge to duck her head like a nervous teenager. “Kind of hard not to, actually. Old house, thin rooms. You sigh loudly.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh, indeed.

  “I take it writing didn’t go well last night?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I don’t know, to make conversation?” She shrugged. “Do I have to have a reason?”

  “There’s always a reason.”

  “Well, in this case, my reason was to be friendly. After all, we’re going to spend the summer working together, we might as well be civil to one another, right?”

  He gave her a long look. Gauging her sincerity? While she waited, the part of her not insulted used the standoff to study his face, catching the details she’d been too overwhelmed to notice before. Things like the tanned complexion, the faint scar on the bridge of his nose, the curve of his Cupid’s bow.

  And, of course, the emotion behind his eyes. Yet again it struck her that there was something sad and painful behind their turbulence. A kind of longing, perhaps.

  Or loneliness.

  What was his story? She really should have done some research before taking this job.

  Her curiosity would have to go unexamined as the sound of crunching gravel on the other side of the house interrupted the standoff. Soon as he heard the noise, Alex’s expression changed. Again. His shoulders straightened and a soft curse escaped his lips.

  “What?” Kelsey was having trouble keeping up with his collection of abrupt moods. Naturally he didn’t answer. Like yesterday, he simply turned and walked off leaving her to follow. She turned the corner in time to see a burly tree-trunk of a man step out of a green pickup with the words Leafy Bean, Farley Grangerfield Prop. painted on the side. The man looked from Alex to her with interest, but said nothing. Not surprising given the dark warning plastered all over Alex’s face.

  Continuing in silence, both men reached over the side of the truck bed and each grabbed two canvas bags laden with groceries. Alex, she noted, carried both with his good arm. As the stranger passed, he shot her another look. “Last two bags won’t unload themselves.”

  Taking the hint, Kelsey hustled to the truck to see they’d, fortunately, left her what looked like the two lightest bags. She brought them into the kitchen where she found the two men wordlessly unpacking groceries and arranging them on the kitchen table. The door swung shut behind her, causing them to both look up.

  “Where should I put these?” she asked.

  “Counter,” Alex replied. “That’s not necessary,” he added when she started unpacking.

  “I don’t mind.” What else was she going to do, stand there and watch them? “You’ll have to tell me where the stuff goes though. At least the first time. I’m pretty good at remembering where things go. Plus this way I’ll see where there’s space for my groceries.”

  Dammit, she was babbling again. It was quickly becoming a bad habit. But the quiet… It filled the room so completely. And those looks she kept feeling the grocer give her. Curious and full of implied innuendo. She had to say something just to hear something besides her own thoughts. Although the subsequent look Alex shot her made her wish she’d reconsidered.

  “Bigger order’ll cost you extra,” commented the grocer shortly.

  “Kelsey will be buying her groceries separately.”

  “Right,” she said. After all, she was on her own for meals. Why would they do something as simple as combine grocery orders? “I’m Kelsey Albertelli, by the way. Mr. Markoff’s new assistant. I’m here to help while his arm’s broken. Are you Farley?”

  The lack of denial suggested he was. “Need three days’ notice for delivery. You want your food sooner, you have to pick up your order yourself. Special orders take longer. And if I don’t have the brand, I’ll substitute. No complaining.”

  Was everyone in Berkshire County this brusque? At least Farley’s silence felt different. Gruff though he was, he lacked the anger and wary defensiveness that surrounded her new boss. “Got order forms in the truck,” he said when the last grocery item had been put away. They were the first words anyone had said in a few minutes. “You want some, follow me.”

  She did, feeling Alex’s stare on her all the way to the drive. “Normal delivery’s every ten days,” the old man was telling her. “First four bags are free, after that you pay.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Kelsey took the stack of tri-colored forms he handed her. “You been delivering to Nuttingwood long?” she asked.

  “Long enough”

  “And that’s been…?”

  “Three, four, five years. I don’t keep a calendar.”

  She would have liked to have been surprised by the vague answer, but deep down she suspected that’s all she’d get. Still, it was worth a shot. “Thanks again for the forms,” she said, waving them in the air. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Farley muttered something about having nothing better to do than drive around all day and shut the door. Kelsey stifled a smile. The answer was so grumpy and so over the top, she actually found it funny.

  She waited until the truck disappeared round the tree-covered bend, then returned to the house. Where, she discovered, Alex hadn’t moved. He stood flush against the kitchen sink, his eyes glued to the space beyond the window.

  “Interesting character,” she said, shutting the door. “Is that grumpy old man act for real?” As opposed to yours, which I can’t for the life of me understand?

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Ever been to his store?
The, uh,” she looked at the forms in her hand, “Leafy Bean?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “It as colorful as him?”

  “The pastries are decent.”

  Coming from him, that was nothing short of a glowing recommendation. She made her way to the kitchen table where a few grocery items, mostly fresh produce, remained. Maybe she was imagining things, but Alex seemed pretty annoyed she’d crossed paths with Farley. Then again, surely he didn’t expect, because he was apparently an antisocial hermit, that she avoid human contact too? Did he think she’d spend all summer alone with no one but him and a stray cat for company?

  A strange, warm shiver ran down her spine at the notion.

  Alex had switched his attention from outside the window to her. Eyes dark and murky, the scrutiny ignited another set of shivers. Aw, hell. Why not come right out and ask the question? “You don’t like him knowing I’m here, do you?”

  “I don’t like people knowing my business.”

  “I hardly think you having a temporary assistant will be big news in town. If they even find out. Farley doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who talks about anything let alone gossip.”

  “Everybody talks eventually, Miss Albertelli. I don’t have to help them out.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “And neither do you.”

  Everyone talks eventually.

  She didn’t know it at the time, but Alex’s parting remark was the last she heard from him for two days. He disappeared Lord knows where shortly after, leaving her to wander Nuttingwood alone.

  “I see you more often,” she said to Puddin’ the cat when he made his daily appearance on the terrace. “He’s like a ghost, only showing up at night.” She knew he showed up then because she could hear him pacing the floor. Pacing and pacing.

  “Maybe if he wrote something upbeat he’d be able to sleep.” What pages she’d deciphered so far were darker than the man himself. Bitter too. Brilliant but bitter. About as far removed from Chase the Moon as you could get. “Like they were written by two different people,” she told Puddin’. Maybe in a way they were.