Something About Joe

by Kandy Shepherd

  She said goodbye to Diane, smiling to herself as she did so. Joe Martin’s arrival at playgroup would be a matter for discussion and speculation for weeks. A male nanny was a novelty—especially when he looked like he belonged in a jeans commercial.

  But Diane hadn’t questioned his ability to look after Mitchell. That was reassuring. Very reassuring. But not reassuring enough for her to change her mind about Joe Martin. She wanted a female looking after her son.

  There was a quick knock on her office door followed by Allison’s personal assistant, Rebecca, bearing coffee. “You look like you need this,” Rebecca said as she placed the coffee on Allison’s desk.

  Allison shot her a grateful glance. “Thank you,” she said, then downed the hot liquid so quickly she nearly choked.

  “Can I help?” asked Rebecca, as Allison got her breath back.

  “Nanny problems. They’ve sent me a guy. I’ve got to get someone else.”

  Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted inquiringly. “What’s he like?”

  Allison pulled a wry face, Rebecca was as bad as Sandy. “Not you, too. Yes, he’s a hottie. No, I don’t want a man looking after Mitchell. Now get on the computer will you, please, and start Googling. I’ve got to try some other nanny agencies.”

  “How much of a hottie?” asked Rebecca, as she sat down at the keyboard.

  Allison looked up at her PA, amused in spite of her exasperation. “A ten-out-of-ten. But that doesn’t mean I want him for a nanny.”

  Rebecca quickly found her three agency numbers. Allison picked up the phone then put it down as her boss, Clive, barged in.

  “What’s keeping you? The guys are getting hungry.”

  Allison gritted her teeth, despairing at the lost opportunity to call the agencies. She stood up. “Give me a few more minutes. I’ve got some personal stuff to sort out that can’t wait.”

  Clive glared at her. “What’s with you today? First you’re late this morning, and now you’re holding up lunch.”

  “Can’t you take them to the bar and get them a drink and I’ll be there in twenty minutes?”

  “No, I cannot. This is your deal, Allison, your clients want you with them.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Clive, they won’t miss me for a few minutes. I’ve got to sort out a problem with—”

  Clive cut across her. “You knew the score when you took this job on. There were some who thought you were too inexperienced to handle this deal. You are expected to be there. Now.”

  What Clive said was true. Allison knew, as the only woman on the senior management team, others were resentful of her position. They’d go for her throat without any hesitation.

  Clive continued. “Don’t blow it, Allison. Not after all the work we’ve put into this.”

  Allison took a deep breath. Clive was her mentor in this company. He believed in her. “Just one call, Clive—”

  Rebecca interrupted. “Let me make the calls for you, Allison.” Her eyes signaled her full understanding of the situation.

  “Let her,” said Clive. He took Allison by the arm and led her away from her desk. “Come on.”

  Clive marched beside her with long, purposeful strides as they headed back toward the boardroom. Allison had the feeling of a prisoner being frog-marched by a warder back to her cell. Then the adrenalin kicked in and she felt a surge of excitement about what she intended to achieve.

  Inside the boardroom waited four bankers from Hong Kong, here in Sydney at her invitation. She was negotiating with them, on behalf of one of her bank’s major corporate clients, for a huge syndication lending deal. The dollars involved went into the billions. The prestige for her as the newly-promoted Head of Corporate Banking for her bank, if it all went well, was immense. The backlash if she lost the business was as awesome.

  “Gentlemen,” she said as she swallowed the knot of nervous tension in her throat and went back into the boardroom. “Are we ready for lunch?”

  At 6pm she was alone in her office, elbows resting on her desk, head held despairingly in her hands. The bank operated a culture of long hours that suited men and single women, not mothers. She knew it would be a point against her that she hadn’t gone on to drinks and dinner with the other bankers but how could she? Mitchell’s welfare had to come first. Always. She’d left Mitchell with a new nanny. She had to get home.

  All afternoon, the back-to-back presentations and discussions had been so intense she’d never again found a chance to look for an alternate nanny. And Rebecca hadn’t had any luck with the agencies she’d called.

  What kind of a mother was she to have failed to find Mitchell a more suitable carer than Joe Martin? But what support systems did she have? The women she knew in Sydney were either without children or also worked full-time. Diane had made it quite clear she had enough on her plate with her own three and wasn’t available—even in emergencies.

  As for Mitchell’s father—Peter had never taken a moment’s responsibility for his son, and his grandparents on that side had never even laid eyes on her baby. She would never be able to understand how Peter could reject Mitchell. But she never gave up hoping he would change his mind.

  At this moment, in a lifetime where loneliness had never been a stranger, Allison felt more alone than ever. Never had she felt so distressed about the demands her job placed on her. Joe Martin had berated her for not staying at home to look after her child herself. But that wasn’t an option.

  Peter’s gambling and dishonesty, and her own short-sightedness in not realizing what he was up to, meant she either worked in an executive job where she earned good money or declared bankruptcy.

  That was something her background and beliefs made it impossible for her to do. And if she were bankrupt she would never get another job in banking. She knew she had to pay back every cent of those debts to ensure her future—and Mitchell’s. This deal with the Hong Kong bankers might help her do that.

  She dragged on her jacket, heaved her briefcase—jam-packed with papers she had to review this evening for tomorrow’s meeting—into her hand and closed the office door behind her.

  The last thing she felt like doing was taking work home, but if this deal went through she’d be in line for a substantial commission. She could pay off most of the debts Peter had burdened her with, and start making changes to her life. Maybe step down to a less stressful role or work as a consultant. A changed life, where she could spend more time with Mitchell. She had to get that commission.

  As she steered her car through the heavy traffic, for the hundredth time she thanked heaven she had managed to find, for a manageable rent, the little terrace house in McMahons Point, a small harbor-side enclave nestled at the northern foot of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. She had very little use for its trendy cafes and restaurants; its proximity to the city was its attraction. Traffic permitting, she would be home to Mitchell ten minutes after leaving the office.

  She gritted her teeth as she imagined just what she might find when she got home. Joe Martin certainly hadn’t looked the house-proud type.

  That was another reason she wanted a female nanny. Her father and Peter—the only men she’d lived with—had been far from competent housekeepers. She knew it was a prejudice, even as she thought it, but would this male nanny be any better?

  The place would no doubt be a pigsty and she’d have to spend the evening cleaning up after him. She just hoped he’d given Mitchell his dinner and a bath.

  Her hand was shaking with exhaustion as she fitted her key into the lock of her front door. She pushed it open and braced herself for the scene she felt certain awaited her.

  The first thing she noticed was the toys she’d left scattered around the living room floor had been neatly packed away. The second was the delicious aroma of cooking wafting from the kitchen. Mitchell had eaten, and eaten well by the smell of it.

  The heating was on to guard against the cool spring evening and the house seemed somehow more welcoming than it had in a long time.

  She heard the sound
of delighted laughter and splashing coming from the floor above. So Mitchell was being bathed right on schedule.

  She walked up the stairs. “Hello-o,” she called, as she headed for the bathroom.

  “Momma,” cried Mitchell as she pushed open the door.

  Mitchell crowed contentedly in his bath, obviously as well cared for as he could be. She smiled at the sight of his chubby little body and his spiky hair slicked down with damp. Having Mitchell in her life made every difficulty she faced worthwhile. “Hello, my angel,” she said.

  Joe Martin was crouched next to the bathtub, a toy boat in his hand. He dropped the boat and stood up as Allison came into the room.

  His powerful, muscled body took up half the bathroom and instinctively Allison stepped back. The front of Joe’s white T-shirt was wet, Mitchell must have splashed him, and the fabric clung to his strongly defined pecs. The water made the fabric almost transparent and she could see his dark chest hair through it.

  Joe was barefoot and she glanced down at his large, well-formed feet, with long, even toes. She’d read somewhere you could judge the size of a man’s equipment by the size of his feet. In Joe Martin’s case...

  Quickly she shifted her gaze to his face, fighting the flush that warmed her cheeks. His jaw was shadowed with a day’s growth; he must be a twice-a-day shave man. Virile. Loads of testosterone.

  She swallowed hard at the nervous lump that rose in her throat. Please let him think her blush was caused by the steaminess of the bathroom. Not by her growing awareness of him as a male.

  She kneeled down by the side of the bath and reached over to Mitchell to hug him as best she could, not caring if her jacket got wet.

  She found Joe Martin more attractive by the minute. She could fight those feelings but she couldn’t deny them. He was the most physically exciting man she’d ever been this close to. But she had to keep her thoughts on track. Was he really up to the responsibility of looking after her child?

  Joe shifted so he could see Allison’s face. He was struck by how tired she looked. Her face was pale and there were shadows beneath her green eyes. Wisps of light blond hair had straggled free from their clips and fell around her face. She had a smear of ink at the side of her chin.

  He resisted the urge to pick up Mitchell’s wet washcloth and wipe the ink away. Imagine what the boss lady’s reaction would be if he tried.

  Allison pulled away from Mitchell, who went on happily submerging his boat and then letting it shoot back up to the surface. Joe hadn’t realized Allison was so tall. When she stood up, she almost reached his eye level. The steamy atmosphere of the bathroom had brought a flush to her cheeks.

  “Everything go okay today?” she asked.

  “Fine,” he replied. “Mitchell enjoyed getting together with his little buddies at playgroup. He had lunch when he got home and then a nap. Just like on your schedule.”

  “I wondered if you’d followed it.”

  “It’s my job to follow parents’ instructions.”

  What did she think he was? Not a “proper” nanny, that was for sure. He could understand why people were wary of male carers. You heard terrible things about some men left in charge of children. It made him sick to even think about it. He would personally strangle anyone he caught interfering with the innocence of a child.

  But why did some women find it so hard to admit that a responsible man like himself could look after young children? No one had ever questioned his ability to care for the twenty-plus seven-year-olds in his classroom.

  “Thanks for following the schedule,” Allison said, a little stiffly. “Mitchell’s had a few changes of carer lately, and I think it helps if he sticks to a routine.”

  She looked so hot in that suit. Tailored as it was, it couldn’t disguise the lush curves of her body. Especially to someone who’d seen them covered by so little. That see-through robe she’d answered the door in lingered in his memory. He could feel a tightening of his jeans. He looked away. Eyes off the boss lady.

  “If you want to get changed, Mrs. Bradley, I’ll dry Mitchell off and get him into his PJs.”

  “Please call me Allison. Mrs. Bradley makes me seem so...so old.”

  “Hardly.”

  Allison looked down at Mitchell, a doting smile warming her face. She could pose for one of those Madonna-and-Child-type paintings—but with that ripe body and sensual mouth she didn’t look in the slightest bit virginal.

  Suddenly it was important for him to know her age. “So how old were you when you had Mitchell?”

  She looked surprised by the question. “Thirty,” she said. “Which makes me thirty-two now.” She pulled a wry face. “And feeling every second of it.”

  Thirty-two. She didn’t look it. But why should he feel so dismayed she was older than he was?

  He was twenty-seven. Five years shouldn’t make any difference but somehow it did. He’d only ever dated younger women; had never thought beyond the traditional man-older-than-the-woman thing. Of course she didn’t seem bothered admitting her age to him. Why should she?

  Allison Bradley was gorgeous—if he’d met her anywhere else he would have asked her on a date by now. But she was older, had a kid, and was a client. That put her strictly off limits.

  “I’ll get out of my work clothes,” she said. “Then I’ll take over and you can go home.” She moved toward the doorway and he had to turn side-on to let her through. Her breasts brushed him as she pushed pass; his muscles tensed at her touch.

  “Fine,” he said and averted his eyes from the sight of her enticing backside as she left the bathroom. Do not think about how she would look stripping out of her suit. “Come on, Mitchell, let’s get cracking.”

  Allison peeled off her “boss lady” suit with relief, and slid gratefully into gym pants and a sweatshirt. She thought unenthusiastically about the frozen diet meals stacked in the freezer, and decided to pass on them. After all, she’d had a three-course business lunch. She’d just nibble on a choc-chip cookie for dinner. Stress always made her reach for chocolate.

  As she hung up her suit in the closet, she wondered why Joe Martin had asked about her age. She knew from his résumé that he was twenty-seven. Why would it matter to him how old she was?

  She’d been tempted to tell him to mind his own business but it was no big deal. Being thirty-two didn’t bother her; she was proud of what she’d achieved at her age—and her crowning achievement was Mitchell.

  As she turned in the direction of the bathroom, Joe Martin came out of Mitchell’s bedroom, holding her son dressed in his dinosaur-print pajamas.

  Mitchell’s eyes were already heavy with sleep. Allison chastised herself for her disappointment. She liked it when Mitchell was wide-awake and she could justify keeping him up beyond his bedtime. She knew it wasn’t going strictly by the book—but some evenings she only saw Mitchell for half an hour and she longed for more.

  “I’ll take over,” she said, as she reached for her son.

  But Mitchell resisted. “Want Joe,” he said, clinging to his nanny.

  Allison felt a stab of fierce jealousy, but she schooled her face into a nonchalant smile. “You have been a hit,” she forced herself to say.

  The part of her not shriveling with angst was telling her it was great Mitchell liked Joe so much.

  “But no one can replace Mommy,” Joe said. He gently disengaged the child’s arms. This time Mitchell went willingly to her and Allison held him to her too tightly, breathing in the warm, soapy smell of him like a drug.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to Joe as their eyes met above Mitchell’s head. Joe’s eyes were warm with understanding and Allison’s heart gave a little lurch in response.

  Joe Martin was kind, and kindness was an attribute she admired in a man, but had very rarely encountered. “Thank you,” she said again and her voice regained its strength, “for looking after Mitchell today.”

  “He’s a great kid,” Joe said, and Allison felt he truly meant it. He reached forward and ruffled
Mitchell’s hair. His face was too close. Allison stepped backward, in automatic defense of her personal space. She wasn’t used to letting people, especially men, get so close.

  “There’s a message from Help From Above for you,” said Joe. “They’ve managed to find a nanny for Mitchell for tomorrow. A female. But I guess you’ve probably organized someone else yourself.”

  “No, I wasn’t able to.”

  Joe shrugged his powerful shoulders. His face didn’t give away anything. “I know you don’t want a man. No worries. The agency can easily get me something else. There are some single mothers who value a man’s presence in their child’s life.”

  Allison gasped at his bluntness. She hated the term “single mother”; she wasn’t that way by choice.

  Now it was his turn to apologize. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were a single mother. I mean—”

  Her mouth twisted. “Don’t worry. I am a single mother. All the way.”

  She’d been on her own from the second she’d joyfully told her husband she was pregnant—and he’d told her to get a termination. And as her decree absolute had come through a few months ago, there was no doubt as to her status.

  Joe Martin’s voice seemed even huskier. “I’ll check on your dinner before I go.” He started down the stairs.

  “You’ll check my dinner?” Allison couldn’t stop her voice from rising in disbelief.

  “Sure,” he said. “I found some chicken and some veggies in the fridge and threw them together for you.”

  So that was the delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen, not Mitchell’s simple meal. “I...I can’t believe you cooked my dinner.”

  “Don’t the other nannies?”

  “They don’t see it as part of their job.”

  Joe shrugged. “I like cooking.”

  He bounded down the remaining stairs and headed for the kitchen. Slowly, burdened by the weight of her sleeping son, Allison went back to Mitchell’s room to put him down for the night.