by Thea Dawson
As Needed
A Haven Bay Story
Thea Dawson
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
Epilogue
Mr. Positivity—Sneak Peek
Other Books by Thea Dawson
About the Author
1
The offices of Bryce Davidson, Attorney at Law, were on the ground floor of a converted mid-century mansion in the suburban downtown area. A tastefully understated sign on the manicured front lawn announced that it was also home to an orthodontist, an accountant, and a boutique real estate company.
Rachel parked her car in the front lot, took a deep breath, and wiped her hands on her skirt. She normally loved meeting new people, but interviews made her hands sweaty, and then she’d dread having to shake hands, which would make her even more nervous. She was caught in a vicious cycle even before stepping through the door.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror again. No lipstick on teeth … Hair mostly under control … We’re good.
“Just an interview,” she whispered out loud to herself. “We’re having an adventure!”
Clutching her dress coat tightly around herself against the brisk November breeze, she made her way to the front door and pushed through it, stepping into a well-lit corridor lined with expensive carpet. A few steps down to her left was Bryce Davidson’s office, the door to which was labeled with a discreet metal plaque.
Rachel frowned at the plaque. Was she supposed to knock? Or go straight in? Well, presumably she wouldn’t be walking straight into his actual office. There must be a reception area or something, since she was, after all, applying to be a receptionist. Then again, it might just be one large room with a couple of desks, but that wouldn’t be right because he was a lawyer, so he’d need space to talk to clients privately …
Overthinking it, she told herself.
Okay, she’d knock and then just walk in. That would cover her bases, wouldn’t it?
She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder, put one hand on the door handle, and lifted the other. She was about to knock, when she heard, muffled but distinct, the sound of a baby crying.
She frowned, then stepped back to look at the plaque again.
Davidson & Davidson
Property & Estate Law
Yes, this was definitely the right place.
For good measure, she checked her watch. It was 9:55 a.m., five minutes before her scheduled appointment—she’d made a point of getting there early to show she was responsible. And it was Monday, the day after the Thanksgiving holiday, which she couldn’t very well forget since she’d spent the last four days at her parents’ house surrounded by siblings and cousins and uncles and aunts, almost all of whom wanted to know when she was going to settle down and get a job, or at the very least, get married because as much fun as it probably was to spend four years traveling around the world, she wasn’t getting any younger, was she?
Rachel shook the thoughts out of her head and grimaced at the door. Right time, right day, right place … Nonetheless, there was quite definitely a baby crying on the other side of the door, an escalating wail that simultaneously made her want to run through the door to make sure the poor little thing was okay and to cover her ears and flee back to the peace and quiet of her car.
But if she ditched this interview, the agency wasn’t likely to offer her another one, and she was squandering her five-minute lead time.
Squaring her shoulders, she knocked and pushed the door open.
To her relief, she found herself in what was clearly a reception area with a dark wooden desk, a leather couch that looked like it had never been sat on, a couple of elegant chairs, and a credenza that boasted a regal-looking ficus plant. Tasteful abstract paintings splashed the walls, and the hall carpet gave way to parquet flooring and an oriental rug that covered the distance between the desk and the couch.
But to her consternation, there was no one there to tell her what to do next. She could see a little kitchenette area behind the receptionist’s desk, but it was empty. There were two doors on the far side of the desk, but they were both closed.
Now that she was inside, the baby’s wails were louder, and they were clearly coming from behind the door on the left. Rachel glanced at her watch again: 9:57.
Should she wait? Mr. Davidson was probably in there with a client, maybe some parents who were rewriting their will to include a new baby or something. She didn’t want to interrupt.
Then again, she wanted Mr. Davidson to know she was punctual, and since there was no one there to announce her, he might be in there for ages without knowing she was there at all, let alone early.
She stood there for another full minute, hoping that Mr. Davidson would open the door and show his clients out—how could they possibly be getting anything done with all that noise anyway?—but nothing happened.
Okay, this was ridiculous. She’d made it from one end of India to the other by herself; she could walk five steps across an expensive rug and knock on a door.
So she did.
“Come in!” barked a man’s voice.
She pushed open the door and stopped on the threshold, her hand still on the knob.
Given the noise that had been coming from the office, she wasn’t altogether surprised that the man standing behind the desk was holding a baby, bouncing it gently in an apparently futile effort to get it to calm down.
She was surprised to see that the man wasn’t wearing a shirt and that he was, moreover, rather good looking.
Scratch that: really good looking.
He was probably in his early thirties, and the muscles of his bare arms and chest indicated he worked out regularly. He had a strong jaw, a cleft chin, and a nose that was just the right size and shape for his patrician face. His thick brown hair was stylishly cut but looked like he might have run his fingers through it more than a few times. Under other circumstances, his brown eyes might have been soulful, but he gave her an impatient scowl as she stepped in.
The overall effect was Cary Grant in a bad mood. Shirtless.
In his arms, the source of the noise—a girl, judging by the fuzzy pink outfit—arched her back and screamed. So much noise for such a tiny creature.
“Rachel Cohen?” The man glared at her.
“Yes …?” she replied.
“Sit. Please.”
He nodded at a chair in front of his desk. Still wearing her coat, she plunked herself down in it.
The man didn’t smile, but his scowl might have softened a bit. “I apologize that you’re catching me like this. She spat up all over my shirt, and it soaked right through to my undershirt. I was about to change.”
Rachel glanced at the door behind her. “I could come back later if—”
“Stay. Did you bring a resume?”
“Yes …” Rachel dug into her purse. The agency would have sent him a copy, but he looked like he had his hands full. At least she’d be able to show him that she was well prepared. “Here you go.”
She handed her one-page resume across the desk. Still bouncing the baby, he adjusted his grip so that he could take the resume with his free hand. For a full minute, he stared at it while Rachel sat in the chair, trying not to squirm and wondering if she should say anything.
Finally, he dropped the resume on the desk. “You’re hired. I need you to start now.
”
“What?”
He spoke a little slower and a little louder. “I said: you’re hired, and I need you to start now. This minute.”
Rachel darted a glance around the office, wondering if there were hidden cameras. Maybe she’d somehow stumbled into some reality show that took people off the street and put them in crazy situations.
“Are you … Mr. Davidson?”
He gave an impatient huff. “Bryce. Your first task is to get the baby out of here. Stroller’s over there—” He jerked his head toward a stroller that was parked in a corner of the room. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Just go hang out there with her until I call you. This is your cell number on the resume, right?”
Oh, crap. He probably thought she’d been sent by some childcare agency. “Yes, but Mr.—Bryce, I think there might have been a mistake. I’m not a nanny. I’m here about the receptionist job. You know, handling the phones and filing and—”
“And other duties as needed.”
“What?”
“And other duties as needed. Like it said in the job description. Here, hold this.”
He came around the desk and deposited the baby in Rachel’s arms, then turned to open a closet door just beyond the stroller.
Rachel regarded the screaming bundle in her arms. She had nothing against babies, even kind of liked them in an abstract sort of way, but her experience with them had been limited to holding her niece and nephew a few times and to some babysitting gigs in high school. She was pretty sure she’d never looked after anything this small.
Its face was red, and its mouth was wide open, showing toothless gums and a tiny, trembling tongue. Miniature tears squeezed out of scrunched up eyes and tracked down round cheeks. The corners of Rachel’s mouth turned down in sympathy. Instinctively, she began to bounce the baby in an effort to soothe her.
“Shhh,” she murmured.
Bryce, meanwhile, had retrieved a starched white oxford from a hanger in the closet and was putting his arms through the sleeves. Rachel glanced away, her cheeks flushing. Somehow, watching him get dressed felt even more intimate than seeing him bare-chested behind his desk.
The baby continued to sob, but mercifully, she grew a little quieter. Rachel took advantage of the lower decibels to try to sort things out.
“I can’t actually start today, Mr. Davidson. The temp agency has me lined up for another interview at two.”
Mr. Davidson was buttoning up his shirt and didn’t bother making eye contact. “Then your second task is to cancel it. I have a very important meeting with a very important client in exactly twenty-five minutes. It’s too late to cancel, and I need as much time as possible to get ready. I need you to get her out of here now.”
“Uh …” Rachel stared at the whimpering infant in her arms, then up at him. “Are you seriously going to let a total stranger just take your baby?”
“She’s not my baby.” He glanced away from her surprised stare, looking almost furtive. “Well, she’s sort of mine. Listen, I’ll give you a thousand-dollar bonus if you start today and stay at least through the end of December. You’ll get it with your January paycheck.”
Rachel blinked. With an extra thousand dollars, she could put down a deposit on a decent apartment; as much as she loved her parents, living with them was kind of crazy-making.
But still …
“Mr. Davidson, I honestly don’t know anything about taking care of babies.”
“I told you to call me Bryce, and I don’t like having to repeat myself. Your resume said you were a nanny for nine months in London.”
“Yes, but those kids were like, four and six years old. They weren’t infants—”
He finished tucking his shirt into his dress pants and reached for a tie that had been abandoned on his desk. “Trust me. You’re more qualified to look after her than I am.” He tied his tie and shrugged into a tailored grey blazer that matched his pants. He was starting to look like the high-powered lawyer she’d been assured he was. “Can you get her strapped into the stroller, please?”
Rachel stood, terrified she might drop the little bundle, but somehow made it over to the stroller and strapped her in. The baby objected loudly but was too small to put up much of a fight.
Rachel straightened up and looked critically at the stroller. “It’s cold outside. Does she have a hat or a blanket or anything?”
Bryce was looking through his wallet and jerked his head toward the stroller without looking at either her or the baby. “Basket underneath.”
Rachel crouched down and found a quilted blanket, a hat, and a diaper bag in a compartment at the bottom of the stroller. “Will she be warm enough?”
“She’ll be fine. The coffee shop’s just a block and a half from here. Here—” He handed her three twenty-dollar bills. “Get yourself some lunch or whatever you want. Just bring me a receipt. I’ll call you once the meeting’s done, probably in a couple of hours. Please don’t come back before that. I’ll get the door for you.”
Rachel looked at the bills in her hand, then looked at him. “Are things around here always this crazy?” she asked.
The dark look on Bryce’s face suggested that he didn’t appreciate the question. He didn’t say anything, however; he simply dodged ahead of her to open the door and usher her out into the hallway.
“She just had a bottle, so in theory, she shouldn’t be hungry for a while, but if you need it, there’s some formula in the diaper bag. Bribe someone at the coffee shop to warm it up for you.” Bryce motioned toward an exit sign halfway down the hall. “There’s a handicapped ramp on the side of the building. You can get to it from the exit down the hall. Much easier than the front steps. Keep your phone on.” He started to pull the door shut.
“Wait!” Bryce gave her an impatient glare. Rachel’s hands felt sweaty around the stroller’s handlebar. “Uh … what’s her name?”
For the briefest moment, Bryce’s expression softened from furious impatience to something approaching sorrow. “Nora,” he said.
Then he shut the door in her face.
2
“Okay, Nora, we’re having an adventure!” Rachel looked down at her cranky charge. “Let’s go get ourselves a latte.”
She maneuvered the stroller out the side door and down the ramp. Nora gave an audible gasp when they stepped out into the autumn air, the shock of the cold momentarily silencing the tears. Given that it was late November, it could have been worse; it wasn’t snowing or raining, and there was only a mild breeze. But it was still chilly, and despite Bryce’s assurance that the baby wouldn’t mind a little cold, Rachel walked briskly, wanting to get her back into the warmth as soon as possible.
A kind-looking older man held the door for her as she pushed the stroller into the little cafe. “Beautiful baby,” he murmured as she went past.
“Why, thank you!” she replied, figuring she might as well enjoy a taste of suburban motherhood while she could.
Nora still murmured fretfully now and then, but the motion of the stroller had calmed her, and she looked like she might be ready to nod off.
Thank God.
It was too early for lunch, so Rachel ordered herself a tall latte and found a corner table where she parked first the stroller, then herself.
She looked around the little cafe, still half-expecting a camera crew to jump out at her, but no one paid her much attention. She jiggled the stroller gently until Nora’s grumbles faded into soft, regular breaths, and her eyes closed.
Rachel picked up her phone. It was too crazy a story not to share.
“He just sent you out to a coffee shop with his baby?” Her mother was incredulous.
“Wild, right?” she agreed. “Listen, is there anything I should know about babies?”
“Lots of things, probably, but if you’re only looking after her for an hour or two, just keep her safe, and maybe check her diaper when she wakes up. I’m more worried about the job. It doesn’t sound like what you thought you were applyin
g for.”
“I know, but he said he’d give me a bonus if I work through the end of the year. I mean, if I get paid to hang out in coffee shops and take the baby for walks, I’m not complaining.”
“I guess.” Her mother’s voice was dubious. “I was hoping this might lead to a full-time position for you.”
Rachel didn’t want to go down that road again. “Hey, I’m going to call Nan. I think she’ll get a kick out of this story.”
Her mother gave a good-natured sigh. “I’m sure she will. She loves hearing about your adventures. I’ll see you at home tonight, sweetheart.”
Just as she’d hoped, Nan relished her retelling of the interview and didn’t bring up any reservations about Rachel’s long-term career prospects. In turn, Nan filled her in on the gossip from her bridge club—her friend Sylvia was dating a younger man.
“He’s very good looking as seventy-year-old men go. I wouldn’t mind having a crack at him myself,” Nan said.
“Nan!” Rachel pretended to be shocked. “That Sylvia had better watch her back.”
“Well, I’m definitely going to have her find out if he has any friends. Listen, darling. I need to go. I’ve got a yoga for old people class in twenty minutes.”
Rachel smiled. “All right, Nan, enjoy. I’ll see you at brunch on Sunday. Love you.”
It was ten-forty-five by now, about the time a normal interview might have wrapped up, so she called the agency to let them know that Bryce had hired her on the spot. She didn’t mention the baby. The agency woman was thrilled, and Rachel hung up wondering only a little bit if she’d made a mistake by letting the other interview go.
Fortunately, she’d tucked her e-reader into her purse that morning out of long habit. She spent a pleasant hour reading and periodically checked on the baby to make sure she was still breathing. Then, around lunchtime, she supplemented her latte with a provolone cheese and roasted red pepper sandwich, and people-watched as she ate.
