David frowned. “Hmm.” He glanced again at the menu. “One of the dough things then, with the potatoes inside. What are those called? Knishes?” He smiled at the young woman whose pencil was poised above her check pad. “We'll have a potato nish, too,” he ordered, mispronouncing the word.
“It's k-nish,” Nina corrected, smiling when he pursed his lips and frowned at the menu. He wore the same expression Zach did when studying for a spelling test.
Vulnerable, she thought, surprised the word popped into her mind, but the truth was that the dignified, distant David Hanson she knew from work seemed almost endearingly vulnerable when he was up-close and personal. Then again, maybe she only thought that because she'd insulted him so much.
She handed her plastic menu to the waitress. “Kibosh on the knish.”
Flipping easily from eraser to pencil tip, the waitress adjusted the check and beat a hasty retreat.
David took a sip of water. “Not a potato eater, not hungry or you prefer to order for yourself?”
“The latter.”
He nodded, set his water glass back on the table.
“I'll make a mental note.”
There was no further talk of changing tables, and they settled into the utilitarian wooden chairs.
David rested one wrist on the table. “Now where were we? Oh, yes. You were worried about running into someone from the office.” He shook his head. “That's not an issue, I'm afraid. Hanson Media isn't going to be able to re-staff for some time.”
Nina was so attached to the notion that he was rehiring her and so hopeful that he would rehire at least a few of her co-workers that she didn't immediately grasp what he was telling her. “Hanson isn't rehiring any other people, you mean?”
David pursed his lips. His dark eyes grew concerned. “Hanson isn't rehiring at all.” He rubbed his temple. “I should have explained the situation better when we were on the phone.”
Nina's heart sank. She was not returning to her favorite desk and her ergonomically correct chair? “Then why am I here?” she asked. Spending eight dollars for iceberg lettuce and a can of tuna when my family is about to lose the roof over their heads? She looked around for the waitress, so she could cancel her order. Or change it to hot tea and two aspirin.
“You're here, Miss Baxter, because although our current circumstances do preclude rehiring at the office, I find that those same circumstances require me to do a great deal of work from my home. I can't ask my secretary to take on the extra load. So I would benefit from a personal assistant who would work out of my house.” He steadily held her gaze. “Are you interested?”
“You want me to be your in-home personal secretary?”
“There wouldn't be a great deal of computer work, other than keeping track of schedules and budgets involving work-related expenditures. I'll handle my personal accounts. Your job description would include coordinating the details of business parties and attending the functions as well, or at least some of them. I'd also ask you to run errands and coordinate the household staff-things I would not ask you to take on if we were in the office.”
He let her absorb that info while he studied a bowl of pickle slices. “Do you think these are sweet and dill or all dill?”
“All dill.”
“Hmm.” He started to dig in then lifted the bowl to her even though it had been sitting on the table between them since they sat down. “Would you like one?”
Mechanically she took a pickle slice, but while he bit into his, she merely stared at hers.
“Is this a pity thing?” she asked. “Or a guilt thing?” She held up a hand before he could answer. “Never mind. I'm not sure I want to know.”
She didn't want a reason to turn him down before he told her all the details. A job was a job, after all, and she was desperate. The longer she waited in the hope of finding something she really liked, the harder it would be ever to recoup her losses. As long as he wasn't asking her to do anything illegal or morally unsound, did it matter whether she worked in a home office or a high-rise building?
“You're wondering if I really need an assistant,” David remarked, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Miss Baxter, I am by no means broke, but given Hanson Media's current state, neither can I afford to throw money away. I need a personal assistant and you need a job. You have a good work record, I like you-when you're not insulting me or throwing desert flora around my office-and I like your family. That seems a good start to our association. Assuming, of course, your feelings toward me have…gentled somewhat since yesterday? I don't want to be brained by a cactus when I least expect it.”
He made the comment with a remarkably straight face. And certainly, in light of yesterday, the comment was reasonable enough. Nina felt a blush infuse her cheeks, nonetheless. Something about David's formality actually made his question regarding her feelings seem more intimate.
“You know, when you talk like that you sound like Rex Harrison.” Nina's hands flew to cover her mouth. She was never rude. Ordinarily, she never even came close to risking rudeness. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that. I just meant…” She shook her head, not sure, really, what she meant.
David's brow puckered. “Hmm. I always liked Rex Harrison. If you hadn't apologized, I'd have thought you were complimenting me.”
“No.” Her eyes widened in dismay. “Oh! I mean-”
“Never mind. I'm not sure my ego can weather the explanation.” He paused while the waitress set salad and sandwich in front of them.
“I'll be back with the latkes,” she said and zoomed off. David looked at Nina for clarification. “Latkes. These are the potato pancakes, right?”
“Yes.” Nina looked at her lunch, but felt too guilty to think it looked appetizing.
“Ah.” He removed the top slice of bread from his sandwich and reached for the mustard. “Did you grow up on this type of food, Miss Baxter?” His tone indicated that he was prepared to forgive her faux pas.
“Yes. And on Rex Harrison films,” she said. “I always liked him very much, just for the record.”
He smiled, not broadly, but with irony. “But you thought he was stiff? Formal?”
“No. Not exactly.” He didn't believe her at this point, of course, so she admitted, “I thought he was…remote. You know, kind of set apart from other people.” David's pensive expression made him look vulnerable again, so she added hastily, “But in a good way!”
David winced. “Uh-oh. You've gone from insulting me to placating me. The situation must be worse than I realized.” Replacing the bread he'd spread with mustard, he picked up half his sandwich. “Tell me, does this…remoteness…impact my effectiveness at the office?”
“No! Not at all.” She was glad she could be honest about that. “Probably the opposite. You seem so completely professional. No one even talks about your love life anymore.” As soon as she heard the words, Nina closed her eyes and lowered her head. “Maybe we should just shoot me now.” She looked at him earnestly. “You may not believe me, but this is the least tactful I've been in my life. I'm usually too polite. My ex-husband called me Miss Manners.”
“Not a compliment, I take it?”
“Not hardly.”
Before David took a bite of his sandwich, he asked, “How long were you with your ex-husband?” “We met when I was seventeen.” She picked up her fork and began dissecting the scoop of tuna. “By nineteen I was pregnant with Isaac and by twenty-two I was having Izzy…alone.”
“I remember.”
Nina felt David's eyes on her as she toyed with her salad. “You do?”
He waited until she looked at him again. “I remember seeing you run out of Edward Karlson's retirement party when the garlic chicken was served. And I remember stepping off the elevator one day and watching you beeline toward the bathroom with your hand over your mouth.”
“Oh, charming.”
“You appeared to be pretty far along in your pregnancy by then. When I asked my secretary what was wrong, she said you were on
e of the unlucky women who had morning sickness for all nine months.”
“True.” The mere memory made Nina's tuna salad seem menacing, like a live shark. She looked ruefully at David. “It was miserable. Whatever I ate seemed to hit my stomach and bounce.”
He winced. “And yet you were pregnant twice.”
“Unintentionally the first time. But absolutely worth it.”
“My secretary also said your marriage was failing. I checked the employee records. You didn't miss a day of work.”
“You checked?”
David adjusted the knot of his tie. “Strictly business, Miss Baxter. You looked young enough to leave work and head straight for cheerleader practice. I wondered how you would handle two children, work and single parenthood. And then I realized you wore a sense of responsibility like some women wear expensive perfume-it followed you everywhere. I was impressed.”
Dumbfounded, Nina fiddled with the paper napkin on her lap. “I'm not sure what to say. Is that why you sent the bear for Izzy? And the check?” Along with the gift of the bear, there had been a check for one hundred dollars. Perhaps naively, Nina had assumed that all pregnant employees received a cash gift. “Was that from the office…or from you?”
David began eating. After he swallowed the first bite of his sandwich, he said, “Does your ex-husband help with the kids? Time-wise? Financially?”
Nina decided that she knew enough about David Hanson now to know that if he chose not to respond to her question then the answer was yes. She was too discomfited by the discovery to push the topic. Keeping her eyes on her plate, she wondered why he'd taken special interest in her situation. Pity? Self-esteem had been hard to come by for a young woman whose husband had walked out. To know people had pitied her would have been too much to bear.
Though David had evaded her question, he was awaiting an answer to his. Nina toyed with her salad while she considered whether she wanted to talk about her ex and decided, What the heck?
“We never see him. The kids don't remember him. Parenthood didn't agree with Peter, and I didn't want to fight him for money.” She shook her head. “In the end I suppose I thought it would be easier on the kids and me if he was out of our lives entirely. He didn't want to be a father or husband.”
A muscle tightened in David's jaw. He stared at his plate, but his thoughts were clearly on something other than food.
Nina wondered if to his ears she sounded like a man-hater. That was far from the truth, but David Hanson had never married or had kids…that is, she didn't think he'd ever had kids. He kept his private life so private-who knew? Perhaps he could relate to the type of man her ex had turned out to be.
On that happy thought, Nina plunged her fork into her salad and chewed lettuce until David pinned her with his pensive gaze.
“In light of what you've shared with me, Miss Baxter, it seems like a good time to discuss the second half of my proposition.”
Chapter Four
Friday afternoon had always been busy at Hanson Media Group. The end-of-the-week push, the force of George Hanson's larger-than-life personality and the sheer number of employees had often generated a sense of chaos.
Standing inside the door to his private office, David surveyed today's scene and thought his brother would rise from the grave if he could feel the tense and exhausted energy of the decimated Hanson staff. People did not bustle; they trudged through the tasks at hand, tasks that had multiplied since the last round of layoffs. It appeared to David that his employees felt overburdened and defeated before they even arrived at work.
They needed a pep talk; the kind George, who could have talked a snail into speeding, would have been able to give them.
The kind of pep talk David did not have inside him right now.
George had been twenty years David's senior, born when their parents were young, had the time and, presumably, the interest in a child-three conditions not present in David's youth. George had fit into the family better than David ever had. Like their father, he had been bigger than life and, as an adult, fascinated by money-making it, keeping it, flaunting it.
Even family dinners had revolved around business discussions, with George and George Sr. animatedly debating whether to merge or acquire. David recalled one evening in particular, when he was six or seven. He'd watched a superior episode of Johnny Quest on TV that day and believed that finally he had something worthwhile to share. His father had responded to his overeager, babbling recount by telling his mother they needed to fire the nanny; clearly she allowed him to watch inferior programming.
George hadn't said anything, just sipped his wine and grinned at his brother. From that time on, David had learned to please by being seen and not heard. At age ten he'd taken to wearing ties to school and listening intently at dinner so he could ask pertinent questions, whether the topic interested him or not.
David had not enjoyed hearing Nina's estimation of him yesterday, but she hadn't been off the mark. He'd been a stuffy, formal kid; it stood to reason he'd become a stuffy, formal man.
Lunch with Miss Baxter had happened four days ago; he'd been replaying it in his mind ever since. And accomplishing crap, because he couldn't get her…or the feeling of being with her…out of his mind.
Forcing himself away from the door, he headed down the hallway to his nephew Jack's office. Jack had temporarily taken George's place as CEO after his father's death. Perhaps he could rev up a skeleton staff that had stopped trusting the upper brass and had stopped thinking of Hanson as their company, too.
I know how they feel, David thought, scanning the empty desks as he passed down the hall. There were days-and today was one of them-when he thought he might be happier if he simply got out of the business and attempted something new.
He tried not to grit his teeth in an obvious way as he nodded to the employees who bothered to look up. He'd been dissatisfied for a long time; being with Nina Baxter highlighted his restlessness.
He'd had no word from her since their lunch. And that, he'd decided, was a direct result of the second half of his proposition.
When he reached Jack's door, he turned to Mrs. Wycliff, his nephew's secretary, who'd been with the company almost as long as David had himself. “Is he in?”
“He just buzzed me and asked that I hold all calls. I'll tell him you're here.”
Before her fingers touched the phone, Jack's door jerked open. Barreling through, Jack, who was not normally a barreler, almost slammed into his uncle. “I'm on my way to see you.” He blinked as if he were a bit disoriented by a circumstance he hadn't arranged.
“Here I am,” David said helpfully.
Jack headed back into his office, then turned and told the woman whose hair had been gray as long as David could remember, “Hold all my calls.”
“I got that part,” David heard her murmur as he followed his nephew into the spacious corner office.
Jack hadn't changed the furnishings since his father had occupied this office, though his fiancée, Samantha, had clearly influenced the decor. Where a Waterford crystal bowl used to sit, there was now a large African basket filled with fresh fruit, and vibrant Mayan weavings had replaced the black-and-white Hirschfeld portrait George had commissioned of himself.
David saw the details in a way he hadn't before. The change in decor was more than superficial; it reflected the profound influence Samantha had on Jack's very personality. Of all George's children, his eldest son had been the least like his father. A conservative person at heart, Jack tended to keep the tones of his life low and mellow…at least he had before Samantha had upped the tempo.
“What kind of tie is that?” David peered at his nephew's neck.
“It's from Guatemala. It's woven.” Jack patted the tie protectively, as if afraid his uncle might have something negative to say.
David shrugged. He wasn't going to slight his nephew's fashion statement. The material changes Samantha's presence had effected were nothing compared to the influence she had on Jack's perso
nality. In fact, the recently relaxed and buoyant Jack hadn't looked this tense in awhile.
“What were you on your way to talk to me about?” David saw clearly that his nephew's thoughts were now on the woman who had undoubtedly purchased the tie, and he rather reluctantly brought Jack back to the business at hand. “You look like you need a long vacation. What tragedy has befallen Hanson Media today?”
David spoke tongue in cheek, but his concern spiked when the question etched deep furrows on his nephew's otherwise smooth face.
Jack remembered the letter in his hand and passed it toward his uncle. “Read this.”
It took David mere seconds to realize that Hanson had, indeed, suffered another blow. He swore.
“I used that word in front of you when I was ten,” Jack said, “and you threatened to wash my mouth out with the garden hose.”
“I'm a lot older than you were.” And a lot more tired. David wanted to crumple the letter, toss it in the wastebasket, not give a damn. He was so freaking fed up with the chain reaction of problems his brother's deceit had left behind.
“Has anyone contacted Angel's Harbor yet?”
Jack shook his head. “I just got the letter.”
Angel's Harbor was a group home for kids who had to be removed from their birth families, but for whom there was no foster care. Instead of further stressing an already overburdened foster-care system, Angel's Harbor was a not-for-profit alternative that sought to provide a safe and loving environment for kids in crisis. It was a great project, and Hanson Media was proudly one of the Harbor's biggest supporters. A large and celebrity-studded fund-raiser was coming up to generate the funds for a second Angel's Harbor in Illinois. Hanson Media was going to host the affair.
Or rather, had planned to host the affair. According to the legally worded letter in David's hand, Hanson's involvement through the years, “while greatly appreciated” was no longer “advisable.” Apparently rumors of bankruptcy, layoffs and the recent problem of misrouting young Web visitors to a porn site made Hanson Media an undesirable name to have on one's sponsor list.
The Boss and Miss Baxter Page 5
