“I don't need to relax.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded broadly. “You do.”
“Well!”
Nina tried to glance away. David wasn't encroaching on her space, exactly. He hardly ever did that, she'd noticed. He was far too upright-figuratively and literally. He stood as straight as a tree most of the time. When he leaned toward her, he did it with his eyes.
“I picked up some cheese, too,” he said.
Nina's gaze snapped back to him. He didn't look particularly flirtatious. “You bought wine and cheese? For a quick business meeting?”
David angled his head and frowned. “Too stuffy?”
He moved to a cabinet, opened it and looked in. “How about cherry cola and a peanut-butter Ritz?” When she didn't answer, he poked around some more. “Corn curls and apple juice? Molasses snaps? Scooter Pie? Aw, there's only one left.” He angled his gaze toward her. “It's vanilla, not my favorite. I suppose I could let you have it.”
“Scooter Pies?” she said, incapable of not smiling. “You eat all this stuff?”
“Yes, I'm really a casual person, Miss Baxter. Very informal. Just a big kid myself. I get fingerprints all over the refrigerator, too. Cheese-puff crumbs on the bedspread.” He wagged his head. “Johanna gets very annoyed with me.”
Nina felt the smile slip from her face. “Who's Johanna?”
“My housekeeper. She comes once a week. I was going to hire her another day if you and your kids moved in, which would help her out, but if it's just me there's not enough for her to do.” He tossed the information off casually, as if it weren't a tactic to make her agree to the job and the accommodations. “All right, let's see…. I also have chili-lime tortilla chips.” His eyes darted her way. “I won't mention the garlic if you don't mention the garlic.”
“I thought you said you rarely eat at home.”
His grin was infectious. “You call this eating?” He rooted through the cabinet some more. “Bag of chocolate chips…cinnamon graham crackers…beer nuts… stop me if I'm getting warmer.”
Nina swallowed the lump in her throat. He wasn't getting warmer, but she was. Darn him, why did he have to be…cute? He stretched up to reach the top shelf of the cabinet, and his polo shirt lifted above the waistband of his jeans to reveal a lean, flat middle. When Nina leaned her head a little to the right, she was pretty sure she glimpsed a hint of washboard abs. He was handsome in his suits, yes, but she'd never guessed that he kept himself so fit.
“Do you bring women here?” she blurted with no preamble, save for the one in her own head. “I mean, often? Do you bring them home often…on dates? I'm only asking because I have impressionable preteens, and if I were to consider your offer-which I'm really not-but in case I were suddenly to consider it, I would need to know.”
He turned toward her. “If you and your children were to move in-which you are not-but if you were suddenly to consider it, you have my word that I would not bring women home.”
And that should have been that.
But David's response referred to the future, and Nina was asking about the past and the present, too. Which was obviously none of her business and which had nothing to do with her children's welfare. Darn it.
Leaving her post by the refrigerator, she pointed to a beautiful carved wood door with an etched-glass insert. “What's through here?”
David came up behind her, reached above her head to place a hand on the door and pushed. “Dining area. For casual evenings at home.”
The irony of his words struck full-force with Nina's first glimpse of the room. Formal dining room would be a criminal understatement to describe the space she walked into.
“Wow.”
Huge and decorated to the hilt, the room held a table that seated ten without inserts, a majestic chandelier, and walls covered in a quilted champagne-colored silk.
Nina ran her hands over the back of a chair that had pale striped-silk upholstery and carved blond wood. “Is this where the president sits?”
David joined her next to the chair and sighed. “You're about to tell me what ketchup would do to these chairs, aren't you?”
“Not at all. Because I highly doubt that anything served at this table would require ketchup.”
She turned to face him. Deliberately, she had worn her customary Sunday-with-the-kids attire: jeans that were faded because she'd worn them for years not because she was making a fashion statement, a cropped lilac sweater, a pair of clogs. Her hair was scraped into a ponytail, so it looked neat until it reached a thick elastic band and burst into the usual ringlets.
As relatively casual as David appeared today- and he was definitely dressed more casually than she had ever seen him-he still gave the appearance of being neat and conservative. And rich. His leather shoes looked as expensive as his couch.
“I'm not used to all this luxury, that's all,” she answered him. “Forgive me if I gawk, but this is like one of those holiday home tours, minus the eggnog.”
“I knew I forgot something.” He snapped his fingers then laid his hand on the back of the chair, close enough to her hand to make her fidget. “I'll show you the rest of the house.”
He led her through the apartment with ease and an enviable nonchalance. Obviously David wasn't overly impressed with his own possessions, but neither did he ignore the impact they had on her, particularly when he and Nina entered the library. Nina heard herself sigh.
The room was a reader's dream. Wall-to-wall carved wood bookshelves, ambient lighting, reading nooks with the kind of chairs you could disappear in. There were books of all kinds. Her children, especially Zach, who loved to read and seemed to have no preference regarding subject matter, would go nuts.
“You even have children's books,” Nina said, running her fingers along the spines of hardcover editions of Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket.
“We have a children's Web site. Gotta keep up.” David stood behind her, casually shrugging off the answer.
Nina walked her fingers down the row of books. “You have A Wrinkle in Time…Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry…Where the Red Fern Grows…. I bet most of the kids who visit the Web site have never heard of these books.”
“Yes they have. I post there.”
Surprised and interested to know more, she turned, but David was already walking to the door. He spent time on the Hanson kids' Web site? He posted? Talked to kids? Suggested books? He truly was full of surprises. And his library was designed for use, not merely for looks. What would the other books say about their owner?
Apparently he wasn't going to give her time to find out. David was already heading down the hall by the time she exited the library. She had to trot to catch up. Standing once more in the living room, she realized they'd made a wide U.
“And that completes our tour. Sorry about the eggnog. Check back with us at the holidays.” He offered the smile she was coming to think of as gentle and a bit goofy.
In truth, though aspects of his apartment were decidedly elegant and far grander than what she was used to, nothing here was tasteless or overdone, and the rooms that were truly David's-like the library- were perfect.
“So, what's the verdict?” he asked, smile still in place, tone casual.
After a few sarcastic cracks about the formality of the rooms, Nina welcomed the chance to make amends. “It's a wonderful apartment. Really. Sophisticated, but warm. And I'm sure the dining room is exactly what your guests expect-”
“I'm not asking for a critique of the decor.” David waved a hand. “Move in and redecorate for all I care. I'm asking whether you're taking the job.” He paused, holding eye contact. “I need an assistant soon. You've seen the apartment.” He spread his arms. “You've seen me. What's your decision?”
Outstanding bills, the threat of homelessness, fear of failure nipped at Nina's heels, urging her to jump at the job, but she remained as disturbed by the solution as she was by the problem. If she said yes and fell in with his plan, what next? Move in lock, stock and barre
l? How would she keep her distance from the boss whose eyes and decency drew her like magnets?
When several bars of upbeat music interrupted the moment, she felt a whoosh of relief. “My cell phone!”
David arched a brow.
“It could be important,” she apologized, trying not to exhibit excessive gratitude for the time out as she ran toward her purse. Generally when her cell phone trilled on a weekend, the caller was her grandmother, asking the name of George Clooney's pet pig so she could win a bet with someone at the senior center.
Flipping open the phone, Nina endeavored to answer with more professionalism than her usual, “Hey, Bubby.”
For several long moments, all she did was listen. Then she nodded, croaked, “I'll be right there,” and snapped the phone shut.
Scooping her purse over her arm and grabbing up her coat, she headed immediately for the door. “I have to go,” she muttered, turning at the last minute toward David, who looked as if he'd expected this.
“I really have to go,” she said, struggling to stay calm while her chest constricted. “Isaac is in the hospital.”
David insisted on driving Nina to the emergency room, and he kept a steadying hand beneath her arm as they walked in, unsure exactly of Isaac's status. The boy had been playing ball at a friend's house when he'd collapsed with an asthma attack. David was not sure who looked more ashen when they were finally by Isaac's bedside-the boy or his mother. Nina enveloped her son in a tight maternal hold, and the preteen didn't seem to mind at all.
“I couldn't get my breath this time,” he whispered in his mother's ear while she stroked the back of his head.
Nina's own terror-she'd been silent the entire car ride-was put aside so she could be strong for her son. “I know, baby. I'm here now. You'll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
Simple words, but Nina's attendance allowed Isaac to relax. There was magic in her love, in the trust she'd inspired in her children. It soothed. It convinced.
David hung back, but no one questioned his presence, so he stayed to hear the E.R. doctor's opinion that Zach should carry a stronger inhaler from now on. He cautioned against overexertion, an admonition Zach had heard too many times before. David could see Nina's frustration, and he decided to take the steps he'd have taken for his own child. He slipped from the room and made a call.
When Zach and Nina emerged from the E.R., he handed her a piece of paper with a phone number plus the date and time of Zach's appointment with the head of cardiopulmonary at the hospital.
Nina frowned at the paper then turned to her son. “Here's some change for the vending machine, Zachie. You must be starving. Get something decent, like trail mix.”
“How about a Baby Ruth? That has peanuts.”
“How about trail mix?” she reiterated, and Zach ran off. Nina raised the paper David had given her. “I don't understand. This is a specialist. We weren't referred to a specialist. Where'd you get this?”
“Phil Reed is a friend of mine,” David said, trying to keep pride out of his voice, because in truth he felt damned good about being able to help. “We went to school together. Call his office first thing tomorrow, and they'll set up an appointment.”
“It's Sunday. Did you call him at home?”
David smiled. “He owes me a favor or two. He didn't mind.”
Nina held the paper up as if it were a note from her kids' principal, the kind of thing she didn't want to see. Keeping her voice low, so Zach wouldn't overhear, she said, “We can't see a specialist, because we weren't referred. My insurance won't cover it. Not to mention, I'm not sure how much longer I will even have insurance. There's no way I can afford to take Zach to the head of a pulmonary department. Those guys charge a fortune for saying, How are you today?”
Tears David didn't understand sparkled in Nina's blue eyes. He thought she was angry with him until he realized that her anger was directed inward. Shame and frustration tightened her lips and the fist that clutched the now-crumpled note.
“So Zach hasn't seen a specialist in a while?” he ventured, despite her obvious resistance to the conversation. “He doesn't visit one on a regular basis?”
“What planet are you from? The one where there really was health-care reform?”
David scowled. “All right, I get the picture. But fortunately I know Phil…” He stopped himself. Nina's face revealed every emotion: hope, worry, anticipation and ultimately the absolute unwillingness to let him foot the bill. She shook her head.
David felt as frustrated as she looked. “Zach needs this.”
“I know!”
“What do you suggest?”
Together they looked toward Zach, who was still trying to decide which button to push on the vending machine.
Nina divided her gaze between her son and David and finally asked, “Does the job come with health benefits?”
“Yes.”
“I'll take it.”
It was a sunny, windy Saturday morning when Nina and her children moved out of their apartment. Zach had an appointment with Dr. Reed the following Monday morning, and Nina wanted to be settled in their new accomodations by then.
Goodwill had already picked up the larger pieces of furniture Nina didn't need, as David's place was already furnished. Because she drove a compact car, she had rented a small van to haul their TV and the boxes that held all their worldly goods. There wasn't much to shout about.
The kids were indoors, finishing their packing, while Nina lugged boxes to the van. Fearing hernias and unwilling to listen to Bubby complain about having to wear a truss the rest of her life, Nina had banished her grandmother from the proceedings. Likewise, she'd insisted that Zach fill boxes rather than carry them; she did not want to risk triggering another asthma attack. So, despite the wind and the fact that it was only 11:00 a.m., perspiration made Nina feel soggy and sticky beneath her T-shirt.
Grunting, she hefted the TV onto the van then tried to wriggle it farther into the cargo area. Sweat trickled from beneath her baseball cap.
“I figured.”
The displeased tone came from directly behind her. Nina whirled, lost her balance and landed on an elbow on the van floor.
“What are you doing here, and what do you mean, you 'figured'?” Nina demanded as she struggled up. She wiped sweat from her eyes and silently cursed David Hanson for looking like an ad for Lands' End while she resembled a street kid.
Taking her gently but firmly by the shoulders, David pulled her away from the van, climbed aboard and carried the TV all the way to the back. Then, without speaking, he rearranged boxes until they were stacked precisely, so that they fit together like a puzzle, keeping each other in place. When he was satisfied, he jumped down and confronted her on the sidewalk.
“I figured you'd be out here, attempting to move everything by yourself. You are one of the most stubborn women I've ever met.” He out-scowled her and demanded, “Where are the high-school boys you said you were going to hire?”
“They wanted eighteen dollars an hour, plus breaks every two hours. You'd think they were unionized. I don't have that much stuff, I can do it myself.” She planted both fists on her hips and said, “You told me you'd be working all day.” Despite the fact that she and her kids were moving into his condo, Nina had wanted to ease into the new environment without his presence for the first couple of hours.
“You agreed to call if you needed help.”
“You agreed to keep quiet and let me do this my way.”
“You said your way would be fast and simple.” Nina narrowed her gaze. “Evidently neither one of us can be trusted.”
“Evidently.” David smiled broadly. “Miss Baxter, I predict that we will make an excellent team. Stay here and guard the TV,” he directed. “I'll get the rest of your things.”
“No way. This is my show. I'm running it. You stay here. I'll get the rest of our stuff.”
“You want me to stand here, watching a van while you carry boxes down two flights of stairs?” H
e crossed his arms high on his chest, rocked back on his heels and slowly shook his head. “Nothing doing. Less than a week ago you suggested I might be gay. My masculinity won't survive another hit.”
Observing the belligerent posture, Nina could barely suppress a grin. “You look like Mr. Clean.” He refused to budge. “All right.” Sighing, she dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out a quarter. “We'll flip to see who guards and who carries.”
Ohmigod, I think I broke something.
Dropping the box she carried with a loud thump, Nina reached around to massage her aching lower back. For the past hour, she'd toted boxes, more than she'd realized they had. Her kids had helped with some of the smaller items, but boxes of books, videos, clothes and toys were heavy, and Nina was seriously reconsidering whether she'd “won” the coin toss.
Wiping her forehead, she glanced at David. Seated on the ground, with one of her kids on either side of him and his legs stretched toward the curb, he laughed heartily at a story Izzy shared. Earlier he'd sent the kids down the block to pick up meatball subs from the Italian deli on the corner. Now the three of them sat with saucy submarine sandwiches on their laps and sodas by their knees, having a picnic. The rats.
She'd ditched her baseball cap when the wind had died down an hour ago, thank goodness, but now she was hot, sweaty and intermittently chilled. All because of a stupid coin toss.
No, all because you're too dang stubborn to accept help from a man when it's offered.
Ever since she'd agreed to take David's job, she'd been asserting her independence in other ways, like insisting she could handle the move on her own. Bubby thought she was nuts, and obviously so did David, but they didn't understand.
Working at Hanson's had given her confidence when her husband had walked out on her. It had given her courage when Zach had been diagnosed with asthma: She could provide for his health care. She could count on herself. Relying on someone else-who might or might not be around for the long haul-was too scary.
Nina swiped moisture from the back of her neck. She was just a sweaty single mother trying to keep her head on straight. Trying to raise two healthy, well-adjusted young people in a world where inconsistency was the rule rather than the exception. She didn't want her children to believe that it was normal for people to walk in and out of each other's lives as easily as they changed shirts. She wanted them to experience stability, not loss. And as far as she could tell, maintaining her independence was the only way to accomplish that.
The Boss and Miss Baxter Page 8
