The Boss and Miss Baxter

by Warren, Wendy

  On the other hand, she'd been pretty independent so far today.

  There were only a few boxes left, but she ached from head to toe.

  And her stomach growled.

  And she wanted a meatball.

  Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a quarter and approached the lunch bunch.

  “I'd like a rematch,” she said to David, flipping the coin in the air. “I think I've been very unfair, making you sit here, questioning your masculinity and all.”

  Leisurely he took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed and said, “No, I feel okay about that now.”

  She smiled. “Really? Because you look a little…insecure. Let's flip again. Heads I keep moving, tails you take over.” She tossed the coin in the air before he could protest. Catching it mid-fly and slapping it on the back of her hand, she said, “Ah, look at that! Tails.”

  David raised a knee, rested his forearm atop it and eyed her. “And I can trust you on this?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” She pocketed the quarter.

  He nodded toward his paper-wrapped lunch.

  “There's half of an excellent meatball sandwich here. Can I trust that it will still be there when I return?”

  “I hate meatballs.”

  David stood, brushed off his jeans and gazed down at her. “I heard your stomach growl.”

  She sighed. “David, if we're going to work together, we're going to have to learn to trust each other, aren't we?”

  “You don't need a root-beer float.” Nina reached into the corners of the window she had just sprayed with glass cleaner and dug out the dust. “You just had lunch,” she reminded David, who had finished packing the van and was now helping her and the kids clean the apartment so she could collect her security deposit.

  David removed a long-deceased moth and a very crunchy spider from the inside of the living-room light fixture. Then he borrowed the glass cleaner to spritz the glass dome so it would be sparkling clean when he reattached it to the ceiling.

  “Excuse me,” he countered as he worked, “but I did not have my lunch. You had my lunch. And for the record, it's just wrong to lie about disliking meatballs.”

  “We're almost finished here. If you want, I'll make you meatballs for dinner.” She sneezed. “I must be allergic to something in this cleaning fluid.”

  “Here.” David took the paper towels. “You sweep the kitchen. I'll rehang this light and then finish the windows.”

  “We already swept the kitchen. And mopped. This is all that's left.”

  “Well, sit on the floor then and supervise.”

  Because she was exhausted, Nina didn't argue. She plopped onto the carpet, trusted that the kids were cleaning their rooms and watched David climb the step stool and stretch up to hang the light. As he reached, she could see his abdomen beneath his sweater. Nice. Flat and very nice.

  He glanced down at her. “So, will you really make me meatballs?”

  He sounded surprised, hopeful. As if the notion gave him some deep pleasure. She considered her aching body and, at the moment, equally aching head, and weighed that against his smile. “Yes, Mr. Hanson. I will make you meatballs.”

  Considering her answer as he screwed in the fixture, he smiled. “To tell the truth, I think I've had my fill of meatballs for the day, and I'm sure the kids have.” He hopped down from the step stool. “Let's stop by the market on the way home, anyway, though, for essentials like ice cream. And chocolate sauce. I make a mean soda. It'll knock your socks off, Miss Baxter. We'll call it a housewarming party.” He folded the step stool to carry to the van then asked, apparently as an afterthought, “Do you make lasagna?”

  Nina had never been as devoted to cooking as Bubby. The domestic goddess gene has skipped her generation.

  But she liked the way David said the kids.

  And he moved boxes.

  And he was going to make ice cream sodas. And every time he was fed, he smiled like a big, happy cat.

  “I make such good lasagna,” she said, trying-and failing-to ignore the way his brows rose and his smile stretched slowly, pleasurably, across his face. Aw, hell. She smiled back. “I make garlic bread, too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Within a half hour of moving their belongings into David's condominium, Izzy and Zach were able to make themselves right at home. They loved having their own rooms, exclaimed in joy over the spaciousness of the condo and the electronic amenities. It appeared to Nina that David had picked up a few items, too, since she'd been here last.

  The library was now also David's office, while his former office had become a den, complete with a large plasma TV, DVD player, stereo system and PlayStation. A stunning assortment of age-appropriate DVDs and CDs filled a shelving unit. It would have taken most of Nina's salary for the next six months to pay for all those goodies.

  There were changes in Nina's suite, too: candles and potpourri and bath salts from an expensive bed-and-bath boutique.

  When they'd stopped at the market on the way “home“-a pit stop Nina had unsuccessfully tried to veto-David had made her stay outside with the van while he and the kids had descended on the gourmet market he liked best. They emerged with not merely the makings of a knock-your-socks-off ice-cream soda, but a bulging bag filled with treats from the gourmet deli.

  It was 6:00 p.m. by the time all the boxes were stacked neatly in their respective rooms, the van was locked up tight for the night and everyone was ready for dinner. Nina's head was throbbing with more rhythm than a rap album, and she'd have been thrilled to try out the bath salts before pouring her aching body into bed. But there was business to attend to, namely the business of having a chat with two children who were sure they had just walked into paradise.

  Before she accompanied Zach and Izzy to the kitchen to prepare their dinner, she sat them down on David's gorgeous leather sofa, where she immediately admonished them never, ever, ever to sit with food, drink or fountain pens. Then she got down to the serious stuff.

  Content to have David safely ensconced in his office on a business call, Nina stood before her politely attentive children and began her this-is-how-we-behave-in-someone-else's-home spiel.

  “Most everything in here is designed for adults, not kids,” Nina warned, waving a hand to indicate the light carpeting and handblown glass bowls. “If we spill a soda or throw a ball in here-even a Nerf ball-we could wind up paying Mr. Hanson back for the rest of our natural lives. So no eating or playing in these rooms.”

  “Where do we eat?” Izzy asked.

  “The kitchen. Only the kitchen.”

  “What about in the den in front of the TV?” Zach asked. “You're supposed to eat in dens. Teddy's mom says all his dad needs to be happy is a cheese steak, his den and a barking lounger.”

  “Barcalounger.” Nina thought it over a moment. She loved popcorn and a weepy movie. That was how she spent most of her Saturday nights after the kids went to bed. But if she allowed popcorn then she'd have to allow sodas, and she hadn't missed the new chenille-covered love seat in David's former office. “No.” She shook her head. “No food in the den. Sorry, buddy.”

  “We have to remember that I'm here to work. Mr. Hanson will be hosting business dinners. The house has to look good all the time, so we've got to make sure there's a place for everything and everything in its place.”

  Her children began to look positively horrified, which she decided wasn't an altogether bad thing. She was sure the plasma TV, Play Station and giant-size bedrooms were planting ideas of permanence in their pre-teenage heads.

  Five minutes later, her children's eyes were going glassy and their mouths were turning down at the edges. Nina pressed on with what she hoped were gentle but firm admonishments not to think of this as their home…because it wasn't.

  “This is temporary,” she stated, lowering her voice a bit. “We're here indefinitely, but only until I can find an appropriate permanent position and our own housing again. So it's important to treat this place the way you would tre
at, say, Mrs. Watson's house.” She named one of Bubby's friends, who had a three-bedroom home in the suburbs and often invited the kids over to play in the yard.

  “Mrs. Watson's house smells like mothballs.” Izzy wrinkled her nose.

  “And she serves broken cookies,” Zach added. “Bubby says she buys them for half price at the bakery.”

  “But we can't tell what kind we're eating!” Izzy shook her head. “We don't like it there.”

  “All right.” Trying to keep her cool, Nina held up a hand to stave off more complaints. “Maybe that wasn't a good example, but whether or not you like it isn't the point. The point is when you're a guest in someone's home, you treat it extra-carefully and with respect.”

  As if by magic, the mutinous pouts on her children's faces softened. Zach nodded broadly. Izzy looked at him and, taking his cue, nodded broadly also.

  Nina used the glimmer of hope and satisfaction she felt to spur her on to a recitation of the house rules.

  “If you want to use the telephone here, please ask me first. No friends over on nights when Mr. Hanson is entertaining, so you'll have to check with me first to get the schedule….”

  As she continued, Zach and Izzy appeared alert and attentive, shaking or nodding their heads appropriately. They also, however, appeared to find much of what Nina said to be very humorous. Their mouths looked like someone had pulled too hard on draw-strings, a sure sign that they were trying not to laugh. When she saw Zach's gaze travel behind her, she became suspicious and glanced at the mirror above the sofa while she spoke.

  David stood behind her, grinning and nodding ridiculously when she told the children what they could do; he frowned deeply and wagged an admonishing finger when she listed a behavior she wanted them to avoid.

  “So if it's raining, no shoes on in the house, and what are you doing?“Whirling, she caught David mid-wag.

  Izzy gasped dramatically and slapped a hand on her mouth. Zach giggled.

  David grinned. “That's an awful lot of rules you've got there, Mom.”

  She blinked. He was criticizing her? He ought to be thanking her! “Pardon me,” she said with great dignity and gravity. “I am trying to advise my children on how to behave in someone else's home.”

  “And I'm trying to make them feel at home. Can we have ice cream sodas now?”

  The kids jumped up.

  “No!” Nina held out a hand to stay them.

  “Why not?”

  “You were supposed to say, 'May we,'” Zach prompted.

  “Ohhh.” David nodded. “May we have—”

  “That is not why! No one is going anywhere until you've been excused.”

  “May we please be excused now?” Izzy piped up.

  Exasperated, Nina flapped a hand at her children. “Yes, fine.” She glared at David, who had decided to take Zach's place on the sofa. “What are you doing now?”

  “I wasn't excused.”

  “There are no excuses for you, Mr. Hanson.”

  “You're right. None whatsoever. I apologize for my, may I say, uncharacteristically juvenile behavior.” Then he leaned forward. “I'm having a great time. I realize you're uncomfortable with this situation, so pathetic confession number one-I never had kids of my own, and I was a workaholic when my nephews were young. Being around your kids-who make me laugh, by the way-gives me a chance to live vicariously. Pathetic confession number two.” He clasped his hands. Refined, comforting hands. “The thought of filling my very large, very quiet home with the sound of other people works for me right now. Please don't ask your kids to be too quiet here, Nina. This place feels like a morgue sometimes.”

  Nina felt her resistance to the entire situation drop a notch. Every time she thought she'd shored up her immunity to David, he managed to touch her. Usually by saying something exquisitely simple.

  “Is there a three?” she asked.

  David cocked his head. “Three?”

  “Is there a pathetic confession number three?”

  “Ah.” He shook his head. “No. Two per day is my limit. I don't like to overindulge.” Standing, he smiled with no apparent agenda other than to enjoy the evening. “Except when it comes to ice cream. Time for sodas.” He deferred to her with a nod. “All right?”

  What could she do but nod in return?

  “Good,” he said, rubbing his palms together.

  “Stand back and let a master show you how it's done.”

  I think I just have, Nina thought, knowing already that making the decision to leave here would be more difficult than the decision to move in.

  Despite a lingering headache and fatigue that she attributed to the move, Nina spent the following two days organizing the library/office into a functional work space. David suggested she take a couple of days simply to settle in with her kids, but she ignored him. Her children were in electronics heaven, and she needed to focus on work in order to remind herself that their stay here was first, last and in between about business.

  It didn't take too long for David to fall into step with her. They worked smoothly together, organizing files and compiling task lists. After the first couple of hours on Sunday, Nina noted a marked change in David's demeanor, however. He started out relaxed and casual, as he had been during the move, but by midday he was the David Hanson she knew from the office-polite, professional and remote.

  On Monday she phoned him at the office to tell him about Zach's early-morning appointment with the pulmonary specialist. The visit had offered far more promise than their usual doctor appointments, and both she and Zach had left the office in good spirits. David picked up her call by saying, “Yes, Miss Baxter? What can I do for you?” Nina told herself that the distance, the return to formality-even to a bit of awkwardness between them-was right. It was good.

  She worked furiously through Monday afternoon, keeping her mind on business, and by the time she picked her children up from school-a luxury afforded by the job's flexible hours-she was ready to collapse in the wondrously comfortable bed David had given her.

  She was on day three of her headache, plus now her body protested every move and her throat was sore. Her children would have been thrilled with drive-through burgers or microwaved frozen dinners featuring a fat and sugar content guaranteed to accelerate the hardening of their arteries. Nina, however, insisted on preparing something fresh and reminiscent of the food pyramid while Zach and Izzy worked on homework at the kitchen counter.

  She was sautéing broccoli and red peppers for a pasta sauce and concentrating hard on remaining upright when David arrived home.

  He looked tired as he entered the kitchen, leaned against the counter and watched her. He remained like that, not speaking, simply watching her cook, a full minute. Then he straightened, raised a hand carrying a briefcase and pointed at her. “You should not be cooking. You look as if you're about to keel over.”

  “I'm fine, and good evening to you, too,” she snapped, too sick and irritable to admit that he was right. “I'm making pasta. There's plenty if you're hungry.”

  Nina kept her pounding head lowered and was surprised when the large sauté spoon was plucked from her hand.

  “Sit down,” David commanded. “You look like you're about to fall face first into the skillet. You're probably scaring your children.”

  Nina glanced toward her kids, who should have been studying, but instead were engaged in a discussion about gummy worms. Go figure. Nina smirked at David. “You don't know much about kids. Right now my children's biggest concern is their empty stomachs. Give me back the spoon.”

  He held it out of her reach. “You look like hell.” Nina's eyes widened, which hurt her head. Apparently their strictly business relationship was on a different footing after five.

  Unable to argue the fact that she looked awful, she settled for logic. “You can't stir spaghetti sauce- you're wearing a white shirt.” Nyah, nyah, nyah.

  Reaching into a drawer, David withdrew a large dish towel and tucked it into his collar, letting it dra
pe across his chest. He looked ridiculous. And certain that he'd won the argument. So she let him. Sort of.

  At 7:00 p.m., after supervising dinner from a stool at the kitchen counter, Nina crawled into bed with a glass of water and two ibuprofen.

  Zach and Izzy were with David, watching Shrek 2 and laughing uproariously when Shrek passed wind.

  Nina had had no idea-none, not a lick, not a clue-that David would be so eager-or that he would enjoy the kids so much. She'd had a very different scenario in mind when she'd finally agreed to move in.

  Jerking the covers up on her luscious queen-size bed, she shivered beneath the duvet. She certainly would have stayed up and made sure the kids got into bed okay, but she was so achy she could hardly sit upright and her head was still pounding. David and the kids had urged her to call it a night, promising that bedtimes would be honored and no food would leave the kitchen area. Though David had moaned, “Aw, Mo-om,” when she'd insisted on delivering the no-snacks-in-the-TV-room reminder.

  Groaning a little from the effort, Nina reached up to turn off the bedside lamp. Apparently she was the only person in the house at present time who did not find this situation comfortable.

  No, that wasn't true. It was comfortable. It was too comfortable. It was—

  Tension filled her chest as she tried to block the word that came to mind.

  Don't think it. Don't think it.

  Perfect.

  Arrrrghhhh!!! Nina grabbed a goose-down pillow, held it over her head and growled into it. David Hanson was a low-down, dirty double-crosser! The man was supposed to be a stiff-backed executive. He was supposed to socialize with models and socialites and other stiff-backed executives in swanky clubs and five-star restaurants. He was not supposed to enjoy whipping up ice-cream sodas or to laugh out loud at flatulent green ogres. If he was going to be so damned agreeable and easygoing, such a…such a…family man, then he ought to get his own family and leave single mothers with fantasy issues in peace.