The Boss and Miss Baxter

by Warren, Wendy

  It was no wonder he found this moment of candlelight, song and family to be almost painfully full of grace.

  He began thinking he might excuse himself, get ready for the party, when Zach announced, “Time for hamotzi!”

  The boy placed his hands on a plate covered by an attractive embroidered cloth. Izzy and Nina each touched one of Zach's shoulders while Zach said a prayer, again in Hebrew. His mother and sister joined him on “Amen!” and the cloth was removed to reveal a fragrant golden-brown loaf of bread that was braided to resemble a fat blond pigtail.

  A bread knife was eschewed in favor of breaking the bread by hand. The inside of the loaf was pale butter-yellow, soft and sweet-smelling, and the rustic appearance of the broken hunk seemed in keeping with the evening's theme of honoring the past while ushering in the future.

  The big surprise came when Nina broke off two small bites of bread and placed one each in her children's mouths. Then Zach and Izzy broke off two pieces and took turns putting those in Nina's mouth.

  While Nina chewed, Izzy spun around to look at David. “Now you!” she said. She tugged on her mother's shirt. “Someone has to feed David.”

  Nina raised a brow, silently asking if he was willing. “We feed each other the challah.” She raised the larger hunk still in her hand. “It's symbolic.”

  Something happened in his stomach, some gnawing yearning that was stronger than hunger. He looked at her, springing hair glowing in the candlelight, face and eyes shining from the inside out.

  Moving toward the threesome, but unable to take his eyes off Nina, he nodded. Yes. Feed me.

  Under the watchful eyes of her two children, Nina broke off a piece of the bread and lifted it to David's mouth. From David's perspective, the scene seemed to play out in slow motion.

  He opened his mouth and felt the brush of her cool fingers against his lower lip as she fed him the bite of challah. He felt his heart pound, felt the sweet, yeasty taste burst on his tongue. Bread had never been this good.

  She began to step away, but David stopped her by reaching for the challah still in her hand. Locking his gaze with hers, he raised the bread to her mouth and felt the same heart-pounding anticipation, the same burst of sweetness as he fed her.

  The candle flames danced light around the room and illuminated the pinkness of Nina's cheeks.

  “Well, that's how our family celebrates Shabbat,” she said breathily, a puff of sweet, self-conscious laughter trailing the words. “Now you know what you've been missing.”

  “Now I know,” he murmured.

  But David had an inkling—no, he was certain—that he'd only just begun to discover what he'd been missing.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Shiguro Taka just told his wife to get the recipe for the brisket.” Samantha waylaid Nina and pulled her into the hallway for a brief conversation. “You're brilliant. Everyone's so into the food they're actually relaxed and chatting like normal people at a party instead of suits with martinis in their hands.”

  Nina breathed a sigh of relief. Actually it may have been her first full breath since David had put the bread in her mouth.

  Samantha looked smashing. Confident and unique as always in a dress made from some filmy material that looked like a watercolor painting. Coming from her, the thumbs-up gave Nina a welcome shot in the arm. She hadn't had time to trade more than a word or two with David since the first guests had arrived. She didn't know how he felt about her decidedly Yiddish soiree.

  Carved brisket, miniature potato kugels, mini bagels and lox, tiny hot pastrami sandwiches on mini rounds of rye, and chopped liver spiked with port (which several people had deemed the finest “pâté” they had ever eaten)-the food was definitely a hit, devoured with the kind of gusto that would make any Jewish mama kvell with joy.

  Looking over Samantha's shoulder, she watched the twenty or so guests laugh and mingle with plates in their hands.

  The room glowed, lit by candles and lamps with amber bulbs. Music was provided by the grandson of one of Bubby's friends at the senior center, who sang in low tones and accompanied himself on the guitar.

  “Do you think David is happy with the evening?” Nina heard the puppy-dog eager-to-please-ness in her own voice. She may as well have wagged her tail and peed on the floor. Smoothing the pale blue silk skirt she'd been lent for the evening, she looked away as if the answer didn't mean all that much and hoped Samantha had missed the too-vulnerable tone.

  “David's usually a little stiff at these things.” The other woman pursed her lips. “I've asked Jack if the Hansons have a genetic mutation I ought to know about, something that makes them sound like European royalty in the 1940s. Have you noticed that?”

  Nina nodded. “I told David he sometimes sounds like Rex Harrison.”

  Samantha laughed. “Jack says his brothers got all the wild and crazy genes. He got an extra dose of responsibility.”

  “Does that bother him?”

  “I think so.” Raising a white-chocolate martini to her lips, Samantha let the drink linger on her tongue then giggled. “At least, it bothered him enough to prove to me he can be wild and crazy when it counts.”

  When Nina's eyes widened at the revelation, Samantha laughed again and patted her shoulder. “Anyway, I've noticed that Jack and David get more formal when there are a lot of people around or when they're nervous.”

  “You think David's nervous?”

  Samantha shook her head. “I think David looks more relaxed tonight than I've seen him at any business function. You've done a great job. Don't worry.”

  Nina nodded and Samantha trailed off in search of Jack. Nina did worry, though. She knew she'd gone out on a limb tonight. Everything from the food to the decorations to the people who were serving had been organized on a self-imposed budget with Nina's own agenda in mind.

  As yet unbeknownst to David, both servers were recently “released” Hanson employees. They had experience in food service, and it had seemed…well, just plain wrong to use a catering service when Nina knew that Janet and Gillian were still looking for jobs. They'd been glad to get her call and though they hadn't been happy to be fired, neither did they appear to hold a grudge against anyone at Hanson. Nina was sure they would conduct themselves professionally, but she wished she'd thought to pull David aside and warn him.

  Stretching on tiptoe, she looked for him among the milling guests. Before she found him, however, she spotted Gillian.

  Circulating with a tray of mini bagels and lox, Gillian had been waylaid by Les Deland, a Hanson exec, who was pointing at her and squinting. Gillian had worked in accounts payable and claimed she'd never mingled much with the Hanson execs or board of directors, but Les looked like he was trying to place her or had already recognized her. More troubling was Gillian's response: Glancing nervously around the room, she appeared to be looking for Nina.

  Foreboding crept fingerlike up Nina's spine. What if one or more of the guests really did take exception to her choice in hiring? What if they thought that populating a Hanson PR party with recently laid-off employees was a bad idea? They would blame David.

  Heading immediately for the plate-glass windows where Gillian and Les Deland stood, Nina began to entertain a host of worries, all of which ended with David losing the trust of his colleagues because of her. Why had she tried to impose her values on his party without even checking with him?

  When she reached the duo, she heard Les Deland, a portly gentleman with a generally jovial disposition and prematurely receding hairline say to Gillian, “Aw, come on, meet me after the party. We can get sushi. There's a place in my neighborhood that stays open till two.”

  “Oh, there's my boss!” Gillian said, her voice sounding worried, but her eyes wide with relief as Nina stopped beside them. “I'd better take this tray around.”

  Les didn't catch the relief part. He patted Gillian's arm. “Don't worry. I've got some pull here.” He winked. To Nina, he said, “I hope you won't chastise this lovely young woman for sharing
a few words with me. I fell in love with her bagels and lox before I fell for her. Maybe you can convince her to have dinner with me?”

  Now that she was close enough to look into his eyes, it seemed to Nina that Les Deland had ingested more bourbon than bagel this evening. Before she could respond to his soggy request, a broad hand slapped Les on the back. “Good to see you enjoying yourself.”

  David's warm voice betrayed not a hint of disapproval.

  “I'm having a terrific time,” Les confirmed, raising a glass that contained nothing but ice. “Best party I've been to all year.”

  “Good. That's what we like to hear. Where's your lovely wife?” David glanced around. “Is she here?”

  Les's puffy cheeks reddened. Looking down at his glass, he mumbled something. The only words Nina caught were visiting and sister.

  “Tell her we missed her,” David said, still betraying not a hint of censure, though Nina thought that someone who knew him well would surely notice the steel behind the smile. “The Takas were just asking me about tickets to the Oprah Winfrey show,” he said, his hand still on Les's shoulder. “Mrs. Taka would like to go. Why don't you look into that?”

  While Les nodded, David told Gillian he was sure Mr. and Mrs. Taka would love to try the lox and bagels if they hadn't already, which gave Gillian the chance to slip away.

  Nina felt a whoosh of relief now that the incident was over, until David requested, “May I have a word with you, Miss Baxter?” She couldn't help but notice that the conviviality in his expression had grown a bit…set.

  Uh-oh.

  “Certainly, Mr. Hanson,” she answered pleasantly, as businesslike as she could be, but that foreboding tingle was back.

  “We can speak in my office,” he said and led the way.

  David walked easily around the pockets of party guests, all dressed in designer clothing and coiffed to studied perfection. He fit right in among them. On the way to his office, he smiled, nodded and traded a word or two here and there, all without actually stopping. The glances from other men were always courteous, sometimes deferential. From the women, he received open admiration and, twice, lingering looks that were frankly flirtatious. David never broke stride. He was obviously a man who had spent his career cultivating respect, and he'd come to take it for granted.

  His brother's dishonesty and the ensuing problems at the company must have been an open sore to a man like David. He intended to use this and subsequent parties to heal the wounds. He'd made that clear to Nina. Which once again called into question her decision to hire ousted Hanson employees without even running it by him first. She hoped he would consider the fact that his guests appeared to be enjoying themselves, but her feet began to drag heavily as she trailed behind him. Something in the way he'd looked at Gillian told her that the catering staff would indeed be the topic of their conversation.

  By the time she stood in the former library, she'd rehearsed, We'll leave in the morning, a dozen times.

  “Will you close the door, please?” David spoke while glancing at some papers on his desk. He didn't even make eye contact with her.

  When the latch clicked, David looked up, bland and businesslike. “Have a seat. This won't take long.”

  “If it won't take long, I think I'll stand.”

  “Have a seat.”

  “Don't mind if I do.”

  She perched on the edge of a designer chair, and waited.

  David leaned a hip on his desk, loosely clasped hands resting on one thigh. “I went to the kitchen for an aspirin,” he said. “Your grandmother certainly is busy in there.”

  Nina got the point. She hadn't mentioned yet that she and Bubby had made all the food themselves. She'd decided to wait until after he realized how delicious it was.

  “I was glad to see she had help,” David continued, his tone deceptively conversational. “Jog my memory. I'm great with faces, but not as good with names. Who is the woman slicing the pastrami?”

  “Janet Daitch.”

  “Right. And I recognize her because she works at Hanson Media Group. Correct?”

  “Worked at Hanson Media Group.”

  David's expression did change then, growing somber, tighter. “The laid-off grandmother who was looking forward to retirement.” He remembered what she'd told him the day she'd lectured him about firing employees and eating at restaurants with Michelin stars.

  “What about the woman Les was bothering?” he asked.

  “Gillian.” Nina sighed. In for a penny. “Gillian Roesch. Accounts payable.”

  “Laid off?”

  “With the first wave of cutbacks. She has three kids under five. And waitressing experience,” Nina said in her own defense.

  David's expression remained impassive. “What about the other server? Short dark hair.”

  “Amanda Barker. She'd only been at Hanson a couple of weeks before the layoffs,” Nina said hopefully, as if that would make her decision to hire much more palatable. “And she really prefers waitressing.”

  He nodded, slowly and without ever taking his eyes off her. Guilt crept along the edges of Nina's mind. She'd wanted to “teach” David and his fellow execs about budgeting and loyalty to employees, but she hadn't shown much loyalty to him. Ever since she'd thrown things at him he had done nothing but attempt to make amends for her job loss. He had tried to improve her circumstances.

  She had complicated his.

  “If I was half as smart as I think I am, I'd fire you.” Nausea and regret rose in Nina's throat. Under the circumstances she couldn't blame him, but the sense of loss she felt swelled like a wave she needed to jump.

  He stood away from the desk, which made him tower over her. “You're wasted here. I don't know what I was thinking. I ought to hire you to assist within-house public relations. In fact, the more I think about it, the better firing you as my personal assistant sounds.”

  Perched on the chair while he hovered above her, Nina felt her mind swirl with indecision. Should she begin apologizing now? Walk away with dignity? Beg for her job so her children could eat next week?

  She pushed to her feet, willing, at least, to ask that he please allow the other women to finish the night's work.

  David's expression was unreadable, his handsome face a construction of chiseled angles and clean curves.

  “Do you think I should fire you?” His voice was softer now. Subtle. His warm baritone melded the words together like a song, making her fear subside. Milk-chocolate eyes gazed at her like he was a layer of frosting and she was the cake.

  What was the question?

  “Think about it, Nina. If you weren't my personal assistant, it wouldn't be quite so wrong to do this.”

  He'd anticipated her resisting. He'd half expected himself to stop before he actually kissed her.

  But when David put his hands on Nina's arms and drew her toward him, lowered his head…closer… closer…closer…neither of those two things happened. He didn't stop and she didn't pull away.

  There was a world of surprise and awe in that kiss. For David, at least. He couldn't tell what Nina was feeling. At first it was difficult to focus on her response because he was too involved in the taste of her and in resisting the pull to delve his fingers into the masses of thick looping curls. Go slow, go slow was the chant that thrummed through his brain, but desire clashed against it like a competing cymbal.

  He remembered that he was kissing someone who hadn't asked to be kissed, who hadn't indicated in any way that she wanted to make their relationship physical, so he worked his mouth more slowly over hers, testing and questioning until he knew they were on the same page.

  More or less the same page. What David sensed from Nina was that she was willing; he, on the other hand, wanted to end the party now, clear out the house and carry her to his bedroom. And he didn't want to come out for at least twenty-four hours.

  Through his suit jacket, he felt her hands curl around his triceps. He wanted to rip off the jacket and growl, “Touch me!” To avoid frigh
tening either her or the guests in the other room, however, he contented himself by releasing her arms to slide his hands up toward her collarbone.

  She was wearing a silky pale blue top with a round neck that gave him easy access to the delicate, creamy skin, dusted with freckles so small they looked like glitter. He merely pictured those freckles now as he trailed the pads of his fingers over the silky skin, eyes closed as she shivered and he deepened the kiss. He gave himself another minute before he had to pull away or lock the damned door and take her now on the Berber carpet.

  He ran a hand to the back of her neck, slipped his tongue past her open lips and felt himself grow harder than granite as she opened her mouth.

  If he'd been twenty years younger he wouldn't have considered stopping. Not when her tongue met his, not when he felt her fingers tighten as if she had to cling to his arms to keep from falling down.

  Yes. This was what he wanted. This woman. At this time in his life. Bring your baggage, bring it all, Nina Baxter. And let me touch you, let me inside, because I've never wanted to be anyplace more.

  He slipped a knee between her legs, moved his hands down her back to hold her when she swayed. The fire he was playing with consumed her, too.

  To hell with stopping. All they had to do was figure out how to get out of here so he could take her to a hotel room. Jack could close the damned party.

  David's brain tried to work, but with most of his blood rushing downward, it wasn't easy. He decided to clue Nina in on what he was thinking and gently, with great difficulty, pushed her away.

  Lust made his heart pound, which in turn roughened the edges of his voice. “Listen-”