A Night To Remember

by Gina Wilkins

  Buffy rushed to meet him when he entered the front door, yipping excitedly and leaping straight into the air, her feathery tail frantically beating the air. Andrew thought of all the people who talked about what a joy it was to have a pet to greet them when they arrived home.

  “They’re all nuts,” he muttered, fending off the hyperactive little mutt.

  “Settle down, will ya?” he grumbled, giving the dog a brisk pat to calm it. “Man, you’d think you haven’t seen a human in weeks.”

  The dog only wagged its tail harder and licked his hand.

  As Andrew knelt beside his mother’s dog, a streak of orange fur suddenly raced up his arm and settled on his shoulder. Startled, Andrew jerked.

  Sharp claws pierced his suit jacket and through his shirt to find the vulnerable skin beneath. Andrew gave a strangled curse and tried to shrug the animal off, but it clung stubbornly.

  There was a cat on his shoulder. Twisting his neck to study the creature, he noted that it was little more than a straggly orange kitten. It meowed pitifully and tried to hide beneath Andrew’s chin.

  The dog stood on its hind legs, front paws braced on Andrew’s leg, and barked a challenge at the intrusive cat.

  “What the—Nicole!”

  Trying to peel the cat off his shoulder without ruining his suit, Andrew called Nicole’s name again. His housekeeper appeared instead.

  “Oh, dear,” Martha said, making an obvious effort to look sympathetic while fighting an instinctive smile at her employer’s predicament. “Here, let me help you,” she said, reaching out to take the cat firmly in her hands.

  “Let go, now,” she murmured, gently extricating tiny claws from the expensive fabric of Andrew’s jacket. “I’ve got you.”

  “I would ask where it came from, but I suppose I already know,” Andrew said. “Nicole?”

  Still subduing a smile, Martha nodded. “She found the poor little thing this morning. It looked to have been abandoned. She said she only brought it here until she finds it a good home.”

  Andrew sighed. “Where is she?”

  “She’s working this evening. But there’s someone waiting to meet you in your study.”

  Andrew had a hard time deciding which comment to question first. “She’s working? Where? And who’s waiting for me?”

  “She’s found a waitressing job in a restaurant in midtown. On Madison, I think. She said to tell you she gets off at eleven and will be home afterward. And the man who’s waiting for you is her cousin, Mr. Nathaniel Holiday. He said you’re expecting him.”

  Andrew rubbed his temple over the earpiece of his glasses. “All right. I’ll go talk to him. Did Nicole tell you the name of the restaurant where she’s working?”

  “She wrote it down. I have it in the kitchen.”

  “I’d like to see it when I’m finished.”

  “Yes, sir. Will you be wanting dinner here this evening, Mr. Andrew?”

  “No. I’ll probably dine out.”

  Martha’s mouth twitched again. “Yes, sir.”

  Murmuring reassurances to the mewing cat, she carried it off, ordering Buffy to follow. Rather to Andrew’s surprise, the dog obeyed. Must be time for it to eat, he decided, then went in search of Nicole’s cousin.

  The man was sitting at Andrew’s formerly pristine desk, which was now littered with portable computer equipment, stacks of disks and papers, and what appeared to be candy wrappers. Behind the mess sat Nathaniel Holiday.

  He was young—no more than mid-twenties, Andrew guessed—and disheveled, to put it generously. He had a mop of curly, unruly black hair that reminded Andrew forcibly of Nicole’s dark curls, and a stubble of dark whiskers on his thin cheeks and stubborn-looking chin. There was a smudge of chocolate on his right cheek.

  He looked up from his computer screen when Andrew entered the room, and his eyes were as dark as Nicole’s, his lashes perhaps a shade longer—unusually long for a male. He wore a black turtleneck with a yellow smear of what might have been mustard on the right shoulder, and a complex, multifunctional black watch that almost dwarfed his thin left wrist as his hands hovered above the keyboard.

  Andrew suddenly recognized that keyboard—as well as the other equipment. It had all been neatly arranged on the credenza when he’d left that morning.

  “That’s my equipment,” he felt compelled to state irritably.

  Nate nodded. “You had a real mess on here. Don’t know how you navigated through it all. I’ve done some organizing and interfacing for you.” He paused, apparently waiting for Andrew to express his heartfelt gratitude.

  “I have some important and confidential material in that computer,” Andrew said from between his teeth. “If you’ve messed it up—”

  Nate’s dark eyebrows drew together. “I don’t ‘mess up,”’ he said testily. “And it couldn’t have been much more of a mess than it was, anyway. Come have a look.”

  Still scowling, Andrew rounded the corner of his desk to find out how much damage Nicole’s cousin had done. “All right. Show me.”

  Twenty minutes later he was shaking his head in amazement. Nate had rearranged his files so that Andrew could have instant access to anything on the hard drive with only a touch or two on the keyboard. He’d even simplified access to the computers at DataProx, and to the complex, often confusing Internet.

  “This is my own net-search design,” Nate announced without modesty. “Helluva lot easier than anything available commercially now.”

  “Why haven’t you marketed this?” Andrew demanded.

  Nate shrugged the mustard-stained shoulder. “Takes money. I don’t have any.”

  “And you haven’t been able to get anyone to look at it?” Andrew couldn’t believe this talent hadn’t already been snapped up by the perpetually hungry computer industry.

  “I haven’t tried much,” Nate admitted. “I’m not into the introduction-and-interview thing, you know? I’ve sold a few game programs during the past couple of years, and have hired out a couple of times for customized programming, but I don’t really have time for all the games corporates like to play.”

  Andrew was hardly surprised by that announcement.

  “What I’m really interested in,” Nate went on, “is global communication. I’m working on an E-mail program that includes an instant language translator, among other new features. You type your message in English and multiple recipients read it in whatever languages you designate with no more delay than a normal E-mail transmission. It’s got a few bugs—most of them concerning slang and dialect—but nothing I couldn’t solve with time and money. That money thing is the kicker. Corporations tend to be pretty tight with it, you know? They think they’ve got to have guarantees to account for every penny. I can’t seem to convince them that genius doesn’t work on deadline.”

  . “When genius doesn’t work on deadline, genius gets left in the dust,” Andrew returned promptly. “What good’s a brilliant discovery if someone else has already made it?”

  “Technology’s not a game,” Nate complained. “Everyone benefits from the advances, not just the ones who stumble onto them first.”

  “It’s not a game. It’s a race. And the ones who stumble onto the improvements first are the ones who receive the funding to pursue the next goal. Competition may not be the noblest of incentives, but you can’t deny that it has played a healthy part in the development of modern technology.”

  “I won’t wear a tie,” Nate warned.

  Andrew followed the non sequitur easily enough. “If you work for me, you won’t be expected to.”

  “I don’t punch a time clock.”

  “No. But you’ll be expected to give approximate time estimates—and to live up to them.”

  Nate rubbed his chin. “You’ll pay me?”

  Andrew’s mouth quirked. “Yeah. I’ll pay you. I want the rights to market your net-search software, and an option on any future designs.”

  “You don’t seem to know much about computers,” Nate said skeptic
ally, glancing at Andrew’s equipment.

  “I leave that to the hackers on my payroll. What I do know is how to make money with their genius. And I believe in dividing it fairly.”

  “Good enough.” Nate pushed himself away from Andrew’s desk and stood. “I’ve gotta go. Things to do.”

  “I’ll need your signature on some paperwork.”

  “Get it ready. Tell Nicky when and where you want me to sign. I’ll be there,” Nate said as he headed toward the door.

  Andrew had worked with other eccentric geniuses, but he didn’t think there’d been another one quite like this guy. He realized they hadn’t even introduced themselves. “I suppose you know I’m Andrew Tyler.”

  “Nate Holiday,” the younger man muttered over his shoulder. “Nice to meetcha.”

  He paused in the doorway and looked back with a frown, as though he felt there was something else he should say.

  Prepared for an awkward thank-you, Andrew was caught off guard when Nate said instead, “You’re sleeping with Nicky?”

  “Er, yes. I am.”

  Nate nodded shortly. “Last guy was a jerk. You treat her right.”

  Andrew decided that the family resemblance between Nate and eccentric, Great-uncle Timbo was a strong one. “I will,” he said.

  “Good. She’s all right.”

  Andrew would have guessed that the blunt words were very high praise, indeed, from Nathaniel Holiday. “Yes. She’s very much all right.”

  Apparently satisfied, Nate made his exit. Andrew didn’t bother to offer to show him out.

  Shaking his head, he looked at the chaos on his desk.

  What further surprises would Nicole bring into his life?

  Surprisingly enough, he found that he was rather looking forward to them.

  “HEY, HONEY. How about another beer over here?”

  Nicky nodded in response to the summons and hurried with a heavy tray of food to a table of impatient diners. “Here you go, folks,” she said cheerfully, setting heaping plates in front of the two gray-haired couples at the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Ketchup,” one of the men requested, looking at the thick cottage fries on his plate.

  Nicky patiently lifted the bottle that had been sitting two inches from his elbow and nudged it closer. “Here it is, sir. Anything else?”

  “That will be all for now.”

  She hurried to serve the man who’d asked for beer.

  “Customer at table six,” the cute, pony-tailed hostess informed her as soon as she’d taken care of that request.

  Nicky nodded and pulled her order pad out of the red-and-white gingham apron she wore over the restaurant uniform of black jeans and a red T-shirt with the name of the establishment embroidered in white on the left breast. Only one guest was seated at table six, face hidden behind a menu. At Nicky’s approach, he lowered it.

  “Andrew!” she said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had a sudden craving for barbecue,” he replied gravely.

  She giggled and touched his cheek fleetingly with her fingertips. “You came to check out my new job, didn’t you? I assure you it’s a perfectly safe place to work.”

  “I can see that,” he agreed, glancing around at the almost too cute, faux Western decor. The clientele was primarily middle-aged and working class, rather sparse on this Monday evening so soon after the holidays.

  He looked back at her. “When did you find this job?”

  “This morning. They needed someone immediately for the evening shift, and since I just happened to be available, they hired me.”

  “I didn’t realize you were looking for this type of work.”

  A bit self-conscious, and wondering if she saw disapproval in his eyes, Nicky shrugged. “I just needed something to get me by until something better comes along. I’ve had experience waiting tables, and I like working with people, so this will be fine for now.”

  Andrew looked as though he started to say something and then changed his mind. He hesitated a moment, then said, “I hired your cousin today. At least, I think I did,” he added wryly.

  She caught her breath. “You liked Nate’s work?”

  “He probably is a genius, as you’ve said. Whether he can work within my requirements remains to be seen.”

  “You won’t be sorry, Andrew.” She crossed her fingers as she spoke, knowing Nate too well to make airy guarantees.

  Someone behind her loudly cleared a throat. Nicole glanced around, spotted her boss, nodded and turned back to Andrew. “Do you want to order something? I really have to get back to work.”

  “I’ll have the pork, with fries and coleslaw.”

  “Good choice. Want a beer with it?”

  “Ice tea,” he corrected her. “I don’t like beer.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Which, of course, only reminded her of how many more things she still didn’t know about Andrew.

  “Now you do,” he said simply.

  She smiled. “I’ll be right back with your tea.”

  She moved away, then, remembering, stopped and turned back. She cleared her throat. “Er, about the cat...”

  He winced and touched his right shoulder. “Yeah. I met the cat.”

  “I’ll find it a home, I promise,” she said quickly. “I just haven’t had time yet, what with the new job and all.”

  He only nodded. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with her for bringing another stray into his life. He didn’t seem to be, she decided in relief.

  He really was a very sweet man, she thought with a smile as she hurried back to work. Was it any wonder that she was crazy about him?

  Andrew lingered for quite a while after he’d eaten. Even after he’d finished the peach cobbler he’d ordered for dessert, he appeared to be in no hurry to leave, though he didn’t expect Nicky to hover around his table. He seemed content just to sit back, sip his coffee and watch her work.

  It finally occurred to her what he was doing. “Andrew,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s only eight-thirty. I don’t get off work for another two and a half hours. You can’t sit here the entire time and wait for me.”

  “I have nothing else to do this evening. And it’s not as if there’s an urgent need for my table,” he explained, motioning toward the empty tables around them.

  The man was impossibly old-fashioned and protective. She should have felt smothered. Instead she was touched—a reaction she tried to hide when she spoke firmly to him. “Andrew, I really don’t need an escort. Please, go home. I’ll be fine.”

  His forehead creased. “I don’t like the thought of you being out alone that late.”

  “I’ll lock my car. And I’ll come straight home.”

  It occurred to her that she had used the word “home” quite casually, considering she was still just a guest in his house. Andrew didn’t seem to notice. He was still frowning, but he sighed in resignation. “I suppose you’re right. You don’t need me hanging around while you work.”

  “No. But thank you for being concerned.”

  He nodded and stood. “Be careful,” he said a bit gruffly. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  If she’d ever heard sweeter words, she’d long since forgotten. Her smile felt tremulous as she watched him leave.

  And then she turned to find that he’d left her a twenty dollar tip for his ten dollar meal. Shaking her head in exasperation, she pocketed the bill, resolved to return it to him later.

  She hadn’t asked for his money. She didn’t want it, or need it. She only wanted his love.

  And that, she suspected, her smile dimming, was much more difficult for him to give.

  11

  BY EARLY FRIDAY EVENING, Andrew had reached an unavoidable conclusion. He truly hated Nicole’s new job.

  “She’s never here,” he complained to the orange cat that sat on his knee as he sulked in the den, much too aware of the emptiness of his home without Nicole in it. “She’s always busy.”


  The cat meowed plaintively, as if in sympathy, and rubbed its head against Andrew’s palm.

  Buffy had gone home, having been collected by Andrew’s mother sometime Wednesday morning. Lucy had called Andrew’s office to tell him she was home from New York and had reclaimed her dog. She’d thanked him profusely for letting her impose on him, and had then proceeded to rave about what good care “dear Nicky” had taken of the little mutt. She’d added a few hints about what a good mother Nicole would be and then had hung up before Andrew could remind her that he and Nicole hadn’t reached the point where such speculation was appropriate.

  But no matter how casual, or temporary, he’d implied the relationship to be to his mother, Andrew missed Nicole intensely when he came home at night and she wasn’t there. He’d become quickly spoiled to having her company, to seeing her smile when he entered a room, to sharing meals with her.

  Now she came home late, so tired she could hardly move. She always went willingly into his arms, but on a couple of occasions she’d looked so weary that he hadn’t had the heart to do anything more than tuck her into bed and hold her while she slept. She tried to wake when he did in the mornings, but he usually let her sleep. Even when she woke, they had only a short time together before he had to leave. She was gone again when he returned.

  He hated it.

  He wanted very much to ask her to quit. It was ridiculous for her to be working at a hard, low-paying job to scrape by when he had more than enough money to spare. But, after the way she’d reprimanded him for leaving too large a tip when he’d dined at her table Monday evening, he hadn’t quite had the courage to try to offer more. That stubborn pride of hers was proving to be a problem.

  Twice during the week, she’d mentioned looking for an apartment. Both times Andrew had managed to convince her to wait awhile.

  She really should save enough for a decent deposit, he’d argued. Take the time to find a home she really liked, not just the first affordable place she could find.

  He didn’t want her to leave.

  It briefly occurred to him that he’d once thought he wanted a woman who had her own interests. Who wouldn’t expect him to entertain her. Who wouldn’t cling. He winced, finding the descriptions much too close to his own atypical behavior with Nicole.