Falling For Her Boss
Karen Rose Smith
Published by Karen Rose Smith for Kindle
Copyright 2011 Karen Rose Smith
Recently Edited and Updated Edition
Original Copyright 1996 Karen Rose Smith
Original Title: Because of Francie
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
www.karenrosesmith.com
CHAPTER ONE
Noah Gordon slammed his car door, dragged his shirt cuff away from his watch, and glanced at the address he held in his hand. A gust of icy January wind singed him, and he thought briefly of his overcoat hanging in the motel closet. An oversight. He'd made too many of them in the past year.
Noah had parked along the street because the driveway to the detached garage overflowed with cars. Maybe his manager was having a party. He didn't know what she was doing at home on a busy Friday evening rather than overseeing the Gettysburg Roller-Fun. He rang the doorbell, not knowing what to expect.
The door flew open, and laughter with a rousing cheer spilled from inside. But the raucous sounds slipped by Noah as he stared at the woman in the doorway. His first thought--the long, wavy black hair framing her oval face created classic beauty. His second--he'd never seen eyes such a stunning brown. His third--her legs in flamingo-pink stirrup pants were endless. His fourth--she had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen.
"May I help you?"
A surge of desire startled him. He willed it to subside. "I'm looking for Francie Piccard. I'm Noah Gordon and..."
Her cheeks flushed. "My goodness. What are you doing here today? You're supposed to be driving in tomorrow."
"Francie, honey. Who is it? You're letting in all that cold air." An older woman, who somehow managed to look elegant in a sweatshirt and jeans, stood behind Francie. Her black hair was cut short and waved around her face.
Francie answered, looking agitated. "Mama, it's Mr. Gordon, the owner of the rink. Craig's partner."
Noah could see that his manager wondered why he had come this time instead of Craig Reardon. He and Craig had been partners, owning thirteen roller-skating rinks scattered across New Jersey, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. Craig had always overseen the Pennsylvania rinks, stopping in every month. But it had been three months since he'd been here. It was time Ms. Piccard knew why.
Her mother was calm and in control. "So...he's here early." The older woman took Noah's arm and urged him inside. "We're having a birthday celebration for our daughter Gina. Come join us."
Standing in the foyer, Noah could see into the dining room. At least ten adults and five kids talked and laughed around a large table. The noise coming from the room rivaled the noise at the rink. "I couldn't do that. I just need to talk to Ms. Piccard for a few minutes."
"The lasagna's dished out, the sausage bread is warm, and you look as if you've been traveling. Have you eaten supper?"
"No, but--"
She planted her hands on her hips. "You don't like Italian cooking?"
Noah almost smiled. "Yes, I like Italian food."
"Then you have a good reason for not wanting to sit, eat, and relax a little after a long drive?"
This woman was as determined as they came. He wondered if her daughter shared the quality. "No, I don't have a good reason except I don't want to intrude."
Francie spoke up then. "You won't be intruding. This group talks, eats, and laughs over, through, and around anybody. They won't even notice you're here."
From the worried look on Francie's face, Noah realized she'd notice. Unreasonably, he wanted to wipe away the worry.
Francie's mother motioned to the dining room. "The food will get cold." She called to a balding gray-haired man. "Paul, get another chair and put it next to Francie. Her boss is staying for dinner."
The adult conversation at the table stopped abruptly and all eyes were on Noah. With a wry smile, he murmured to Francie, "They won't notice, huh?"
She grinned. "Curiosity. It'll wear off in a few minutes." She introduced Noah to the group.
Francie hoped the curiosity would wear off. But from the raised brows and wide eyes of Gina and her two sisters-in-law, she knew what they were thinking. In no uncertain terms, Noah Gordon was major hunk material. Thick brown hair, penetrating green eyes, slightly squared jaw, and taller than Brent's six-one.
She stopped the flow of thoughts and frowned. Where had that comparison come from? Her former figure-skating partner rarely entered her mind these days, thank goodness. Over the last year she'd managed to put Brent and his betrayal in the past.
Noah waited for her to sit before he did, and Francie managed a second look. His height was the only way he resembled Brent. Noah Gordon's shoulders were broader and his chest wider. Brent's blond good looks and tightly packed body could make heads turn. But Noah Gordon projected...strength.
While Angela Piccard served Noah a block of lasagna the size of Pennsylvania, three pieces of bread, and a bowl of salad, Francie felt she needed to give him an explanation for being at home. "I'm usually at the rink Friday nights. But birthdays in this family are special. Gina's seventeen today. I've been away for many of her birthdays, so it was important I be here tonight."
"Away?"
"Mr. Gordon. You like what Francie's done with the rink?" Paul Piccard asked from the head of the table.
Francie grimaced. "Pop, maybe Mr. Gordon doesn't want to talk shop."
"What shop?" Her father shook his fork at her. "You've brought in double the people." He fixed his gaze on Noah again. "Did you see how many classes she gives now? Did Craig tell you she had to hire a part-time instructor because she couldn't handle it all herself?"
"Craig's not sick, is he? When I received the e-mail you were coming, I wondered."
Noah wiped his mouth with his napkin, and his shoulders tensed. "Craig's no longer involved in the Roller-Fun chain."
Francie's breath stopped in her chest. Craig had trusted her, had put confidence in her newfound abilities to manage. What would happen now? "I don't understand."
"We're no longer partners. I bought him out."
Stunned, Francie went over the many conversations she'd had with Craig about the future of the rink. He'd never given any indication he wouldn't be in that future. What could have happened?
Noah looked to be about the same age as Craig, around thirty-five. Had he decided a partner was a liability? Francie knew all about the disloyalty that went along with the drive for success. "You have a lot more traveling to do without Craig, don't you?"
"Yes. But it's a way of life. I don't mind. I just take my laptop on the road."
Francie did mind traveling. It didn't leave much room for normalcy. And after fifteen years of competitions, traveling, regimen, and being separated from her family, all she wanted was to stay in Gettysburg and have a "normal" life.
As the conversation around the table rose and ebbed, Francie was distinctly aware of Noah beside her. She knew herself well enough to know she could be attracted to him. She was disciplined enough to know she wouldn't respond to that attraction.
Noah's shoulder brushed hers as he leaned closer and asked, "Do you have these get-togethers often? It must take a week to prepare all this food!"
She laughed from the sheer joy of being with her family. "Every Sunday usually. Frank and Vince each make a tray of lasagna. Gina and I do
the bread."
Noah stared at the fresh bread liberally dotted with sausage. "You make this yourselves?"
"We've been doing it since I could get my hands into the dough. Vince and Frank used to help, but they ended up fighting and throwing dough at each other. Mama would raise cain."
Noah's expression became very serious. "You're lucky."
"Excuse me?"
"To have such fond memories."
"You don't?"
His unease was obvious. "I imagine the way I grew up was much different than what you've experienced."
Francie didn't know how not to reach out. Her knee brushed his leg as she turned toward him. Noah Gordon didn't seem like the type of man to give his life history because of an invitation to dinner. And she wasn't going to ask him for it. But she did understand what she heard underlying his words--loneliness. "My life's been a bit...unusual. When I was away and everybody else was here, I felt so isolated."
"Away where?"
"Boston. I was in training for--"
"Mr. Gordon. How about another piece of lasagna?" Angela asked across the table.
"No, thank you. I'm fine. Everything's delicious."
Angela's cheeks flushed. "Thank you."
"Craig used to eat until he thought he'd burst," Francie commented, trying to get the conversation back to Craig.
But Noah wasn't cooperating. "Does your mother invite strangers to dinner often?"
"Mama would take in everybody off the streets if she could. Mr. Gordon, is Craig all right?"
Noah met her gaze directly. "He is now."
The last time she'd seen Craig, he'd looked tired, worried, and hadn't been as talkative as usual. "Have you known him long?"
"Since college." Noah paused, then said, "You didn't finish what you were saying. What were you in training for?"
Francie met his green gaze. "The Olympics."
****
Noah felt as if he'd been thrown a mighty curve. After dinner, after birthday cake and spumoni, after Gina Piccard had blown out each one of her seventeen candles, Angela and Paul took Noah to the living room and pointed out Francie's overwhelming collection of trophies. A junior championship, nationals, world competitions. She was the Francesca Piccard, ice skater, one-time Olympian, one half of a pairs figure-skating team that the skating world had expected to go far. Why hadn't Francie turned professional? And why was she managing his roller-skating rink?
The longer he spent with the Piccard family, the guiltier he felt about the news he was going to give Francie. As he watched her crouch down with a five-year-old, whisper in his ear, and receive a giggle in return, Noah's stomach twisted. To have a childhood like that with aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, and more important, the time to simply enjoy being a child. Did happy memories make a difference in an adult life? He'd never wondered about that before. He didn't have any business wondering about it now.
He excused himself from Paul and Angela and approached Francie. "Can I speak to you alone?"
She glanced around the people-filled first floor. "Sure. We can go out to the back porch."
He followed Francie. Her oversized turquoise and pink sweater brushed her backside as she walked, her long hair swayed against the middle of her back. It looked so soft, so...touchable. Just like her.
She led him through the kitchen and flipped on a light in the glass enclosed porch. Opening the back door, she went down the steps and waited for him. His breath caught in his chest. She was as lovely a woman as he'd ever met and he was powerfully attracted to her. But that attraction had to be set aside. It had no place mixed with business.
"Ms. Piccard..."
Her smile was guileless. "Everyone calls me Francie."
This was harder than he'd expected. He usually conducted business without hesitation. "Francie, this isn't the usual managerial visit as Craig used to make."
A few strands of her hair slipped over her shoulder as she tilted her head. "I don't understand."
"I'm going to sell the Gettysburg Roller-Fun." Her small gasp of surprise, her widened eyes, did something to his insides.
"Why?"
"Financial reasons."
"We're doing better now than we've ever done."
"You've recently moved the rink into the black. And that's terrific. But the bottom line is that buying Craig out drained my company's cash flow. This rink has been dead wood for three years. I have to shave off expenses and this is the way to do it."
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to keep in warmth in the cold porch, as if to protect herself. "You don't understand what the rink's coming to mean to the community. The changes we've started have made the rink a gathering place. It's a place where people build neighborhood spirit. Craig understood. A new owner might not."
Noah wanted to wrap his arms around her and keep her warm. Irritated by the thought, he cut in, "That's all fine and good, but when I check the balance sheets, good spirit doesn't enter into it. I have to do what's best for the future of my company."
She dropped her arms to her sides, though her fingers were still curled inward. "And what about my future, the future of the employees at the rink?"
There were fourteen employees besides Francie at the rink, many part-time. "That depends on the buyer."
"If he wants to keep us?" she asked hopefully.
He could see she didn't realize the full implications of what he was telling her. "Francie, I'm not sure I can find a buyer who wants to own a roller-skating rink."
Realization dawned in her brown eyes. Instead of surprise and worry, they radiated golden sparks of anger. "You might sell it to someone who might make it something else? Are you out of your mind? That rink was built in 1921. It has a history, just like this town. That wooden floor under the epoxy has seen generations of this town's skaters. It's almost a landmark. How can you even think of selling it to someone who won't consider that?"
"A developer could offer the best deal. And frankly, my time is limited. I want to get the rink off the books."
"So you're not only going to sell, you're going to sell soon and to the highest bidder!"
She made it sound like a federal crime. "That's good business."
"Business? Don't you see this involves more than business? It involves people's lives. I've finally found something other than figure skating I'm good at. And what about Charlie?" She held Noah's gaze, and he was surprised by the determination he saw there.
"Who's Charlie?"
She gestured with her hands as her voice rose and fell. "He's been working at the rink for twenty years. He reconditions the skates, drills them, fixes the plumbing, the sound system when it's down...Julie's working to put her son through college, Theresa's retired and needs the little bit she makes to—"
He didn't come here for a guilt trip or to be persuaded to change his mind. "Look, Francie. I can't take on the responsibility of the world. This is a business decision I had to make. I have a whole company of employees to consider. I'm sorry if it causes upheaval, but that's the way it has to be."
"The bottom line is the only one that counts?" Impatiently, she brushed her hair away from her cheek. "Maybe in your world, Mr. Gordon. Not mine. I've never been sorry when Mama's hospitality brought someone new to our table. Tonight, I am."
He understood her concern for the employees at the rink. But he didn't understand her anger. "I'm sorry you feel that way. Because we will have to work together. I'd like to keep our relationship...friendly."
She arched her brows. "I think your idea of friendship and mine are different. And if you expect me to try to help you sell the rink, you're crazy."
"I expect you to cooperate to the best of your ability. You're my employee."
Her chin came up and she looked him straight in the eye. "I might be your employee, but since that doesn't seem to mean much to you, my ability to cooperate might be quite limited." Without a good-night or a good-bye, Francie turned her back on him, went up the steps into the kitchen, and closed the doo
r behind her.
Noah scowled at the closed door. What had he expected? That she'd be overjoyed she might lose her job?
Of course not. But he'd never expected that much anger. That much passion. For a roller-skating rink? She was right—he didn't understand. He'd give her the night to cool off.
And if she didn't cool off?
He'd do what he'd come to do anyway...with or without Francesca Piccard's cooperation.
****
Francie heard the outside door close and she breathed a sigh of relief. She shouldn't have lost her temper like that. It was the first time in years. But put her French and Italian heritage together...
Another man who believed in the bottom line, who gave no merit to loyalty, friendship...love. If Brent had truly loved her, his professional life wouldn't have been more important than their relationship, their history, their future. If he'd loved her, she would be beside him at his second Olympics in February, she would be putting the artistic strength into their performance, she would...still be involved with him? Thank goodness she'd realized that the qualities she valued most he valued least.
Everything had turned out for the best. She belonged back home with her family. She was happy here.
At least she had been until Noah Gordon had tipped her world tonight. Well, she wouldn't let another man pull the rug out from under her. This time she was going to fight.
CHAPTER TWO
Noah was surprised when he found the door to the rink open Saturday morning. It wasn't even 8 A.M. The large foyer led to a glass door situated next to a ticket window. Glancing around, he saw the exit door opened from another wall. That kept the public honest. The employee at the ticket window could watch both doors to make sure everyone paid.
Noah pushed open the door and silence met him. The carpeted area to the fore of the rink was well lit. The rink itself was dark. Noah walked along the low, round, hassock-like furniture dotting the reception area to a light beaming from an open door.
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