The Boss and Miss Baxter

by Warren, Wendy

  Snapping off the light, she headed down the hall. Before she reached the living room, she heard Bubby say, “Not too many mandelbrodt now, David. You'll spoil your appetite.”

  Oh, dear Lord, no. Bubby couldn't have…she wouldn't have…. Nina practically sprinted the remaining steps to where her children and grandmother were entertaining a bemused David Hanson. He held a coffee mug in one hand, a cookie in the other. Busy chewing, he looked up as she skidded to a stop.

  “David is having lunch with us,” Bubby announced.

  “No!” Nina blurted. She glanced frankly at David.

  “I appreciate your bringing my things. I do.” Offering what she hoped was an ironic and understanding smile, she said, “You don't have to have lunch with us.”

  It took David a moment to swallow his cookie. Another moment to respond, “But I'm hungry.”

  He looked dead serious.

  “Can I show David my room?” Zach turned to ward his mother. “He likes chemistry sets.”

  “And I want to show him Jo-Jo,” Izzy said, refer ring to her giant bear. Dressed in her fanciest pink dress, Izzy sat close to David on the couch. “Bubby said he gave me Jo-Jo when I was born.”

  “He” looked at Nina with an expression she could not read. Four sets of eyes were trained on her, each anticipating her response. She couldn't believe David Hanson wanted to eat chicken soup with a laid-off employee, her obviously besotted grandmother and her hungry-for-any-male-attention children.

  Seated rather stiffly between Izzy and Zach, holding his cookie and drink at right angles to his body, he resembled a big, gangly new kid in school-willing to be included, but not quite certain what to do with the people around him.

  What was he up to? Nina felt like she was slogging her way through some weird dream, the kind where you tried to speak, but no sound emerged.

  “Kinderle,” Bubby said, motioning for Isabella and Zach to come to her. “Help me set the table. We'll call Mr. Hanson and your mother when we're ready.”

  She ushered the children into the kitchen, turning back to Nina and gesturing madly for her to take her ponytail down. David, fortunately, was still looking at Nina and missed the fervent signal.

  When her children and Bubby were safely in the kitchen, Nina looked at her ex-boss and shook her head ineloquently. “I have no idea what to say.” Spreading her hands, she shrugged. “You have seen me at my absolute worst today. I'm very embarrassed.” A wry laugh warbled from her chest. “Humiliated, really. I can't imagine that you honestly want to have lunch with us. I realize you're trying to be polite…which is more than I can say for myself today…but it's not-”

  David stood. “I'm not polite.” He set his mug on the coffee table and held up the biscotti-shaped mandelbrodt. “I like this. Your grandmother is a good baker. You have a nice family.”

  The best Nina could offer was a bemused frown. “Okay.”

  “And I am hungry.” Without the slightest change in his sober expression, he added, “I missed lunch. My favorite five-star feedlot is closed Sundays.”

  Nina felt her face flush, a lovely complement, she was sure, to her firecracker hair.

  “You fired me,” she said, unwilling to remain on the defensive. That had to be a good excuse for feeling testy.

  David's chest rose and fell on a long breath. “There were layoffs,” he corrected. “You got caught in them and for that I am sorry. The board hired an external accountant to thoroughly examine Hanson's finances, and it was determined quickly that the company cannot support a full staff at present and survive.”

  David felt some of the tension leave his body. There. He had said exactly what he had come to say. When he'd recognized Nina in the office and realized she was one of the layoffs, he'd felt a stab of highly unprofessional guilt. In truth, he felt guilty for every one of the layoffs. Hell, lately he'd been feeling guilty simply for bearing his last name.

  As CEO of Hanson Media, his brother, George, had made mistakes that caused suffering throughout the company and cost Hanson its reputation. David had been working daily-and often nightly-to repair the damage. He'd been in Tokyo recently, solidifying relationships with Hanson's existing Asian partners.

  He'd arrived home last night and was still exhausted and jet-lagged today. He'd missed the board meeting at which the layoffs had been finalized. He hadn't had time yet to scan the list of dismissed employees. Or perhaps he'd been avoiding that task.

  In any case, David was glad he was here, explaining the situation more clearly to Nina Baxter, helping her to understand.

  “Layoffs aren't personal,” he said in a tone he hoped was reassuring, soothing. He wanted to smooth the frown from her face. “I realize it's difficult not to feel rejected-”

  “Rejected?” she interrupted, her big blue eyes blinking several times, rapidly. She shook her head like a swimmer clearing water from her ears. “You think I feel 'rejected'? Mr. Hanson, I'm not upset because you didn't ask me to the prom. I'm the head of a one-income household.” She tapped her chest. “Me. All alone. I couldn't care less about getting my feelings hurt. I am worried about my children's ability to grow to the age of thirteen on a steady diet of boiled potatoes and boxed macaroni with fluorescent cheese.”

  On a roll, she barely inhaled before continuing. “I know the company is in trouble, but I didn't cause that trouble. Janet Daitch from sales has been with Hanson for eight years. She's a grandmother. She was hoping this would be her last job. She didn't cause any of the problems, either. And Joe from the mailroom?” She raised a hand in a gesture that said ditto. “Maybe the board of directors should call another meeting to determine how they could help ease some of the burden. Maybe the executives should, too. Last week I was told to make reservations at Season's Restaurant for an informal dinner meeting.”

  She didn't have to say any more. Season's was one of the most expensive restaurants in the city.

  David felt the tension seep-no, flood-back into his shoulders, neck and head. He was going to be an old man before his time, thanks to his careless brother and the burdens George had bequeathed to the family.

  “I can't mandate the location of business meetings,” David said carefully, taking one last shot at conciliation. “But I'll mention your point at the next board meeting. And I will see to it that the severance packages are dispersed promptly.”

  “What severance packages?” Nina Baxter looked blatantly disgusted with him. “Janet Daitch got two extra-strength Excedrin from the head of HR when he broke the bad news, but from what I've heard, that's the most anyone was offered.” Folding her arms, she stared at him in challenge. “We stood by your company, Mr. Hanson, when you were in trouble. We believed in you. Well, now we're in trouble. And no matter how you put it or how reasonable the layoffs were, it still…sucks.”

  An alien sense of failure stabbed David's gut. He was head of public relations; he ought to be able to fix this.

  “Lunch is ready!” Her grandmother's voice carried from the kitchen. A moment later the woman he'd met only as “Bubby” poked her head around the corner. “Come, children. It's only soup and a few latkes I pulled from Nina's freezer, but the latkes are to die for. Such a cook, this granddaughter of mine. Come. Eat while it's hot.”

  David glanced at Nina. She wanted him to leave. Nothing could have been plainer. The situation was awkward and unsatisfying for them both. He had only words with which to appease her, and she didn't need words.

  Regretfully, David geared himself up to disappoint a good-hearted seventy-year-old woman. “It's been a pleasure meeting you…” he began. With that brief opening, he saw Nina's shoulders drop in relief. She knew he was about to beg off and didn't bother to mask her pleasure.

  Returning his attention to her grandmother, he continued. “And I'm looking forward to trying your soup, Bubby.” Closing the distance between him and Nina, he held out an arm. “Shall we?”

  Nina's brows hitched almost comically then swooped into a scowl. Pretending not to notice, David sm
iled.

  Bubby clucked her approval from the kitchen. The approval, however, quickly turned to exasperation when Nina failed to move. “Nina dolly, a man holds out his arm, he's not asking if you want to hang your hat. So, come on, already.”

  She turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Nina to stare warily at her former employer. “I haven't told my children yet that I was fired-”

  “Laid off.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Yes, laid off. And I will explain that difference to them. Right after I sell their computer for lunch money. Now, as I was saying, I haven't told them I was fired. I will do that in my own way and in my own time. Please do not blow it for me. My children tend to worry. If Isaac has to use his inhaler today because you slip up, Mr. Hanson, I will escort you out of my home even if you have one of Bubby's matzo balls hanging halfway out of your mouth.”

  David grinned. “Miss Baxter, your way with words is exceeded only by your hospitality.” He raised his arm a bit higher. Nina ignored the offer, but walked by his side toward the kitchen. “What's wrong with Isaac?” he asked.

  “Nothing's wrong with him. He has asthma.”

  “Serious?”

  “Asthma is never a joke.” She'd already lowered her voice, but now she dropped it to a near whisper. “He doesn't like us to discuss it. Please don't mention that, either.”

  He frowned but said nothing else. As they were about to step into the kitchen, he took her hand despite her protest and tucked it into his arm. “Your grandmother will like this,” he said, holding her firmly when she tried to pull back. “And I like making elderly people happy. My karma needs a good deed today, so humor me.”

  Nina endured lunch. That was really the most she could say for her lack of contribution to an otherwise lighthearted meal.

  Her children kept David entertained with accounts of their experiences in music and dance classes and the field trips they'd taken during the current school year. At first, David responded to her children's breathless chattering as if he were viewing a foreign species. Then he began to relax…and smile. He laughed outright at Zach's impression of his teacher's dismay when a papier-mâché volcano prematurely exploded during a school science fair, and he told Isabella that he thought she must be a very good dancer because he could see that she looked like Julie Kent. When Isabella asked who Julia Kent was, David told her that Ms. Kent was the greatest ballerina dancing today and asked if Izzy had ever attended a professional ballet.

  Nina wanted to ask if he knew what tickets to the ballet cost these days, but she bit her tongue and just listened. He was good with the kids-easily admitted what he didn't know (had not a clue about Maroon 5 or Captain Underpants)-and didn't talk down to them. But his very presence at her table underscored the chasm between his world and hers. He'd never had matzo balls before, he ate his latkes with a knife and fork, and he chewed and swallowed before speaking. Dining mostly with children for the past twelve years, Nina had forgotten that was an option.

  After lunch, Zach and Izzy dragged David to see their room. Nina immersed herself immediately in cleaning up.

  “I like him,” Bubby said without preamble as she joined Nina at the sink, picking up a towel to dry the dishes Nina washed.

  Hoping to avoid conversation about David at least until she could gather her thoughts, Nina urged, “Bubby, have a cup of tea and relax in the living room. You did the cooking.” She reached for the towel, but her grandmother whipped it away.

  “I relax better in the kitchen.” Wiping off a soup bowl, Bubby eyed Nina shrewdly. “You don't want me to talk about him, but why not? He didn't want to fire anybody. I can tell.”

  “You can?” She felt her lips curl into an unflattering twist. “How's that?”

  “He looked at your plate when you weren't watching. It bothered him you didn't eat.”

  Nina released a hoot of laughter. “That's how you know he didn't want to lay off half his staff? Because he was eyeing my matzo balls? Maybe he just wanted more food. The Hansons love acquisitions.”

  “I don't know what's this 'acquisitions,' but I know what's guilt, and that man feels terrible.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Ah, maybe you're right.” The gray head wagged sadly. “Maybe he doesn't care. But then why does he come here? Why does he have lunch with an old woman and two children and his secretary?”

  “I was never 'his' secretary,” Nina corrected. “Except for a very brief time when his AA was out of the office and I filled in. Really, I've never had that much to do with him other than working in his department.”

  Bubby raised sparse but eloquent brows. “So? Even more strange that he should care enough to come talk to you.”

  “All right, he feels guilty. Big whoop. A flash of guilt does not make him Nelson Mandela. David Hanson is part of the problem, he is not the solution, so don't romanticize him. He didn't ride here on a white horse to save the day.” Scrubbing the pan Bubby had used to reheat the latkes, Nina muttered, “More likely he double-parked his Porsche.”

  “Actually I drive a reconditioned Mustang that belonged to one of my uncles. It was a college-graduation present. I still love it.”

  The latke pan clattered into the sink as Nina whirled. David filled the kitchen entrance. “How much did you hear this time?” she demanded.

  “Not much.” When she scowled doubtfully, he raised his right hand. “Honest, Your Honor.”

  His eyes glinted with deprecating humor, but Nina got the point: She was judging him, had been judging him all day. And that was strange for her, really, because she'd always liked the Hansons. She'd never before begrudged them their wealth. Or felt sorry for herself. She shook her head.

  “Oy.” Bubby bent side to side from the waist. “My aching back. Standing on hard linoleum is not so good for me anymore.”

  Nina reached for her arm. “Here, come sit at the table.”

  “No.” Bubby edged away. “You know me. I can't relax in a kitchen.” Heading for the living room, she handed David her dish towel. “Here. You dry. You don't mind? I'll sit on the sofa and put my feet up. And watch a little TV. I'll turn the sound up. I don't hear a thing when the sound is up.”

  David smiled as he watched her go, then, dish towel at the ready, he approached the sink and Nina.

  She shook her head. “You do not have to-”

  David's placed two fingers on Nina's lips. “Why bother?”

  His smile was ironic, his brown eyes warm as they watched her. She'd never thought of David Hanson as warm before.

  Immobilized by the unfamiliar and unexpected contact, Nina couldn't recall ever seeing him touch anyone at the office, not even at the company parties. His late brother, George, had been the back slapper, the inveterate shoulder patter. David was the head of public relations, but he was no schmoozer.

  Slowly he lowered his fingers. “Hand me a plate, Miss Baxter. We'll get this show on the road.”

  Nina did as he asked. It was easier than arguing, and perhaps that was his intention, too: Get the job done and go. She handed him a bread dish, a soup bowl, a water glass.

  And discovered that he didn't know squat about doing dishes.

  He took too much care, polishing them as if he were waxing an automobile. She had to slow down the rinsing considerably. No one at the office could speak knowledgeably about his personal life, so all she knew came from the bits her grandmother had read in the Lifestyle pages. He was single, dated socialites, lived downtown. And obviously had a housekeeper.

  “You don't do this much, do you?” For the first time since he'd arrived, she felt a bubble of humor. “That's not a judgment,” she hastened to add when he glanced up and frowned. “I'm just asking, because you're very…diligent.”

  David arched a brow. “Dead giveaway?”

  Nina nodded. “Pretty much. You can't be overly concerned about water spots when you don't have a dishwasher and you serve three meals a day. You'd never get out of the kitchen.”

  He looked ru
efully at the plate he'd been polishing then at bowls and glasses waiting to be dried and the pot that hadn't even been washed. “You're going to do this again tonight?”

  “Gotta clean 'em if you want to eat off 'em.”

  “And on workdays?”

  “Well, then it's two meals a day.” She almost restated that in the past tense, but decided to give him a break. “Do you eat any meals at home?”

  Reaching for a new plate, he slid her a look. “A few. Not many. Is that a strike?”

  “A strike? Against you? No.” She shrugged. “I mean, it's not my business, anyway.” After a moment, she grew wistful. “Although truthfully, I suppose that if anything, I envy you. I'd love to eat out more. Just put in our orders and send the plates back when we're done.”

  He accepted another bowl from her. “And where would you eat, Miss Baxter? If you could eat out every night?”

  She smiled. “Good question. When we do go out, I usually choose a place I know the kids will like, so that means burritos for Isabella and burgers for Zach. But even that's a treat if I don't have to cook.”

  David was quiet after that, so they washed and dried-more quickly-in companionable silence. Nina insisted on putting everything away on her own, so when the last cup was clean, David folded his towel and hung it neatly over the sink. It was almost two o'clock.

  “I'd better get back to the office,” he said, his gaze on her but his mind someplace else. She could see the moody thoughtfulness that had crept in on him. He seemed distant and distracted: the remote Mr. Hanson she was used to seeing at the office.

  “Do you usually work on Sundays?” she asked.

  “No, not usually.” His lips curved briefly. “Not often. But Hanson isn't experiencing 'usual' circumstances.” He focused on her more closely. “You know that when my brother died, he left the business with unusual debts. And you were present for the Internet screwup last month.”

  Nina nodded. The Hanson Media Group Web site had been hijacked, and for twenty-four hours every visitor who had attempted to log on to Hanson's new interactive Web zine for kids had been mistakenly directed to a porn site. “My son was one of the visitors to the site that day.”