David's brows shot up. “Zach?” He pressed a hand to his eyes and swore beneath his breath. “I didn't know that. I'm sorry.”
It was one of the most sincere and regret-filled apologies Nina had ever heard. Hanson Media's reputation had been hit hard by the mix-up, and Nina knew that as head of public relations for the company, David must have been dancing as fast as he could to repair the damage. At the office, however, the stress rarely showed. Now, looking at the lines around David's tight mouth, she actually felt concerned by the stress she saw him carrying.
“Zach wasn't overly damaged by the experience,” she said, injecting a note of wry humor into her voice. “In fact I'd say it was a rite of passage. And it forced that conversation I'd been meaning to have about hormones and teenage boys.”
Lowering his hand, he looked at her gratefully. “You ought to be a spin doctor. I'm sorry you had to have that worry with your son.”
His brown eyes grew more troubled. “A week ago we received notice that one of the major charities to which we contribute has 'grave concerns' about accepting our most recent donation. We believe that if they publicly sever ties, the damage to our reputation could be irreparable. It takes time to rebuild public trust, and time isn't something we have. We're walking a financial tightrope.” His expression asked her to appreciate the import of what he was telling her. “None of the other…released employees has been given this information.”
Because, Nina realized, if the information was leaked before David had the chance to ease the charity's concerns, the public damage would be a done deal. Not a bad way to wreak revenge on the company that had “released” you.
“I appreciate your telling me,” she said. “It won't go any further.”
He nodded. “It's time for me to go, I think. Thank you for sharing your family with me. I like them.”
Aw, crud. Nina had been hoping to hang on to her resentment at least a little while longer, but he was making it darn hard. With the death of his brother, David had become the senior Hanson, the head of a Chicago dynasty. He was forty-four, well traveled, sophisticated. But his somber sincerity-and the humility with which he'd uttered the last sentence-made him seem more endearingly awkward than suave.
“Well, I think it's safe to say they like you, too.”
They stood uncomfortably a moment, aware that neither of them had mentioned liking the other. David broke the lingering silence. “Goodbye, Nina.”
His farewell held the ring of finality. Which was appropriate, Nina thought, absolutely appropriate. The truth was they didn't have a reason to see each other again and were unlikely to meet by chance-unless he had a sudden urge to watch a middle-school talent show or she was invited to the Oak Park Country Club.
“Goodbye, Mr. Hanson. Best of luck.”
She thought he winced slightly, but recovered before saying, “You, too.”
He headed for the kitchen's arched entrance then stopped and turned. “By the way, where were you headed when I showed up at your door?”
Nina had to concentrate for a moment. “Oh! I was going to see the building manager. Our rent is going up next month, and I wanted to…”
Her voice trailed away when David's brow furrowed. Lord, she did not want to sound any more desperate than she had already today. In over a decade of fending mostly for herself, she'd learned to present a confident front. And she finally believed Bubby was right: David Hanson was a man plagued by his responsibilities. His conscience didn't need the weight of her burdens as well.
Backpedaling, she assured him, “The rent increase is no big deal. That was only my excuse to go see him, because…” She had no idea what she was going to say, hesitated and watched David's frown drop lower. “Because…” Dang it! Lying was not her forte. “I…have…a crush…on him. The building manager.” She laughed. “Go figure.”
She ushered David out of the kitchen and toward the front door.
“Bubby! Kids! Come say goodbye to Mr. Hanson!” she called, glad for the first time today that her family doted on him. In a matter of seconds, they claimed David's attention. The general consensus was that they didn't want him to leave, but after a few fawning moments, they allowed him to open the door and wedge out.
Saying her final goodbye before her children yanked off his arm in an attempt to pull him back into the apartment, Nina closed the door and sagged against it. Thank heavens that was over.
“Can we come to your office to see David? He's nice!” Izzy jumped up and down.
“I want to invite David to my violin recital.” Zach was more calm than his sister, but equally enthusiastic.
“So what's this about the building manager?” Bubby stood with her arms crossed, her countenance unsmiling.
Nina remained where she was, back to the door, one hand on the knob. There were days, she thought, that should have ended at dawn.
She looked at her son. “Where's the paper?”
Chapter Three
David's jaw remained clenched as he descended the stairs leading to the foyer of Nina's apartment building. He'd spent an interesting afternoon. Why he had chosen to have lunch with Nina's family despite his hostess's obvious reluctance remained a mystery to him.
Or maybe it wasn't so mysterious.
She intrigued him. Nina Baxter had turned out to be a fascinating blend of hyper-responsible and Kewpie-doll charming, even when she was trying to insult him behind his back. David felt guilty about her job loss and concerned for her and her family's future. When he returned to the office, he intended to review the employee records and to attempt to work out some sort of severance package. He'd been in Asia during the last board meeting; call him a fool, but he'd had no idea that severance packages had been disregarded.
Nina Baxter, with her shock of blond curls, her emotion-filled blue eyes and her outspoken voice of the people, had wreaked havoc on his peace of mind. And that last comment, about the building manager…
“Has nothing to do with the layoffs and is none of your damned business,” David muttered as he stepped off the last stair.
He had made it a policy never to nurture an attraction toward anyone with whom he had a work relationship.
Or toward anyone who had children.
Or who looked like the type to carve Halloween pumpkins and invite him to meet her family over the holidays.
If he'd ever gone on one of those bachelor TV shows he'd have failed miserably. He was a dyed-inthe-wool realist, actually got heartburn when he heard people say they'd fallen in love at first sight.
David enjoyed physical attraction, he enjoyed women, but those feelings were transitory. They could be managed. If a couple decided to marry, they should do so, he believed, only because they both supported the institution of marriage and believed it would enhance their lives. Not because of transient feelings, either physical or emotional.
Wishing he'd brought his coat from the office, rather than opting for only his sport jacket, David prepared to face the punishing Chicago wind, which had kicked in considerably since he'd left work. He'd come here on the train and planned to return the same way. He'd work a couple more hours then head home to get ready for a charity function that he hoped would help Hanson Media Group's reputation. The company had to show that it was still functional, still able to give.
Though not, apparently, to its own employees.
Chewing on that thought, David missed the other person in the lobby until he heard a phlegmy cough.
“Blowing like a sonovabitch.”
A stout man, almost bald save for a rim of artificially dark hair that circled three-quarters of his head like a laurel wreath, stood at the glass-walled entrance and pointed with a cigarette held between his thumb and index finger.
“I beg your pardon?” David asked.
“The wind,” the other man clarified. “Bastard's getting worse, not better. I gotta replace a window screen in 102. Gonna freeze my keister off.” He dragged on the cigarette and shook his head. “I shoulda moved to Philly wh
en I had the chance.”
David focused on the man's comment about the window. “You're a handyman?”
“Yeah. Handyman, collection agent, and the building shrink, too. Apartment managers-we're like barbers. Everyone wants to tell you their troubles.”
“You're the manager of this building?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a second manager?”
Instantly the man's unibrow swooped. “Why? You got a complaint?”
“Not at all.” David looked at the man upon whom
Nina supposedly had a crush and decided that no, he had no complaints at all. “Actually, the building is very well-kept,” he commented. “I was wondering how one manager alone could be responsible.” Perhaps he'd spent too many years in public relations, but the fib flowed smoothly. And had the desired effect.
The round, stubbled face bobbed in satisfaction. Nina Baxter's apartment manager stabbed a thick thumb at his chest. “I'm responsible, all right. Only me. When I'm on the job, one super's all you need.”
Puffed with pride, the burly man pointed his cigarette in David's direction. “You looking for a place to hang your hat?”
David began to reply in the negative then thought better of it. Nina Baxter had lied about having a crush on her super. He didn't know her well, but he knew that. Now the question was, why had she done it?
“I may be interested,” he said. “What can you tell me about the apartments? Start with price.”
On Monday morning, Nina sat on the floor in her living room, Sunday classifieds spread out over her coffee table, a red felt-tip marker in hand and the cordless phone lying by her side with only a small charge left to give it life.
She knew just how the depleted phone felt.
Stretching backward over the couch, she heard something in her body pop, but was too tired to pinpoint exactly what or where. It was 11:00 a.m.; she'd been sitting here circling help-wanted ads and making phone calls since she'd dropped the kids off at school. A mug of bitterly strong coffee sat on the table, too, because she'd only had two hours of sleep…maybe two hours…the night before. Isaac had been up twice needing to use his inhaler.
Watching her son struggle to find a useful breath had always terrified her beyond anything else she could imagine. Last night was the worst. Without a job, without the knowledge that she could take care of her family, Isaac's fight for air on Sunday scared her more than ever before. She'd wanted to rush him to the emergency room immediately, before knowing whether the inhaler would help. She'd wanted to phone the paramedics and to ask one of the EMTs to hold her hand.
In the end, she'd kept her cool-outwardly at least. After a decade of parenting alone, she had come to believe that was sometimes enough. She'd dealt with Isaac the way his doctors had instructed, the way she had too many times before, and she'd held him in the aftermath, the two of them quietly reassuring each other that everything was okay and then reassuring Izzy, who had woken up at the height of it all.
Because her children had school the next today, Nina had lured them back to sleep with the promise of chocolate-chip waffles in the morning. She'd stayed awake, though, listening for the sound of Isaac's breathing, and creeping to their door several times in the dark early morning, not falling asleep until exhaustion overcame maternal fear…which happened as it usually did, about five minutes before her alarm went off in the morning.
Now, as she struggled to stay awake despite the infusion of caffeine, she wondered why she didn't just get back into bed till the kids came home. Scouring the want ads wasn't getting her anywhere. Most of the office positions available were part time; the full-time jobs with benefits often required experience in fields that were unfamiliar to her. With multitudes of applicants for the better positions, employers could afford to be choosy.
She felt defeated, and it wasn't even mid-day.
And then the phone rang.
“I have a proposition for you.”
He did not have to add “Miss Baxter” for Nina to identify the voice. Measured, cultured, as rich as brandy, David Hanson's voice sent a shiver of feminine response down Nina's back and put a buzz of foreboding in her belly.
“What kind of proposition?”
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“Now?”
David paused, and Nina pictured him checking his watch. “In thirty minutes. I'll have an hour free then. I can come to you, or we can meet somewhere. Have you had lunch?”
“It's only eleven.” She hadn't yet managed breakfast. There was a cold chocolate-chip waffle with her name on it in the kitchen.
“Hmm. How about if we meet at twelve then? I can work that out. If I head to your neck of the woods, can you direct us to a good lunch place?”
“I haven't said I'm going to meet you,” Nina replied baldly, then almost added sir. She'd never been anything but unfailingly polite to her bosses. Reminding herself that the events of the weekend had changed the status quo, she said, “Why do you want to see me?”
There was a brief pause. “Have you found a new job yet?”
“No. But I just sat down to look at the paper,” she lied.
“Maybe you could look at it after lunch…that is, if you don't like what I have to say. You may not need to look at the classifieds at all, Miss Baxter.” She heard the sound of papers being shuffled…then a muffled voice…and his response as he held the phone away from himself. “I've got to go. Pick a lunch spot near your apartment.”
He waited for her response, and Nina hesitated only briefly. “I'll meet you near your office. In front of Some Like It Hot.” Give Mrs. Berkowitz's niece Carla a thrill.
David rang off without further ado, obviously needing to get back to business. Nina looked at her phone, pressed End and remained where she was a considerable time, staring at nothing. Her mind hopped along several scenarios, all of which featured her being rehired at Hanson Media. She was sure that was why David had called and why he wanted to meet, and she began to feel immense relief, along with a healthy measure of vindication.
David Hanson, business mogul, must have been moved by something she had said yesterday when she had been too distraught to be tactical. Perhaps he planned to rehire a number of the other laid-off staffers as well. The thought was invigorating.
Abandoning the newspaper and the red marker, Nina sprang from the floor with more energy than she'd had in three days. She had an hour to shower, dress and get downtown. Like on any other workday.
Even with the short notice, Nina was in front of Some Like It Hot with several minutes to spare. David was waiting for her.
“Miss Baxter,” he nodded politely in greeting. “Thank you for meeting me.”
As always, the combination of his suave good looks and his almost nerdy formality bemused her.
“Are you hungry yet?” he asked.
With the chocolate chip waffle growing stale on her kitchen counter, Nina was aware of a growl deep in her belly. She had a strong aversion, however, to spending the money in her wallet on lunch at an over-priced Hanson-style restaurant. The mother in her would rather bring home a treat for her kids. Also the worrywart in her said, He hasn't given you your job back yet. Celebrate after you're sitting behind your desk.
Staring at the lapel of David's elegant gray suit, she said, “Something light, maybe. A sandwich?” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “There's a deli down the block….”
“Roseman's? I love that place.” He put a hand beneath her elbow. “Let's go.”
Surprised that David knew about, much less loved, the no-frills deli that had never even bothered to cover their subfloor, she fell into step beside him. They walked the block to the restaurant without small talk, which Nina thought was rather nice and rather awkward at the same time.
At a few minutes before noon, the deli was crowded, but mostly with the take-out crowd. Nina's eyes darted in several directions as she realized they could easily bump into someone from the office- someone whose brows were sure to rise when they
saw David with a recently laid-off female employee, someone with whom he'd never had much personal contact in the office.
David, however, seemed unconcerned by the possibility, or perhaps he hadn't considered it, which seemed odd for a man who ran a public-relations department. Nina would have thought that appearances would be uppermost in his mind, but he smiled as the hostess greeted them, put a hand on the small of Nina's back and didn't demur when the young woman led them to a table in the center of the room.
When the hostess left, he picked up his menu and scanned it as if there were nothing more pressing in this moment than deciding between the “mile-high” turkey and the pastrami on rye.
“What do you like when you come here?” he asked.
Nina leaned toward him. “I like the table near the kitchen.”
David looked up, quizzical. “Really?” He glanced over. “Seems cramped.” Sending her a dazzling smile that made her forget for a moment why they were there, he shrugged. “It's empty. We'd better grab it now.”
She put a hand on his arm as he started to rise. “My point is we could run into someone from the office. What will people think if they see us here, knowing I was laid off, and then I show up at my desk again?” She still didn't know for sure that he was planning to rehire anybody else. “It could look-”
The arrival of the waitress, who clearly wanted to get their orders in before the lunch rush began in earnest, temporarily halted their conversation, but Nina was glad she'd addressed the concern out loud.
David chose the mile-high turkey sandwich with a side of potato pancakes. “I'm addicted since yesterday,” he admitted, and Nina put in her considerably smaller order: a dinner salad with a scoop of tuna. David frowned at her choice. “She'll take an order of pancakes, too.”
Taken aback, Nina shook her head at him. “No, I won't.” Turning, she shook her head at the waitress. “No, I won't.”
The Boss and Miss Baxter Page 4