The Boss and Miss Baxter

by Warren, Wendy

  The funny thing was, something inside him felt like it was beaming just as broadly. He'd spent most of his adult life keeping his distance from people, either by design or by circumstance. He'd had some initial concern that Zack and Izzy might become bored with his company. What did he know about entertaining kids, after all? He'd hardly ever been one. But they'd liked having him around, and he liked knowing that.

  It had been the most satisfying couple of hours he'd spent in years.

  On the way home, he'd found himself mentally planning a trip to the children's museum until he'd pulled on the reins and told himself to slow down. Way down. He needed time to digest the unfamiliar feelings before he waded farther into this particular pool. Yes, he'd invited-all right, pressured-Nina to move herself and her children into his home, but how far they moved into his life was still up to him.

  So when he returned to the apartment, he intended to tell Nina they'd had a good time at the zoo. That's it. Just a simple, “Yes, we had a good time,” and leave it at that. But the kids ran directly to their mother's room and returned to report that she was sleeping again.

  “She sounds like she's got asthma, like me,” Zach said. He and Izzy stared at David as if they expected him to take some action.

  “Maybe we should call Bubby,” Izzy prompted.

  “I think we should go in and look at her again,” Zach said.

  “I think your mother has a cold or maybe the flu and that she needs her rest. You're probably not used to seeing her rest much, are you?”

  “I want to go look at her again.” Izzy started toward the bedroom.

  David tugged the hood of her sweatshirt to keep her in the living room. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

  He guessed the girl was going to awaken her mother in order to reassure herself. In all likelihood this was the first time Nina had gotten time off from her life.

  “But Zach says she's breathing funny.”

  While two pairs of wide, worried eyes applied as much pressure as a boardroom full of investors, David tried to balance reason with caution.

  Izzy was used to seeing her brother struggle for air; she knew the result was sometimes serious. It was natural for her to feel more fear than the situation warranted.

  David asked himself what he would do right now, what his immediate response would be if Nina Baxter were his personal concern, not only his personal assistant.

  I'd watch over her and make sure she knew she could rest without worrying-about the kids, about health insurance, about anything.

  …And while she lay in bed, trying to sleep off her cold, he would stroke her forehead, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. He would brush back her hair and when she felt well enough, he'd wash it for her in the kitchen sink….

  He swiped a hand down his face. Get a grip, man.

  “All right, I'll go look at her,” he said, feeling and sounding gruff. Zach and Izzy immediately nodded. “I'm not going to wake her up, though,” he cautioned. “I'll listen to her breathing, and if she needs a doctor, we'll call one. All right?”

  Solemnly, the children nodded again.

  “Good. You two get started on your homework.

  I'll check on your mom, and then we'll figure out something for dinner.”

  As he headed down the hall, he thought he sounded like a man who had everything under control. That was good PR.

  When he reached Nina's bedroom, he pushed on the slightly open door and edged into the room. With the curtains closed, the bedroom was cool and dim. A slice of light from the hallway provided the majority of illumination. Moving gingerly toward the bed, he could see Nina asleep on her back, several scrunched tissues around her head and clutched in her hands.

  She was snoring-due, he hoped, to congestion. Her mouth was open; a little rivulet of drool shone in the light. Her masses of curly blond hair were spread across the pillow, reminding him less of a romantic silk waterfall and more of lots and lots of unraveled yarn. Soft yarn.

  While he watched her, she appeared to have an attack of sleep apnea. Her head jerked and a loud snort escaped. David jumped back when she started to awaken. Thankfully, she dropped against the pillow again…with several more snorts. She licked her lips, brushed at the drool with the back of her hand then groaned, turned away from him and settled once again into a nice snore.

  David felt his frowning brow relax. An odd tightness in his chest eased, and he began to laugh. Silently, but so hard he knew he had to get out of the room quickly.

  Creeping out and down the hall the same way he'd crept in, he slipped into his library, closed the door, sat at his desk and let the laughter come until he actually felt tears at the corners of his eyes.

  He'd been all over the world, had dated women who shared his background and his lifestyle. Women, who, it had seemed, managed never to have an unattractive moment. Women whose unencumbered lives had allowed him to come and go as he'd pleased.

  With all her personal commitments, the baggage Nina would bring to a relationship could fill a moving van. In only a few weeks of knowing her on more than a superficial level, he'd discovered that she was stubborn, always put her family first, had spent more time in senior centers than nightclubs and sneezed louder than any of the men in his college fraternity.

  David wiped his eyes and sighed. For a second there in the bedroom, he'd seen his life as it would look with Nina rather than with the type of women he usually dated.

  Yes, he'd gotten a good laugh out of that. But what had really struck his funny bone was the realization that in forty-four years, he'd never once thought of wiping someone else's runny nose or of kissing them while they drooled.

  Until now.

  Chapter Nine

  “I'b weady to wook, I tell you.”

  “No, you're not.”

  Nina heard paper shuffling on the other end of the phone she held to her ear with one hand while she jammed Kleenex to her nose with the other.

  She had only vague memories of last night. Mostly she remembered being so fatigued that she'd awakened only enough to open her eyes, utter a token protest when David had fed her canned soup and NyQuil, and then close her eyes again and pretend to be asleep already while he'd cupped a palm over her brow to check for fever.

  Oh, that palm. Cool and large and immensely comforting. Drifting in and out of a restless sleep, Nina had sensed someone beside her for what had seemed like a long, long time. It could have been delirium, but her impression was that David had stayed with her for a couple of hours.

  Then today she'd dragged her protesting body out of bed at seven to make the kids' lunches and to drive them to school, only to find that David had helped them make their own lunches the night before and had gotten them up early so they could eat breakfast out before, once again, he dropped them off at school. They'd all signed a card to her, wishing her a nice, quiet day of rest.

  For the first time in years, Nina had felt no need to be in control. She had been the cared for, not the caretaker.

  Any single mother with half a brain-make that one tenth of a brain-would have spent the entire day moving from the bed to the jetted tub and back again. She'd have allowed herself a few delicious fantasies about the boss and would have phoned her girlfriends-from the tub-to say, “You are not going to believe the situation I've landed in.”

  So what had Nina done? She'd read the note, sneezed five times in a row and cried into her tissue because she felt obsolete. Obsolete! It was ridiculous, but she was used to taking care of everything herself, of being the only adult in the family. She was used to feeling, basically, alone. Being taken care of had felt so odd and so good that this morning she was completely off balance and scared. She wanted to find normal again.

  So she'd given David time to get to the office and then she'd phoned him to say she wanted to get to work.

  David's mellow voice countered that notion. “You'll be of more help if you take the next few days to recuperate. There'll be plenty to do after that.”

  Nina
tried to rise above her congestion. “I peel pine now. I cabe hewe to wook and dat's what I'b going to do!”

  “To someone, somewhere I'm sure that makes sense.” A smile lurked in David's wry voice. After he shuffled more papers, he said, “My housekeeper's name is Johanna. She'll be there at ten. If you need anything, ask her. In the meantime- Wait a sec.” He covered the mouthpiece, spoke to someone then returned to Nina. “I've got to take a call from Japan. Relax and concentrate your energy on recuperating, Miss Baxter, not on becoming Secretary of the Year. In good time I expect you to rise like a phoenix and give new meaning to the word vibrant.”

  Nina could say nothing for a moment, then in a small voice she halfheartedly complained, “Dobody talks like dat.”

  “Rex Harrison did.”

  “Sixty years ago.”

  David chuckled. “I'll call you later.”

  The line went dead, but the phone in Nina's hand felt alive. Vibrant? Was that how he saw her?

  Stop.

  She set the phone in its cradle and blew her nose. Standing in the kitchen, she checked her reflection in the glass door of the double oven. She felt weepy and lost and tragic, not vibrant. At least she'd dressed as if she were going to work today-sky-blue blouse, navy skirt and pumps. Her hair was more or less tamed into a bun. In other words, all suited up to sit on the bench.

  She wasn't used to staying home with nothing to do and too much to think about. In all her years at Hanson's she'd only used, max, a dozen sick days, and those had been for her kids, not her.

  Nina started a coughing jag that had her rummaging through her pockets for the menthol lozenges she'd stashed there. Popping one into her mouth, she pushed it around with her tongue and made a plan.

  First, she needed some cold medicine to de-fuzz her brain and decongest her nose. Then she'd call Judy Denton, David's administrative assistant at the office, and ask her what kind of errands, etc., David usually required. And, given the extra work created by layoffs, an offer of help with word processing would surely come as a welcome surprise.

  Buoyed by the prospect of an active day to keep her mind busy, she crunched the throat lozenge to get it out of the way, picked up the phone and dialed Hanson Media again. She'd show David Hanson who needed taking care of around here.

  By 10:00 a.m., Nina had returned from the drugstore and taken a decongestant so she wouldn't sound like Elmer Fudd the rest of the day. Judy Denton had proved intractable when it came to sharing her boss's itinerary with anyone, including his new-and still nasal-personal assistant. Her advice to Nina? “It sounds as if you should rest, dear. I'm sure Mr. Hanson will give you directives soon.”

  Nina wasn't sure about directives, but she had an expletive or two she wanted to try out. She was standing at the door to his home office, chewing on a fingernail and seriously considering the merits of snooping for something to do, when she heard a key in the front door lock.

  Jumping at the sound, she trotted to the foyer as a fifty-something woman in a trench coat entered the condominium.

  Ice blue eyes raked Nina with out-and-out unfriendliness before a crisp voice with a decidedly British snap said, “I always let myself in. Are you all right with that?” The tone suggested that if Nina happened not to be all right with that, David would soon be looking for a new housekeeper.

  “Fine,” Nina said. “That's fine.” She'd already forgotten about Johanna, the woman who came weekly to clean David's former bachelor-only abode.

  Johanna was a tall, handsome woman with skin like ivory linen, gray hair cut close to her head and strong features. Her greeting suggested that she wasn't surprised to see Nina in the apartment. Her expression suggested she wasn't happy about it.

  Nina thrust out her hand, realized she was still holding a crumpled, germ-ridden tissue and pulled back. “Hello, I'm Nina,” she said, foregoing the handshake, “Dav- Mr. Hanson's personal assistant. I'll be living here with my children.”

  A thin brow arched to telling heights while Johanna's voice dropped to a telling low. “I heard.”

  She stomped a few steps past Nina then turned with obvious reluctance. “I suppose now's as good a time as any to get things straight. I clean for Mr. Hanson. Sometimes I cook. For…Mr….Hanson. If he's got leftovers it's his business what he does with them. I don't take requests, so don't leave me any notes telling me your children like pasta and cheese.”

  Nina thought the most politic response would be a simple okay, but her throat chose that moment to tickle her violently, so she wound up nodding spasmodically while coughing.

  Florence Nightingale she wasn't, but evidently even the unyielding Johanna felt some compassion for the

  ill. “Nasty cough,” she said, shaking her head. “I'll fix that.” Before she marched to the kitchen she issued a clear order. “You stay here. I don't want you spreading germs in my kitchen. I'll bring it when it's done.”

  Nina did not dare ask, of course, what “it” was. She considered herself fortunate that Johanna was willing to let her stay in the house.

  “Oy vey,” she sighed when the coughing jag was spent. Her boss refused to tell her what to do, and the housekeeper couldn't wait.

  Maybe she should have spent the day in bed when she'd had the cha-

  The doorbell jolted her away from the wall. She hurried to the door. Surprise flared when Bubby pushed past her into the foyer.

  “My granddaughter is dying, and she doesn't even call me.” Weighed down by two paper-handled grocery bags, Bubby swept her head broadly from side to side. “That's what I get for minding my own business-silence. Secrets! Oy, what can I do?”

  “Bubby.” Nina knew better than to relieve Bubby of her burdens; she wasn't finished carrying them yet. Shutting the door, she trailed her grandmother into the living room. “I wasn't expecting you.”

  “Some news flash, Barbara Walters. You didn't give me the address, so why would you expect me?” Bubby stood with her back to Nina while she studied the unfamiliar living room. “Fancy,” she proclaimed. Setting the paper bags on the floor with a thump, she turned to eagle-eye Nina. “A couple of days I figured I'd give you to settle in. I don't like to butt in.”

  “You know I never think you're butting in-”

  “Imagine my surprise when I get a call first thing this morning from David Hanson, who tells me, 'Good morning. Your granddaughter is on her deathbed.'”

  “I am not on my deathbed! He didn't say that.” Then Nina realized the really important part of Bubby's statement. “He called you?”

  “Why not? I've got a phone.” Bubby arched a sparse gray brow. “Have you got a phone?”

  Point made. “I'm sorry. Everything was so hectic here. I thought I'd settle in first and then I'd call-”

  Bubby raised her hands. “I don't want anyone to feel bad. You know that crazy Sylvia Cohen? She loves to make people feel guilty. Me, I'd rather mind my own business. Who's in the kitchen?”

  Nina heard dishware clanking. “That's Johanna,” she said sotto voce. “David's housekeeper.”

  “She's cooking?” The microwave beeped several times. “What is that? What's that smell?” The wrinkle of Bubby's nose suggested she found the aroma only marginally better than something that had been dead for a long time. Nina sniffed the air. It did smell a bit like boiled roadkill.

  “Don't say anything,” Nina whispered. “She's making something for my cough.” Although Nina hoped to heaven that the thing she smelled was not it.

  When Bubby heard that someone else was preparing cold remedies for her granddaughter, nothing short of a police barricade would have kept her out of the kitchen. Nina knew she'd said the wrong thing when her diminutive grandmother picked up her shopping bags and marched toward battle like General Patton.

  Bubby was tough, but Johanna was bigger and knew where the kitchen knives were stored. “Bubby, wait!” She started after her grandmother, but the doorbell rang. “Company!” she singsonged, trying to motion Bubby back. “Company!”

  Bubby kept
marching. Torn, Nina raced first to the door, flinging it open to a young man who carried a box filled with, from what Nina could tell, plastic containers of food.

  “Hi,” he said, “I'm from Ciao Chow's. I have a home delivery for Mr. Hanson.”

  “Oh!” Ciao Chow's was a popular gourmet food mart featuring a deli that offered the best pasta take-out in town.

  Bemused, Nina wondered whether to take the box, referee the meeting in the kitchen or run for her purse to get money for a tip. Before she could debate the merits of each option, the hall elevator opened to emit a tall, willow-thin redhead in a dress as brightly pink as a begonia.

  Samantha Edwards strode to the door with her customary intrepid stride. She smiled at the delivery boy, glanced in the box he carried and said, “Pasta! Yum!” Grinning at Nina, she held up a paper bag bearing the name of a local health-food store. “David told Jack you were sick. I brought herbs. We'll have you cured in no time!”

  Chapter Ten

  Apparently David thought Nina might need company.

  So, he'd called Bubby, then he'd asked Jack if Samantha would mind paying Nina a visit, maybe bringing a few of the health supplements she poured down Jack. Then he'd called Ciao Chow's and told them to deliver so Nina wouldn't have to worry about food for the day.

  She had to grin when Samantha explained the situation. David had sent her a Jewish grandmother and lunch? Boy, did he have a lot to learn. Still, she was…

  Touched. Grateful. Very.

  Now Bubby and Johanna were both in the kitchen, striking an uneasy truce, or perhaps playing out their own version of Iron Chef as each prepared the one and only true cold remedy.

  Samantha had seated herself on the living room couch and was pawing through her bag of supplements and homeopathic remedies.

  “I was so surprised when David said he'd hired you and that you were living with him. You've been here-what, a few days now?” Her earrings-a row of flowers and leaves dangling from a long gold vine-swayed as she shook her head. “He's so solitary. You know this is the first time I've been to his place?”