Husband from 9 to 5

by Susan Meier

  Besides, he never did get the chance to have that heart-toheart talk with her. In the morning, and in the privacy of his home, he was absolutely positive he could get her to open up to him. He’d also have the chance to offer her the job as his assistant.

  He drove them to his house, turned his Blazer onto his driveway and waited the fifteen seconds it took for his garage door to open. Once his Blazer was parked, he jumped out, rounded the hood and helped Molly.

  “Where are we?”

  “My house. You’re tired. You seem to need some rest, but more than that I’d like to keep an eye on you because of your fall.”

  She appeared to understand the logic in that and nodded. “Okay.”

  Well, that was easy, Jack thought, then led Molly through his semidark kitchen, down the hall and up the steps. The only bedroom of his four-bedmom house that had any furniture was his room, so he led Molly there, knowing he could be perfectly comfortable on his sofa because he’d slept there often enough. Holding her up by the side of the bed, he pulled down the covers, then helped her sit before he slid off her shoes.

  “That’s all the help I can give you,” he said with a grin, indicating with a wave of his hand that he couldn’t take off her silk blouse and brushed denim slacks. “There’s a fresh toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Less than eight hours later, soft kisses awakened Jack. It took a second for the recognition of what the warm, wet feeling was on the back of his neck. but once he realized what was happening, his eyes flew open and he swung around. nearly knocking Molly off the couch.

  “Molly! What the hell are you doing?” he cried, scrambling to sit up on the sofa.

  She smiled at him. “I’m waking you up, silly,” she said, then reached for him again.

  His eyes wide, Jack scurried out of her reach. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea here,” he said, maneuvering himself over the back of the couch and completely out of harm’s way. “I slept on the sofa all night....”

  Molly’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I know, and I can’t remember why. Did we have a fight?”

  For a good thirty seconds, Jack stared at her in complete confusion, his mouth hanging open. She looked so innocent, yet so sure of what she was saying, he felt like he’d missed a memo or a meeting or something. Cautious, he edged his way back to the sofa. “We didn’t have a fight, but we sort of got caught in a fight at Mahoney’s. You took a fall. I brought you home.”

  “Well, of course, you brought me home, silly. Where else would you take me? After six months of being married, I doubt that my parents would have me back.” With that, Molly rose from the couch and headed for the kitchen.

  Jack took a minute to digest that statement—wanting to be absolutely positive he’d heard what he’d heard—then he dashed after her, catching her by the white Formica counter that separated the eating area from the cooking area of his kitchen. “Whoa! Whoa! Wait a minute. What did you say?”

  “I said my parents have a no-return policy, remember?” Molly said, then punctuated her statement with a quick kiss on his lips, as if she’d kissed him a hundred times. Jack fell to a stool by the counter. Molly headed for the refrigerator. “Eggs?”

  “No, I don’t want eggs!” Jack said, feeling that he was caught somewhere between a really, really good dream and a nightmare. “I want to know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Remember how my parents have a no-return policy on their tapes?”

  He didn’t because he didn’t know who the devil her parents were, but he figured he had to go along with this part of her explanation to get to the part he was interested in. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten how we made that joke on our honeymoon that this marriage had better work because the Doyles have a no-return policy.”

  Jack’s chest froze. Honeymoon? Marriage? What the hell was she talking about?

  Standing by his refrigerator, still dressed in the clothing she’d worn the night before, one hand poised on her hip, Molly looked so crestfallen and so certain, that for a second Jack wondered if he’d lost his mind or his memory. But knowing that she was the one to get the bump on the head the night before he said, “Molly, we’re not married”

  “Very funny, Jack.” she said, and stormed past him.

  “Molly.” Jack called, and darted after her. He caught her in the hallway and spun her around. After taking a breath to be sure he’d be gentle with her, he said, “Molly, you got a bump on the head last night. You think we’re married....” He didn’t have a clue why. “But we’re not.”

  “I’m not in the mood for your silliness or your jokes today,” she haughtily retorted, and headed for the steps. “I’ve got to get dressed for work.”

  Work! Good God! He’d be in trouble if she went into work thinking they were married.

  Again he scrambled after her. “Wait! Molly, wait!”

  She stopped on the stairway and peered down at him imperially. “Why? Ready to apologize?”

  Jack almost said no and began another round of explanations, but he realized there was a more important issue here. If he couldn’t convince her that they weren’t married, he sure as hell couldn’t let her go into their office.

  “Yes,” he said and started up the steps. “I apologize. I’m very sorry. Besides, I get the bathroom first today,” he said taking her by the biceps. He brushed a quick, chaste kiss across her forehead and hoped it was convincing. “Because you don’t have to go to work.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t?”

  “No,” Jack said. “Remember, you fell last night at the bar and we concluded it would be best if you took a day off to rest?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t remember any of that.”

  Why was it that didn’t surprise him? “Well that’s what we decided. We decided that you were going to stay home from work today. So scoot. I need to use the bathroom.”

  When she continued to stare at him with a disbelieving expression. Jack smiled. “Or, if you wanted to be a good wife, you could make me some breakfast.”

  He struck a nerve. He knew it instantly because her eyes lit with joy and her lips curved upward into a dazzling smile.

  “What would you like?”

  He was tempted to say “the usual,” if only to see what she’d come up with, but this was no time to push his luck. And he needed all the luck he could summon right now. He hoped that once he left for work Molly would go back to bed and when she awakened she’d be out of this delusion. Because if she wasn’t, he was in big, big trouble.

  “How about two eggs and some wheat toast?”

  She stretched on her tiptoes and gave him a smacking kiss on the lips. “Two eggs and wheat toast it is,” she said, and jogged down the steps.

  Jack collapsed with relief then bounded up the remaining steps, had his shower and dressed as quickly as he could. He had two things to take care of this morning, but once those two things were handled, he was getting some help.

  “She thinks you’re what?”

  “She thinks we’re married.”

  A deafening silence followed Jack’s statement. A pin drop in Barrington Corporation’s break room would have sounded like a clap of thunder.

  All Molly’s closest friends were gathered. Patricia Peel, the strawberry blonde with light green eyes who worked as assistant personnel director. Cindy Cooper, a green-eyed brunette who’d recently gotten engaged to Kyle Prentice. Sophia Shepherd, a blue-eyed, blond secretary. Olivia McGovern-Hunter, the green-eyed, auburn-haired paralegal who had recently married Lucas Hunter. And Rachel Sinclair, a blue-eyed brunette accountant. Jack knew if anybody could help him figure out what to do with Molly, one of these women could.

  The only problem was, nobody said a word.

  “Our department went to Mahoney’s last night to celebrate the fact that we got our magazine layout in on time,” Jack said, filling the silence and hoping to say something that would entice
someone into commenting. “I noticed Molly had been a little withdrawn all night, so after everybody had left, I asked her to dance.”

  Sophia raised her eyebrows. Rachel cleared her throat. Cindy disbelievingly said, “You what?”

  “I asked her to dance. I wanted a chance to talk privately with her. But before we got three steps into the song, a hustler jumped over the pool table, trying to catch somebody heading for the bar, and he knocked into Molly. When she fell, she hit her head.”

  Again, dead silence. Five pair of eyes stared at him as if he were crazy or lying...or both.

  Uncomfortable, but knowing he was going to have to explain even further, Jack leaned against the countertop. “She didn’t pass out or anything and she said she was okay, but it was easy to talk her into letting me take her to my house.”

  “Your house?” Olivia gasped.

  “Only to make sure she would be okay through the night.”

  As he was saying the last little bit, Julie Cramer, who had sauntered in a few minutes earlier, said, “Oh, that’s a new one.” She grabbed a can of diet soda then left the room again.

  “What were you thinking, taking her to your house?” Olivia demanded, and unconsciously placed her palm on her rounding stomach. Jack heard the accusation as clearly as if she’d said it.

  “Hey, she’d hit her head,” Jack quickly explained. “I didn’t want her driving. She fell asleep before she could give me her address. It all seemed logical at the time.”

  “Actually, it does,” Patricia said, walking over to Jack. “You’re lucky you have such a good reputation around here, otherwise, we’d wonder.”

  “Well, don’t wonder. Help me. I don’t know how the heck she got the cockamamie idea that we’re married.”

  Olivia looked at Rachel, who looked at Patricia, who looked at Sophia, who looked at Cindy, who yelped, “Hey, I’m not saying anything!”

  “About what?” Jack demanded suspiciously.

  “About the fact that Molly has had a horrible crush on you for years,” Olivia said, then drew a long breath. “If she thinks she’s married to you, it’s probably a combination of getting hit on the head, waking up in your bed...and her own fantasies.”

  “Oh, boy,” Jack said, raking his fingers through his hair, not daring to dig too deeply into this because he wasn’t sure he’d like what he’d find. “So, how do we get her out of it?”

  “I think it might be better if you sort of stayed in the background, Jack,” Sophia suggested. “If we all went over to your house right after work and explained things to Molly, she’d probably take it better coming from us.”

  “She might even get her real memory back simply from seeing us,” Rachel added.

  “Right. You’re right,” Jack agreed, and headed for the door. “I’ll meet you all in the parking lot at four.”

  Chapter Three

  Jack pulled his Blazer into his two-car garage and motioned for the vehicles containing Molly’s co-workers to park in the driveway. He owned a large, two-story white frame house with cheerful forest green shutters. Full, bushy shrubs hunkered around the foundation. In front of them were smaller, more decorative varieties of perennials—flowers and plants Jack didn’t need to plant every year, but which grew of their own accord. Because it was spring, they were beginning to blossom, making his home appear well tended and loved, in spite of the fact that he spent very little time there.

  In the rear, bay windows overlooked a brick patio that ran from one end of the house to the other and edged a cement walkway that surrounded an in-ground pool—all of which was partially visible from the driveway because his garage doors were on the side of the house, not in front. Though no one made any comments, from their wide-eyed stares and curious glances, Jack could see Molly’s friends were impressed. But for fifty cents Jack would have handed the key to any one of them.

  He led them up the sidewalk to the beveled-glass front door, then let everybody inside the formal foyer.

  “Molly,” he called. “Molly.”

  Smiling brightly, she erupted from the kitchen like a small, blond tornado. She wore the same fawn-colored silk blouse from the night before with the matching brushed denim trousers, but today she’d covered both with the apron he used for grilling. The words The Next One To Complain Gets The Spatula were sprawled across her chest and torso.

  “Darling, you’re home,” she said, and throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him soundly on the mouth. Every muscle in Jack’s body tightened as he fought against having a reaction to the feeling of her soft, moist lips pressed against his. But in the end he knew it was futile and simply let himself relax and tumble headfirst into the feeling, scent and taste of her. Though the entire kiss lasted no more than ten seconds and probably seemed somewhat chaste to the curious onlookers, there was no denying that kissing Molly was an unexpectedly sensual experience, one he didn’t seem to have a heck of a lot of control over.

  She pulled back, smiled at him and faced their guests. “And you’ve brought the girls.”

  Witnessing her reaction, Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, she remembered her co-workers. On the other, she’d called him darling and kissed him soundly. The worst part of it was, he wasn’t merely growing accustomed to having her kiss him, he was starting to enjoy it.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, Molly, I did bring your friends because—”

  “Because they haven’t seen the house yet,” Molly interrupted him, grabbing Sophia’s hands and pulling her toward the partially furnished dining room. “Don’t mind the place,” she said, giving the group a sideways glance as she guided everyone over the threshold. “You know how it is. Married for only six weeks, we haven’t had a lot of time for decorating.”

  “I guess that’s to be expected,” Olivia said politely, but because Molly was two steps ahead of everyone and had her back to her friends, Olivia tossed Jack a completely baffled look.

  He caught Olivia’s arm and kept her in the foyer, as Molly began talking about “their” plans to finish “his” dining room which currently had only cherrywood furniture sitting on thick white carpeting. The room had no pictures, or flowers or finishing touches of any sort—not even a tablecloth.

  “Are you understanding what I was trying to tell you?” he asked Olivia when he was sure Molly was out of hearing range.

  “It’s like she’s the same person,” Olivia said incredulously. “But she’s got this whole other life dancing around in her head.”

  “Thank God you see it. For a minute there I was beginning to think I was the one who was crazy.”

  “Oh, you’re not crazy,” Rachel assured him as she, too, slipped out of the dining room. “This girl really believes what she’s telling us.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Seems to me like you have two choices,” Rachel said. “You can either sit her down and explain the truth. Or you’d better hope you’ve got high limits on your credit cards. Molly has a real flare for decorating, but she’s also got expensive taste, and big, big ideas.”

  “Oh, boy,” Jack said, then ran his hand down his face. “I tried this morning to explain that we weren’t married, but she didn’t believe me.”

  “Seeing us also didn’t trigger her right memories,” Rachel reminded him pessimistically.

  “You need some kind of proof,” Olivia said, thinking. “I know,” she said, and snapped her fingers. “She’s wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. We all know Molly doesn’t wear the same outfit twice in the same month, let alone two days back-to-back. All we have to do is show her that her clothes aren’t here. That will be actual proof that she doesn’t live here and maybe that will be enough of a trigger to cause her to make the connection that if she doesn’t live here, you’re not married.”

  “Hey, that’s not such a bad idea,” Jack said, relieved that someone had come up with at least something concrete. “It might actually work, if we present it to her in the right way.”

  “And
what way is that?” Rachel asked. As she spoke, she glanced over at Molly and her expression softened. “No matter how you say it, you’re going to hurt her.”

  Olivia shook her head. “He’s already tried saying it. One of us will have to do the explaining this time.”

  “I can’t!” Rachel gasped.

  “Come on, Rachel. It’s got to be you or me. The quickest, easiest way to do this is to question her about where her clothes are when we get to the bedroom. We don’t have time to explain the plan to anyone else. One of us will have to ask her where her clothes are and the other will have to lead her into making the connection that her clothes aren’t here because she doesn’t live here.”

  Rachel drew a long breath. “All right. I’ll ask where her clothes are. You lead her into realizing she doesn’t live here.”

  “And I’ll tell her we’re not married,” Jack piped in, once again feeling responsible and once again not willing to let someone else do his dirty work—at least not completely.

  Following Rachel and Olivia, Jack slipped to the back of the line as Molly directed everyone up the steps. When they reached his bedroom and he once again noticed how sparsely finnished even that room was, the strangest—almost giddy—feeling overcame him. In the five years that he’d lived in this house, he’d come up with hundreds of reasons it was wrong to put off the decorating he’d begun with his wife. But he never worried that having a half-furnished home would aid one of his employees in believing they were married.

  He shook his head in wonder. In a sense, he was getting what he deserved for dragging his feet. But every time he thought about finishing what Barbara had started, he went cold inside and couldn’t do it. Now, not completing the decorating was coming back to haunt him because Molly saw this partially furnished, bare-walled house exactly for what it was. The first home of newlyweds. She saw the bed and dresser with the mismatched bedspread and curtains and she knew they hadn’t been matched because there hadn’t been time or money to buy the right things yet. She saw there were no pictures or embellishments because those were luxuries that came with time or treasures that came as they were discovered.