Читать книгу And Then He Kissed Me - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

Chapter One

“No kissing, Nick.”

Abigail Ridgeway hurried past the wall of TV screens, all displaying the same Sunday football game.

“C’mon, Ab. What harm can a little kiss do?”

She stopped abruptly and turned. Six feet, two inches of Nick Marchetti made contact with some red-light parts of her five-foot-two-inch frame. He was her boss first, her friend second, and a hunk and a half she’d long ago placed a distant third.

She put a safe space between them now and looked up, way up. “This is not negotiable,” she said. “There will be no hanky-panky, and that’s final.”

“Your expectations are unrealistic.”

“Maybe. But you talked me into having this sweetsixteen birthday party for my sister. I should at least get to set the ground rules,” she said.

“Okay. But I’m warning you. A guy always wants what he can’t have.”

She grinned at him. “Is that personal experience talking? The man who has everything? When did anyone ever tell you no?”

Abby hadn’t thought his eyes could get any blacker, but they did. Intensity vibrated through him as he ran a hand through his short dark hair. His nose was straight, well-formed, and the wonderful masculine angles and planes of his face seemed to harden for a moment. She wondered what button she’d innocently put her finger on and how she could push it again. That was a wicked thought, and she made a mental note to work on her contrary streak.

But around Nick she sometimes couldn’t help it. He was always so self-possessed that it was hard not to cheer when she discovered a chink in his armor. He had everything: beauty, brains, body, booty—as in more money than he knew what to do with. Anything that brought him down to the level of peons like herself seemed fair.

“This isn’t about me, Abby. It’s about Sarah. A girl only turns sweet sixteen once. It’s a milestone. There should be some fanfare,” he said, neatly circumventing her question. “Even though she asked me to convince you to let her have a party, I know you want it to be a success.”

He’d turned the conversation back to her. In the five years she’d known him, she’d learned he was good at that. He had elevated the sidestep to an art form. “Okay. But Sarah is my responsibility. I’m her guardian. If my parents were still alive, maybe they would go along with your theory that a spirited game of spin the bottle is practically carved in stone at a teenage party. I disagree.”

“Maybe you’re right to be cautious. It’s a well-known fact that sixteen-year-old, hormone-crazed boys have the hots for older women.” He tapped her nose. “That would be you.”

She frowned up at him. “Is this some new management technique? Did you learn this at that seminar? Fractured reverse psychology?”

“You’re not buying it?”

Shaking her head, she said, “Call me crazy, but I think kissing games among teenagers that I’ll be responsible for is asking for trouble. Just a guess, instinct really. But that’s all I’ve got.”

“You’ve got me, pal,” he answered, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit slacks. His sinfully expensive matching jacket parted with the movement, revealing a costly, crisp white shirt that hinted at the washboard stomach beneath it.

“Right,” she said, forcing her wayward thoughts in a different direction. “You’re awfully dressed up for late Sunday afternoon. I thought you were supposed to be off. Are you working today? Or do you have a date?”

“Both,” he said.

Nick Marchetti was a notorious workaholic. She glanced sideways at her reflection in the blank bigscreen TV next to her that doubled for a mirror. Smoothing her own rumpled suit skirt, she was abruptly reminded that she was on a break from work. Nick wasn’t the boss that she reported to on a daily basis. He was her boss, as in president of Marchetti’s Inc., big kahuna of the whole corporation.

She brushed a strand of her short blond bob back into place, fluffed her straight bangs, then turned and met Nick’s gaze. “I didn’t realize you had plans for the evening or that you were working. Was there something specific you needed when you stopped in to the restaurant?”

He hesitated only a moment before answering with a shake of his head. “Just the usual.”

She nodded. “Lucky for me you were free to help with my shopping. Although I have to get back to the restaurant soon. Can we table the party-games discussion to another time? Right now I need the expertise you so generously offered. This electronic stuff is confusing. I don’t know a woofer from a hooter.”

“I think you mean tweeter,” he said, his mouth twitching as he tried not to laugh.

“See? What I know about these little black boxes with their digital readouts would fit on the head of a pin.”

“Well I certainly feel cheap, degraded and disposable.” His voice dripped with hurt feelings. He was such a faker.

She put her hand on her hip. “What are you talking about?”

“You want my expertise on electronic stuff, but not teenagers.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I feel so used.”

She wanted to laugh, slug him gently in the arm and tell him to stuff a sock in it. But she was afraid that would be too forward. Nick made it easy to fall into friendly and familiar behavior. But Abby had an unbreakable law: always remember your position. Translation: never under any circumstances overstep your boundaries. There was only one problem—she was never quite sure where the line was. Maybe because of their shared history.

She had Nick to thank for her very first waitressing job. When she was eighteen, her parents had died in an automobile accident. Sarah had been eleven then. With no relatives to help, Abby had suddenly and shockingly become responsible for herself, as well as mother and father to her little sister. Although a total stranger, Nick gave her a job when no one else would. She’d walked into the restaurant he was managing at the time and asked for work. Abby had vowed to be his best employee ever, and so far she’d done well She had worked her way through the ranks to assistant-manager-in-training of the local Marchetti’s. She never let herself forget her promise to do him proud.

At all times, she tried to maintain a professional demeanor around him. But then he would say or do something outrageous, and she would forget that he was her boss. The buck stopped with him. He signed her paycheck. Actually his brother Luke did, but it was almost the same thing. It was okay for him to think of them as friends, but she knew better.

“The party is a month away,” she said, instead of the teasing words on the tip of her tongue. “We have plenty of time to debate the issue of spin the bottle. But this sale is over today. I promised Sarah a CD player for her birthday. Good, bad or indifferent, I need to make a decision. Are you going to help me or—” she glanced at the milling salesmen “—let the circling sharks move in for the kill?”

He took her elbow and spun her toward the far wall filled with disc players and speakers. “You’d best thank your lucky stars that chivalry is alive and well.” When she didn’t say anything, he looked down at her and said, “What? No pithy comeback?”

She shook her head. “When you’re right, you’re right. I appreciate your help. If you’d told me you had a dinner date when you dropped in to the restaurant, I wouldn’t have imposed.”

“You’re not imposing.”

“You’re sure I’m not keeping you?”

“Nope. I’ve got plenty of time.”

She looked at the display of equipment. “Should I go cheap, expensive or middle of the road? Should I sacrifice quality for features? Or get top-notch basic for the least amount of money?”

Nick pointed to a unit. “This is a good brand. It has all the features Sarah could possibly want. Unless she’s missing the same electronic gene that you are. I think the cost is reasonable.”

Abby’s eyes widened as she looked at the price tag. “Maybe it’s reasonable for a Marchetti. But it’s way out of the Ridgeway budget—even at forty percent off.”

“I could—”

“That’s very nice of you, Nick. But I can’t allow you to do it.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Excuse me, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Speak your piece, then I’ll refuse your offer to buy it for Sarah.”

“I was going to suggest that you let me chip in. I don’t know what to get her. You would be doing me a favor.”

Abby knew this was one of his charitable gestures. He always found a way to make it seem as if it wasn’t, but she had his number. His gift for creative maneuvering was probably the reason he’d taken Marchetti’s from a successful restaurant to the fastest-growing chain in the Southwest. She wasn’t sure why his benevolence suddenly rankled. Maybe because she was this close to finishing her degree, and would soon—finally—feel more independent. She didn’t need his help. Along with her wicked streak, she would have to work on this inclination toward ingratitude that had only lately reared its ugly head.

Nick had been there for her when she had desperately needed someone. She had always tried to take care of things by herself, but he had never refused a request for help. Why did she now feel the need to do things on her own?

“I’ll get the less expensive one,” she said, pointing to another model by the same manufacturer. “It’s a big-sister thing. I want to buy this for Sarah.”

“What am I going to get her? I don’t know much about sixteen-year-old girls.”

“You knew she was dying to have a party.”

“Kids love parties. That’s not gender-specific. Besides, she told me. But the pressure of finding the right gift for a girl—”

“I’m sure Madison would be happy to help you pick something appropriate.” Madison. A sophisticated name for a classy woman who was also beautiful, unusual—and Nick’s girlfriend.

Abby had often seen them together. In addition to work-related functions, he frequently took her to dinner at the restaurant where Abby worked. He said he could always count on her to make sure the service and food were flawless. Abby figured he was showing off the beautiful, brilliant, back-East-educated Madison. She couldn’t remember any woman in his life lasting as long as Ms. Wainright.

He had a funny look on his face. “Why don’t you like her? Madison’s a class act.”

When had he learned to read her mind, Abby wondered? It wasn’t that she disliked the other woman. Just that Madison left her feeling woefully inadequate. Madison was everything that Abby wasn’t. She bent over a pile of boxes to check model numbers, in order to pick out the disc player she’d chosen. “I didn’t say I disliked Madison.”

“No, but your tone spoke volumes about your feelings. Would you care to put them into words?”

“It’s not my place to say anything.”

“Is it safe to say that you believe she’s not my type?”

“Yes.”

“Which means I’m not a class act?” He raised one black eyebrow, but humor sparkled in his gaze.

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“In the six months Madison and I have dated, she’s been nothing less than charming, beautiful, smart and successful. She would be an asset to any man.”

She would certainly be his equal: beauty, brains, body, booty. But he was right. For some reason Abby couldn’t put her finger on, she did think Madison Wainright was wrong for him.

Abby often wondered how a great guy like Nick Marchetti, who was good-looking enough to tempt a card-carrying spinster, had managed to stay single. Since he’d introduced the subject, she brought up a question she just couldn’t hold back.

“So why haven’t you asked Madison to marry you?”

“Is there a rule somewhere that says if a man admires positive attributes in a woman, he has to propose to her?”

“Whoa. Just a little defensive, aren’t we?”

“Nope. Not me.” He looked sheepish. “Maybe. But only because my mother and sister have been on my case.”

“Ever since Rosie got married and had her baby, you’ve softened on the settling-down issue. I get the impression that you’re thinking about it.”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“So when are you going to ask Madison?”

He leaned a shoulder against the display rack and folded his arms across his chest. “When are you going to settle down?”

“I’ve been settled down since I was eighteen. I’m heading toward footloose and fancy-free. In slightly less than two years, Sarah will graduate from high school and go to college. I see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“You’re still not dating, are you?”

Abby wondered how he could know that, when she was so careful to keep her personal and business lives separate. If he hadn’t shown up at the restaurant and insisted, she wouldn’t be shopping with him now. How could he know she didn’t go out?

Then it hit her. Sarah didn’t work for him and had no compunction about calling him up at the drop of a fingernail. She bent his ear with anything and everything that popped into her head. As far as Abby knew, he didn’t mind. She figured if he did, any man who stood at the helm of a growing corporation could certainly clear the decks of one teenage girl if he wanted to. And Sarah was a talker. If talking was an Olympic event, her sister would take the gold.

“It’s not like I can wiggle my nose and a man appears in a puff of smoke,” Abby said. Now who was getting defensive, she thought, hearing that note in her voice.

“You can’t tell me that men don’t show an interest in an attractive woman like you.”

She tried not to glow at his compliment, but was only partially successful. “I haven’t noticed.”

“Okay. I get the picture. You still shut them down cold. Let me give you a tip, pal. Guys need a little encouragement.”

“Look, Nick,” Abby said. She took a deep breath, trying to tamp down her irritation. If he had been just her friend, she would have given him an earful. But he was her boss, and she was struggling for a politically correct response. “Between work and school and raising Sarah, I don’t have time right now. Once she’s in college, it will be my turn. I’ll have my degree in business. Right after I do footloose and fancy-free, next on my list is settling down.”

Wait a minute. She had brought up the settling down subject—about him. Why was she suddenly defending herself? Oh, he was smooth. She’d hardly noticed him put her on the hot seat. Darn, he was good at shifting his backside out of the frying pan and putting hers in it.

“All work and no play,” he said seriously.

“Okay, so Abby’s a dull girl.” She was teetering on the edge of the line she’d drawn, uncomfortable discussing herself with him. Two could play at turning the tables. “Are you going to bring Madison to Sarah’s party?”

“Is she invited? I’m not even sure you want me. I was an afterthought.”

“Nick, I’ve already explained that I didn’t ask you to help me with the party because you’re too busy.”

“Is that all?” He frowned slightly.

“What else? Except that if I could afford the Green Bay Packers defensive line, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“So I’m a poor substitute for your first choice?”

“No. But you work cheap. What about Madison? Would you like to bring her?”

“You almost sound sincere about wanting her there.”

“It would be interesting to watch her play spin the bottle with a bunch of sixteen-year-old boys sporting sweaty palms and zits.”

“Chaperones don’t have to play. They referee.” He looked at her, then raised one eyebrow. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Abby answered honestly. She wasn’t sure how he’d figured that out, but he was right. She admired and respected Madison very much. Which made the fact that she didn’t think Madison Wainright was the woman for him even more puzzling.

“So Madison is invited?” he asked.

“She doesn’t have to be invited. You’re allowed to bring a date.”

“I will, if you will.” he said.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she muttered.

A few hours after their shopping trip, Nick stood in front of Abby’s door. He had finished up his work early and didn’t want to go home and kill time waiting for his date. He wasn’t due to pick Madison up for an hour so he’d decided to stop at Abby’s.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Partly because of work issues he hadn’t discussed with her. But mostly her remark about not bringing a date to her sister’s party. A pretty girl like Abby should have guys beating a path to her door, but he was the only one there. And the sidewalk didn’t look any the worse for wear.

Her apartment was situated in a large complex with lots of shrubs and walkways. The entrance was tucked away between the stairway to the upper level and her storage unit.

He remembered helping her find the place after he’d advised her to sell her parents’ home. It seemed best. She couldn’t swing a mortgage payment, and she wouldn’t take money from him. The proceeds went into trust for the two sisters. Abby had a lot of responsibility to shoulder and selling gave her freedom from the upkeep and burden of a house, as well as a bit of financial security.

That was good. Because the one thing he’d learned to count on from Abby was pride. No handouts. She wanted to do things on her own, and she had.

He pushed the button to ring the bell, and moments later Abby opened the door. Surprise at seeing him made her big blue eyes bigger and bluer.

“Nick. I thought you were having dinner with Madison.”

“I am. In about an hour.”

“This is a long way from her high-rent district. What are you doing here?”

“Just killing time,” he said, unable to come up with anything he could share. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Of course not. Sorry.” She stepped back so that he could enter.

He surveyed the living room as she closed the door behind him. It wasn’t large, but definitely homey and comfortable. A green-and-beige plaid couch and matching love seat sat at right angles to each other in the center. On one wall was an entertainment center with stereo, et cetera. He’d hooked it all up for her during an electronic crisis. It was one of the few times she’d called him. She didn’t know what to plug in where and was afraid she’d blow up her new VCR or old TV. There was a small dining area adjacent to the tiny kitchen. He knew the rest of the place consisted of two bedrooms and baths, plus a laundry area with apartment-size appliances.

The walls were filled with collages of family photos, knickknacks and inexpensive prints. Prominently displayed was a bronze-colored metal plaque proclaiming, What Doesn’t Kill Me Will Make Me Stronger.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Abby asked.

He shook his head. “Is Sarah here?”

“No. She went to the movies with a group of friends.”

“Any of them guys?” he asked.

“If they were I’d be clothed in camouflage and doing surveillance. I wouldn’t be standing here dressed like this,” she said with an expansive hand gesture that indicated her work attire.

She was wearing the same suit he’d seen her in earlier, but it was a more casual, sexier look. The jacket was off, as were her high heels. There she stood in her stocking feet, a run creeping its way up from her shapely ankle. Her powder-blue silk blouse looked disheveled, half in, half out of the waistband of her navy skirt. Tousled straight blond hair surrounded her oval face. She looked as if she’d just engaged in a heavy necking session with a guy who had rounded first and was fast approaching second base.

The image took him completely by surprise. He’d never thought of her like that before. What surprised him more was his own reaction to the idea of her being with a man.

Irritation bordering on anger.

Correction, he thought. He wasn’t angry at the idea of a man in her life, just the concept of that man actually reaching second base with her.

Since the day he’d met her, when she’d been eighteen trying to act thirty, he’d felt responsible for Abby. He’d taken the Ridgeway sisters under his wing. He’d given Abby her first job and watched her grow up. It was natural that he would want to protect her. But this level of intensity was weird, and he could only chalk it up to his encouraging her to date. Which he still thought she should do. It just meant that he would have to run interference for her.

She glanced at the watch on her slim wrist. “Isn’t it kind of late for a dinner date?”

He took off his suit jacket and laid it on the arm of the love seat before sitting down. “Madison is preparing for a big court case this week. She needed more time. You’re still filling in for Rebecca, aren’t you?” he asked.

Abby nodded. “She’s still on maternity leave. And I have to confess that wearing the manager’s high heels is a real eye-opener.”

“How so?” he asked. Although he already knew why. It was the reason he’d stopped into the restaurant earlier. But before he brought the subject up, he wanted to hear what she had to say. “You’re home a little early, aren’t you?”

She nodded, then tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “The dinner rush, if you can call it that, ended early, so I left.”

He could tell by the shadows in her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the tension around her mouth that she was upset. “Tell me about it.”

Sighing, she sat on the other sofa, far enough away that there was no danger of their knees brushing. Instead of turning toward him, she faced straight ahead. Her body language screamed don’t cross that line. He frowned. At work she’d always made it a point to maintain a proper professional distance. Although lately he got the feeling she was trying to widen it. But this was her home. Here he thought they were friends, not boss and employee. Which was why he was letting her explain at her leisure the reason she was home earlier than usual.

“Business was slow. I had to send home a waiter and busboy tonight.” She met his gaze. “That’s the reason you were working today, isn’t it? It’s the reason you stopped in. You were checking things out.”

“Yes.” He didn’t bother to deny it. He’d been afraid that a slow evening was what had sent her home early. “But I can see you’re upset about sending employees home.”

“Of course I am. It’s not that I’m unclear on the concept.”

“I never said you were.”

“I know basic business principles. If the staffing ratio doesn’t match income, the profit margin shrinks.”

“That’s true.”

“Staff to a pattern.”

“Right.”

“The two newest employees are the first to go home early, and they’re the ones who usually need the money the most.”

“I understand.”

“Jack, the waiter, has a wife and baby. Larry is working his way through school.” Tensely, she twisted her fingers together.

Rank has its privileges, Nick thought. Low man on the totem pole was the most vulnerable. But all the logic in the world didn’t make it any easier to stomach telling an employee supporting a family that he wasn’t going to earn as much as he’d thought. Nick knew how hard this was for Abby. She had firsthand knowledge of being on a shoestring budget, the only thing between her and the wolves at the door.

Nick remembered a time he’d been in Abby’s shoes, professionally speaking. Tom Marchetti put his faith in OJT, on-the-job-training. His dad believed that Nick’s advanced degree in business only proved that he was capable of thinking. Each of his four sons had to learn the business from the bottom up. Nick had gotten his real education the summer his father had sent him to Phoenix, to supervise the opening of the first restaurant outside of California. His most lasting lesson had nothing to do with business, he recalled bitterly. His empathy for an employee had led to his orientation in the finer points of getting dumped, big-time, in a relationship. He would never forget it.

But that was his problem, not Abby’s. The restaurant where she was assistant manager was the first in the Marchetti’s chain, started twenty years before. Now the area demographics were changing and impacting business in that location. He was only mildly surprised that Abby had correctly guessed that was the reason he’d been there today to evaluate. She was a sharp cookie, with a very tender heart. She was just filling in, but had gotten her baptism of fire by telling that young father to go home early.

“So what are you going to do about the business?” he asked.

Startled, she met his gaze. “Me? I’m just the relief pitcher.”

“Isn’t it the reliever’s job to save the game?”

She looked at him thoughtfully for several moments. “I guess paying employees for twiddling their thumbs is unacceptable?” she said, half-hopeful.

“It is. Short of giving money away, what can management do?”

She thought for a minute. “Figure out ways to bring in customers.”

“That’s right. You’ve been to a few management seminars. What did you learn?”

“Mission, vision, philosophy,” she said without hesitation.

“Good, you can spout terminology. But what does it mean as far as Marchetti’s Inc. is concerned?”

“Mission?” She thought for a moment. “‘To provide high-quality, authentic Italian food at a reasonable cost, using customer-service skills to ensure clientele satisfaction,’” she recited.

At least someone read the company memos, he thought wryly.

“Okay, so you can memorize.” He pointed at her. “What’s the important part of what you just quoted?”

She frowned. “Which part?”

“Clientele. Do you know your customer base?”

“The area is older. First-time home buyers are moving in. That means primarily young couples, some with children, some without. Most on a budget.”

“Right. How can you make them want to allocate some of their hard-earned, double-income dollars for a meal out?”

“Coupons, flyers, discounts. A special kids’ night. Maybe an all-you-can-eat deal on traditionally slower nights.”

“All good ideas,” he said.

“But don’t they deviate from the company vision—every restaurant is the same, right down to the menu?”

“That was my father’s vision. Times have changed. We can, too. Especially if you factor in philosophy.”

“Let the managers manage?”

He nodded. His three brothers were also involved in the family business. Joe was CEO in charge of personnel and hiring. “If my brother’s done his job, every restaurant has a dynamite manager, in which case all we have to do is stand back and let him or her do what he or she does best.”

“So if every location is made up of specific clientele, aspects of the operation could be altered accordingly?”

“Why not?” he asked. If every employee was like her, his job would be a snap. “Think about it, Abby.”

“I will.”

They grinned at each other for several moments. Nick hadn’t felt this exhilarated in a long time and sensed that Abby felt it, too. Excitement flushed her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes. Her full lips turned up, revealing a rare, beautiful smile. He couldn’t remember the last time talking business had been so much fun.

Then she blinked and her smile faltered. The serious, professional mask was replaced faster than you could say “fettuccine Alfredo.”

She glanced at her watch. “Wow, look at the time. You’re going to be late.”

He suddenly had an idea. “Come to dinner with us.”

Startled, she put a hand to her chest. “Me?”

He looked around. “I don’t see anyone else here. Of course, you.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Sure you could. Madison likes you. You admitted you like her. Give me one good reason why you can’t join us.”

“Okay. Car pool.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sarah and her friends got a ride to the movies with April Petersen’s mom and I have to pick them up.”

He couldn’t help wondering how many other things she’d missed because she’d become a mother at eighteen. He was helping her plan a milestone birthday for Sarah. Had anyone made hers special?

“What did you do when you turned twenty-one?”

She looked surprised, then shrugged. “I don’t remember. I suppose the usual—school, took care of Sarah, and work.”

“That’s against the law.”

“Huh?” she said.

“In my family there’s a traditional rite of passage into adulthood that involves going somewhere your ID will be checked. An unforgettable experience.”

“That’s really nice, but I don’t see—”

He grinned. “Obviously I owe you a twenty-first birthday.”