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 subjectâabout
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.
Â
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. “âTo 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.