And Then He Kissed Me

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.”