Undercover Nanny

She pressed the talk button. “D. J. Holden.”

“Ms. Holden? This is Loretta Mallory.”

Relief and adrenaline surged concurrently as D.J. hurried to close the bedroom door. She could hear the children playing in their rooms and had earlier left Max in the kitchen, working on the Italian meal he’d promised them. She assumed he was still there. “Loretta,” she breathed as the door clicked. “Boy, am I glad to hear from you! Gotta tell you, I was a little worried when I spoke to your housekeeper. She wouldn’t tell me a thing.”

“Janelle is well-trained to protect my privacy.” Loretta spoke with a lock-jawed stinginess that made nearly every sentence she uttered sound like it required exhausting effort. D.J. had thought she was used to the affectation, but this evening the older woman sounded more stiff-lipped than usual.

“I respect your privacy,” D.J. assured her politely, “but when I’m working on a case, I like to keep in touch with my clients. Even if they’re on vacation.” When Loretta chose not to respond, D.J. asked, “How long will you be gone?” She lowered her voice. “I have some information—quite a bit, actually—about your grandson. I think you’ll be very pleased. I’d like to give you the information in person.”

“Impossible. Tell me what you’ve got.”

“We can’t meet in person?”

“No, Ms. Holden. I’m recuperating. I had minor surgery.”

Recuperating. Loretta was recuperating? Then why all the secrecy regarding her location? If there was one thing that bugged the stuffing out of D.J., it was finding out that clients were lying or hiding important details. Quickly she put together the facts: ill matriarch is looking for estranged heir; ergo, matriarch could be very ill and trying to hide it.

D.J. didn’t have the patience right now to muck around. “Loretta, are you ill?” she asked baldly, unmindful of her client’s penchant for privacy. If D.J. was about to reunite Max with a dying grandma, she wanted to know it. She didn’t want to spring it on him.

“No, I am not ill,” the woman snapped as if the very word was offensive. “I am the picture of health, Ms. Holden. What information do you have for me?”

Hardball, eh? For dramatic effect, D.J. allowed a sizable pause. “Where are you, Loretta?”

D.J. knew she was pushing her luck. She still wanted the money from this gig, but now she wanted to protect Max, too. The more information she had about Loretta, the more information she could give Max when the time came. Now that she knew him, she didn’t want him to walk into a situation completely blind.

It took Loretta several long moments to decide how to answer. “Kindly remember that I am paying you, young woman,” she snapped imperiously, but just as D.J. thought she might have to back down, Loretta sighed noisily, indicating she was about to speak again. “I am the CEO of a company founded by my husband. I worked as hard as anyone to make the business a success. I sacrificed. Yet after my husband died, I had to fight for the right to remain part of a company that would not have existed without me. In some ways, it is still a man’s world…D.J.” This time she emphasized the unisex initials. “Working in the industry you do, I expect you to know that. What you have probably yet to realize, however, is that power in business also belongs to the young. I am seventy-one years old. To protect my position on the board, I should not appear older than fifty-five. I had liposuction.”

D.J. was momentarily stunned into silence. The way the conversation had been heading, she’d expected Loretta to say she’d had a facelift. But, “Liposuction?”

“Correct. I expect your discretion.”

Realizing she had pressured Mrs. Mallory into a disclosure that was, after all, none of her business, D.J. agreed swiftly. “You’ll have it.”

Without further ado, Loretta said, “And now I believe you have some information for me.”

“Yes.” Unconsciously glancing toward the closed door, D.J. said, “I’m working for your grandson. I’ve had a lot of opportunity to observe him over the past few days.”

“You’re working for him?” Loretta sounded surprised and impressed. “How did this come about?”

“Max owns a bar in Gold Hill, Oregon. I applied for a job—”

“My grandson owns a bar?” Loretta may have tried to keep her tone neutral, but was unsuccessful at masking her disappointment. “He’s remodeling half of it into an Italian restaurant.”