Rekha
Ambardar
Echelon
Press Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Echelon Press
9735 Country
Copyright © 2005 by R. Ambardar
ISBN: 1-59080-216-0
www.echelonpress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any m
First Echelon Press paperback printing:
May 2005
Cover Art © Nathalie Moore
2005 Ari
Editor: Elizabeth Baird
Printed in
Also by Rekha Ambardar
(Whiskey Creek Press)
For my parents, who believed
I could.
CHAPTER
Mark Runyon sprinted up the steps of the modernized brownstone
in
He
glanced at the elevator briefly and shook his head. No, not the easy way up today. He'd been in meetings all day the last few
days, and had had no time for his usual tennis game. Better take the stairs. He could handle four flights, no problem.
He
loosened his tie and started climbing.
In his briefcase, he carried the graphical representations of the new
senior citizens' condominium he wanted to look over. David Roth, an associate, had commended Mark
on the new advertising slant for REA Inc.-"You'll
Know You're Home." The words sang
in his mind like a jingle. It reminded
him of the company's mission statement of putting the client first. This new project was his baby and he had had
a special person in mind when he developed this idea.
Mark
caught his breath as he remembered something.
He hadn't been able to make the Children's Heart Foundation fundraiser
the other evening, and now he'd never hear the end of it from Gran. Dear, lovable Gran. What was it she'd mentioned? That she had found a new housekeeper to
replace dragon lady, Mrs. Babbitt. Good, he could stop ordering Chinese takeout
from now on.
Footsteps
slowing, Mark climbed on. He reached the
fourth floor, unlocked the door, and walked into a large apartment bathed in
the late afternoon sun. He stashed his
briefcase on the side table in the hall and pulled off the tie that felt like a
choke chain better used in dog obedience classes.
Suddenly,
something appeared strangely wrong.
Things were in place all right-the
expensive oil paintings in their silver-bracketed frames in the hall, and the
living room billowing out at the far end with its soft chamois leather
upholstery furniture. The vases were filled with flowers, Mark's standing request to the
cleaning temp.
Then
why did he feel like the three bears walking in on Goldilocks? At the end of the hall, he spied two
suitcases partly hidden by the wall, and a sneaker tumbled against it
nearby. Alert to the last nerve, he
followed the signs as a nature lover might follow markings in the woods.
On
the sprawling living room sofa, a small, blonde, tousle-haired waif lay curled
with an arm resting on a rounded cheek, her sneaker-clad foot dangling over the
edge of the sofa. Her blue jeans were
molded over eye-catching curves as she lay fast asleep, breathing evenly.
Mark stood there, his tie draped
around his neck, a hand on one hip, and watched her for a few moments. A frown formed on his forehead and then
slowly disappeared. Curled on the sofa
in that childlike way, she looked pretty.
Thick sooty lashes lay like veils over her eyes, and the white
long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up gave her a tomboyish air that was
curiously attractive.
Mark
pulled himself together. He had no
business standing here getting an eyeful of Sleeping Beauty. But who was she and
how did she get in?
The
girl stirred and opened her eyes. Green,
he noticed, sea green. Mark cleared his
throat. "Miss, I think you're in
the wrong place."
"What? Oh...I..." She
sat up, her hand going to her head.
"Ouch! This is Tivoli
Terrace Apartments, isn't it? Ellen Carstens sent me.
I'm Nikki Slater, the new housekeeper."
Mark
slowly pulled the dangling tie off his neck and crumpled it in his hand. Had Gran lost her mind? Was this another one of the
charity cases she forever championed?
Did she really think this elf-like girl could handle the work of Mrs.
Babbitt? Mrs. Babbitt even scared dust
away, and when she left, she had brought in a temp just like herself-frontline combat
material, the original drill sergeant.
He unbuttoned his collar.
"How did you get in?"
This ought to be good, he thought.
"The
super let me in. I have a note from
Ellen." She fumbled in her jeans
pocket for a while, wriggling every which way.
Mark
looked away, very conscious of the girl's allure, the hair around her face in
curly wisps, the perfect mouth.
"Here
it is," she said finally, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper. "It's addressed to you, so the super
agreed to let me in."
Mark
took the note from her. "Dear
Mark," it said. "I'm sending
Nikki as promised. She's a good worker
and will be a help to you. She needs a
place to stay. Perhaps she could use the
spare apartment adjoining yours? Take
care of yourself and try not to work too hard.
Love, Gran."
Mark
allowed himself a half-chuckle, recognizing his grandmother's concern for
him. How like her to spring a surprise
like this on him! The girl looked as if
she had packed her life's belongings into two suitcases. She probably needed the money badly and Ellen
stepped in to help. Fine with him, he
could go along with a gag to humor his grandmother.
The
extent of the situation dawned on Mark like a neon light gaining power by the
second. The girl sat groggily on the
sofa and pushed the hair away from her eyes.
It suddenly hit him that she was to stay in his spare apartment. Mark swallowed hard on that one. Too bad she couldn't leave at the end of the
day as Mrs. Babbitt had done. Someone
like her was too much to handle when the new construction project was just
getting underway. He didn't want a
distracting female hovering next door.
Mark
raked his fingers through his hair.
"If you can cook and keep the apartment clean, it's fine with
me. The apartment you will use has a separate
entrance. In fact," he said, going
to a narrow closet and pulling out a key that hung on the inside of the door,
"I'll show you around." He
glanced at her suitcases. "You
might want to bring those."
Nikki got up. Small
built, she barely reached his shoulder.
What was Gran thinking when she sent this puny little urchin his
way? He hoped like heck she could do
some work, though he doubted if she was much good. Mild irritation assaulted him as he led the
way to the other apartment. He opened the
door and stood aside to let her enter.
"This door is left unlocked," he said.
They
stood in the foyer flooded with the light of the setting sun. Mark watched with amusement as Nikki walked
over to the window and stared at the scenery outside. He had to admit it looked nice this time of
year when leaves were starting to come in the trees.
"It's
beautiful," she said, coming away from the window. Her gaze fell on a glass and steel abstract
structure on the black marble-topped table in the foyer.
"Like
it?" he asked.
Nikki
nodded. "But what is it?"
"It's
a miniature skyscraper. It's in there
somewhere, if you look hard enough."
Mark laughed. "What's the
matter?"
The
dimpled smile that had looked promising turned into a puzzled expression. "What do you do?" Her eyes opened wide and a
sharpness laced her tone.
"Construct
buildings."
"You
work for the Runyon Corporation?"
"My
father and I own it. I'm Mark
Runyon. We also have a battalion of
relatives working for us. You sure
you're okay? You look ill." Mark lurched forward suddenly and caught her
by the arm to steady her.
"Whoa."
What
was the matter with her? This was an odd time to be groggy. Was she one of those party animals in a
perpetual state of hangover? Or maybe she was just hungry, which was probably why Gran
got involved. The girl was probably too
poor to afford a square meal a day.
"Are you hungry? I
was going to order Chinese food."
He was, after all, a volunteer for Big Brothers,
he could help one more down-and-out person, except he had to admit she didn't
make him feel like any brother. Not with
her curves and those come-hither bedroom eyes.
"No,
no. I'm fine." She appeared to gain control of herself.
"Well,
let me show you the apartment. Then you
can settle in. Is this all the luggage
you have?"
"For now. I sold
my furniture since this place came furnished."
"Of
course." Mark hoped he sounded
convincing in accepting her words at face value.
He
helped her carry the suitcases and crossed an archway leading to a suite of
rooms: a living room, bedroom, and kitchen.
"This
is it. Think you can manage
here?" He hardly expected her to
balk-it was
furnished in a neat, elegant style.
"When you're ready, you can come over to my apartment. I'd like to go over a few things with
you."
He
strode out leaving her standing in the hallway, suitcases standing on either
side of her like two short, protective pillars.
Did Gran have any idea what she'd gotten him into? Foisting on him a young
woman with a propensity for taking naps in strange surroundings?
Nikki
threw her suitcase on the bed and looked around the room. From finding out her apartment building was
turning condo to landing here in this snazzy apartment was as good as being
whacked on the head with a baseball bat and then dumped into ice-cold
water. On the one hand, gratitude welled
up inside her and she thought of Ellen's promise to find her a job and an
apartment. On the other hand, realizing
that Mark was the Runyon who came
from the long line of architects whose praises her mother had sung, was the biggest surprise yet. It had taken all her willpower to pull
herself together when he mentioned his work.
Her
glance swept toward a door leading to the balcony with ornate wrought iron
railings creating a quaint, European air.
The expression "compact yet stylish" took on new meaning. Whoever undertook the decor of this suite had
classic good taste in the colors and fabrics.
The floor tiles were white, so cool that Nikki decided to walk
barefoot. It felt like wading in clear,
shallow water. Remembering the soft
beige upholstery of the living room furniture, Nikki decided that flowers would
add a blaze of color.
Which was all well and good.
Luxury was not exactly unknown to her, but what was she doing in Mark
Runyon's orbit? She'd struck out on her
own to get away from the umbrella of family name and money to prove her own
mettle, only to fall right into the midst of the family her mother had wanted
Nikki to marry into. Still, this guy seemed almost tolerable.
It could be an act, of course.
The men she'd known had been either wolves in sheep's clothing,
octopuses, or just plain greedy for money.
Which category did Mark Runyon belong to? Tread carefully here, girl, she said to
herself.
As Nikki clicked open the suitcases and started emptying one
of them onto the bed, her mind wandered to her plans
as her hands got busy. She had less than
a year to finish catering school and needed the money; how fortunate that Ellen
had negotiated a good salary, and Nikki didn't have to
pay rent. Surely, she could swallow her
dislike for the entitlement that wealthy folks seemed to have and follow her
own dream?
A
few minutes later, one suitcase was emptied and its
contents hung in the closet. The other
one could wait, she'd better meet Mark properly and
discuss her duties. She moved toward the
large dresser mirror and studied herself.
She looked a fright!
Over
the weekend, Nikki had reduced her belongings to two suitcases and saw no
reason to delay her move. Today, she was
tired. It had been a hectic day and she
came to Mark's apartment directly after class.
The last thing she expected to do was zonk out
on the comfortable sofa in Mark's apartment.
Her hand flew up to her hair. It
looked as if it had been whipped up with an eggbeater,
her shirt hung out of her jeans, and she needed a wash.
She
headed to the bathroom and briskly splashed water on her face. Now she began to feel sane, or awake
anyway. Eyes still closed, she clutched
at a towel and wiped her face.
Better,
she thought. She approached the door of
the adjoining apartment and knocked.
Getting no response, she opened the door and let herself in.
Nikki blinked and looked around, breathless with
curiosity. Earlier, she hadn't taken the
opportunity to really study her surroundings, but now twilight had fallen and
the faint remnants of a pink haze still lingered outside.
"Mr.
Runyon?" Nikki called. Formality would keep things between them in
proper perspective.
"In
here," a voice called out from a room off to the side. The study?
She moved in that direction.
Mark
sat in front of a laptop computer in a room lined with shelves holding thick
books, while near the window stood a big drafting table with a lamp bent
directly over it. A thick blue sheet
spread across the table and held down with paperweights caught her attention.
He
got up. "Are you settled in? How do you like your apartment?" he
asked.
"Pretty
much, and yes, the apartment is just fine," Nikki replied, telling herself
mentally to stop gawking at him. Fate
must have it in for her-Nikki
couldn't think of any other reason why it would throw her into the path of this
knock-out guy.
It wasn't fair.
Earlier,
even in a sleepy haze, she'd noticed he was very easy on the eye. Now he leaned against the computer table, his
gaze flicking over her in a deliberate appraisal. Tall and broad-shouldered, his jeans followed
narrow hips, muscular thighs, and long, sturdy legs with precision. The dark blue shirt with sleeves rolled to
the elbows revealed t
Handsome,
she thought, trying to appear unimpressed.
Melting brown eyes with laugh lines at the corners arrested her
attention and thick chestnut brown hair sprang back from a broad forehead. Early-to-mid-thirties, she guessed.
A
faint smile of amusement curved the corners of his mouth. He'd noticed her staring. "Miss, er…" He
straightened and extended his hand, encasing hers with ease and poise.
"Please
call me Nikki," she said, a little unsettled by
the firm grip. His hands were strong
with well-shaped fingers.
"Then
you'll have to call me Mark," he said with a grin. "Now, let's go into the living room and
discuss your duties. Enough with the
design software." He grimaced at
the computer screen and strode out of the study.
Nikki
made it a point to sit bolt upright in one of the more uncomfortable-looking
chairs in the living room. Being found
fast asleep on the sofa still rankled, and she vowed never to be caught like that again.
"How
did you meet my grandmother?" he asked.
He sat on the sofa, an arm extended along the back of it.
"We're
taking cooking classes together at the Saunders Institute. I needed a place to stay after being told by the manager that our building was going to get
a complete overhaul. Too bad, because
the Nob Hill Apartments were close to the
Institute."
Mark
removed his resting arm, visibly jolted.
"Nob Hill Apartments? You were a resident there?"
Nikki
looked up. "Yes, why?"
"Because
I know the place. In fact, I own
it," he said.
Suddenly
the truth hit her like a lightening bolt.
The manager had mentioned somebody who owned other buildings as well,
and was an architect in the Runyon Corporation.
But there were so many Runyons
that it could have been anyone. At the
time, she'd been too preoccupied to make the connection. Nikki felt herself flush with anger at being
the recipient of his high-handed deal-making. "Do you realize what you've done?"
"Now,
look," Mark said, his voice controlled compared to Nikki's, which had risen an octave higher.
"We're assisting the residents in finding apartments-at least, those
that want our help." He paused for
a moment. "You, obviously, didn't
need it because my grandmother was helping you."
Nikki
bristled at the cavalier way in which he spoke.
"Ellen was good enough to come to my aid," she replied. "Otherwise, I'd have been out of a place
to stay. And I needed to be near the
Saunders Institute."
She probably sounded hysterical, but it was
the same uncaring reaction she'd grown up with, when her parents
expected hired help to take care of her while they went on endless travels
abroad. The human element didn't seem to
matter to them. Images floated in her
mind's eye-band concerts and brownie
meetings missed because Daddy had business trips and Mother had society
functions to attend. The one who taught
her about feelings and caring had been her young nanny, Celia. And about baking
cookies and cakes, which had produced Nikki's love of cooking.
This
gem of physical perfection sitting in front of her had those same expectations
as her parents times ten, Nikki thought, unclenching
her sweaty hands. How else did he think
he could find residences for the people who had been
displaced when the building came down?
"It's
just like my grandmother to take some needy person under her wing and look out
for them," Mark said. "I
wouldn't want to see her hurt."
"Don't worry," Nikki replied. "My intentions are honorable." Irritation welled up at the insinuation that
she might be, in some way, taking advantage of Ellen's trusting nature because
she was poor. Was he guilty of snobbery,
too? Never mind, she'd give him a piece
of her mind if the situation arose.
"Ellen
has been taken advantage of in the past," Mark said.
"I
understand your concern," Nikki replied.
"But she is a good friend and we have mutual respect for each
other." Nikki tucked her hair
behind her ear. "Now," she
said briskly, "Tell me what you need done, and we can go from there."
"Right." Mark stood up. "As you can see, this is a large
apartment. It will have to be kept clean and dusted.
Mrs. Babbitt did both the cooking and cleaning. After she left, I've been eating out and
getting a temp in to clean. Can you
manage the cleaning as well?"
Nikki
could tell he liked a spotless environment.
His study had the look of a fastidious executive. "Of course. But since I'm taking cooking classes, I'll
need time off."
A
twinkle glistened in his eyes.
"You're one of those gourmet cooks?"
"I've
had an interest in cooking ever since I can remember. Cooking is a work of art," Nikki said, momentarily being transported to the world of the culinary
masterpieces she hoped to soon produce.
"Few people realize how involved it can be."
Mark
listened without speaking. Nikki felt
his dark, luminous eyes sizing her up.
She couldn't shake off the feeling that he wasn't really taking her at
her word, and that it had to do with his grandmother.
Nikki
chuckled inwardly. Ellen was the best
friend she had. Let him writhe with
suspicion. Serves him right!
"Take
the time you need for your classes, just as long as the work is
done around here." And he meant it, she could tell. It reminded Nikki of her Dad giving orders to
their driver and the riding instructor who came once a week. He was brilliant in the world of business,
but he was pushy in handling people.
Now, Nikki had half a mind to put on a downstairs-maid act and
say, "Yes, sir. Right away,
sir," and bob a curtsy as they did on the PBS shows she sometimes watched.
"Where
do you keep the cleaning supplies?" Nikki asked.
"Right
over there." Mark nodded in the
direction of a wide hall closet.
"There's a washer and dryer in the back room. You're welcome to use them for your own
wash. Most of my clothes go to the
cleaners, but I prefer to do my everyday clothes myself, those I wash
here."
Nikki
nodded, slowly getting a picture of the kind of man he must be-no nonsense,
and keeps to himself.
"Oh,
and you'll need to keep the refrigerator stocked. I'll leave a list on the table."
"What
time will you need breakfast?"
"Eight. I'll let you know if I have to leave earlier
for a breakfast meeting with clients from out of town," Mark said. "I have only a light breakfast of toast,
orange juice, and coffee. And a boiled
egg now and then."
Nikki
watched him thoughtfully. Being the busy
executive, he probably skipped lunch. No
wonder Ellen worried about him. Though
tall and muscular, he was still her baby.
"Dinner's
the only meal I really eat," he said.
"Figures."
"I
beg your pardon?"
"Your
grandmother hinted that you were a workaholic."
Mark
grinned. "I just like what I
do."
The
phone jingled somewhere. Wondering where
it was hidden, Nikki looked behind her and saw a cell
phone on a black glass-topped table near an ornate walnut screen.
Mark
picked it up. "Hello? Well, how are you? What time is it over there?" He paced the room as he talked, his face
beaming with animation.
Obviously
somebody he likes, Nikki thought. A
client?
"Good. I'm glad it's going well. As one of the investors in the shopping
center, you have a say in its design.
Glad the others are pleased with the layout. By the way, thanks for the clock and the
screen. They are both in the living
room. G'bye." He clicked a button and clapped the phone
shut.
Mark
turned to her. "From
"Do
you have many business deals overseas?"
Nikki tried to sound politely casual.
"
Nikki
got up. "No, I have to finish
unpacking. Tomorrow, I have an early
start after doing the housework." But she had to call Ellen before that.
"Help
yourself to a sandwich from the fridge," Mark
said.
"Thanks." She'd have to do some grocery shopping and
stock her own refrigerator. She wondered
how it would all work out, and if she'd done the right thing moving next door
to a rich, drop-dead gorgeous guy. It would have been a lot easier if he'd been
just an average everyday employer instead of somebody who seemed to unsettle
her with his lucid amber eyes.
Nikki
shook herself of the handful of potent, male personality she had just left in
the other apartment, entered the foyer of her apartment, and looked for the
phone. It sat in the living room, a lime
green, corded number.
Nikki
picked up the receiver, punched the buttons, and waited.
"Hello? Ellen?"
A
clear, low voice came over the line.
"Nikki? Are you settled in,
dear?"
"Yes,
thanks." Nikki chuckled at the way
Ellen came to the point efficiently. So
characteristic of her. "And thank
you for keeping my family background a secret."
"You're
welcome. If you didn't want to make it
known you were in any way connected with the banking family, that's your
business. If anything, it's to your
credit you're paying your way through school.
Meantime, I'm getting something out of it, too."
"What?"
"My
grandson gets wholesome, home-cooked meals and someone to keep an eye on
him."
Nikki
smiled to herself at Ellen's innocent choice of words and, saying goodbye to
her friend, hung up.
Mark
had been conscious of his gaze following Nikki as she left for her apartment. He put his thoughts on hold for a while and
dialed the number of Shanghai Delight.
"Carry-out
for Runyon. Chop suey
and sesame chicken, please. You know
where to bring it." He hung
up. The restaurant owners knew him like
a member of their family, and anybody coming in would be
cleared by the security system.
The doorman would buzz upstairs and let him
know.
He
felt a slight disappointment that Nikki had declined to join him, and he hardly
knew why. Perhaps because she showed
spirit and independence. Had to have, if
she was putting herself through catering school and planning to set up
business. She probably had visions of
making money in her venture, never having had any. He knew the value of money, so he couldn't
exactly fault her for it.
He
shook his head. Those pool-green eyes
seemed to pierce his soul for some reason.
Yet, there was something about her that he couldn't quite fathom. Was it grasping ambition?
Of course. Somebody as poor as
she was would want to vault herself out of her present situation. What kind of family did she come from? And was she really
here to work, or to earn some quick money in a "cushy" job? Well, he'd just see to it that she earned her
salary.