Take Me Home for Christmas (11 page)

These would be very pleasant surroundings....

“I put on a pot of Black Gold’s finest,” he said. “Feel free to pour yourself a cup.”

She was far too nervous to eat or drink. “Maybe when I take a break midmorning.”

He paused for a second, and his eyes ranged over her. She wondered if she was inappropriately dressed. She’d put on a pair of jeans, a lightweight sweater and tennis shoes, and she’d brought an apron in case he didn’t have one. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Is what okay?”

“What I’m wearing.”

He averted his gaze as if he hadn’t really been looking at her in the first place. “Of course. Dress however you like. I rarely get company during the day when I’m working.”

So it would be just the two of them in his secluded house for hours on end....

She rubbed sweaty palms on her thighs. “When’s your next deadline?”

He was leading her back up the stairs. “End of December.”

“Will you be able to meet it?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Instead of thanking her, he turned and gave her another assessing look before continuing the tour. As they passed through the dining room, which was quite formal, she guessed he typically ate in the kitchen. His living room had more of a lived-in feel. So did the game room, which included a pool table, darts and video game systems, along with a big-screen TV. The only thing he didn’t show her was his bedroom. It had to be on the top floor, as she’d initially guessed.

On the third level, double doors separated his workspace from the rest of the loft. Inside, Sophia saw an extra desk. He said that was where she’d be handling the clerical tasks he assigned her and gestured at the chair. “I’d like you to take a typing test, if you don’t mind.”

“Right now?” she asked.

One dark eyebrow quirked up. “Is there something wrong with right now?”

“No.” Except that her anxiety had her feeling queasy. “What do you want me to type?”

He grabbed a research book from the shelves lining the two walls that weren’t glass. “How about half a page from this? I just want to get a general idea of your speed.”

She was a far better cook than she was a typist. She preferred to start proving herself in the kitchen, but she couldn’t say that, not without sounding as if she was making up excuses. At home, she’d used a laptop to surf and shop on the internet. She could limp along on a keyboard but wasn’t what anyone would consider a crack typist.

He held the book while she tried to copy it. But having him so close, watching her, brought out the worst of her nerves. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t avoid making mistakes. Soon her eyes were burning, too, with the tears she was holding back, and that made it difficult to read. Terrified that he’d notice she was about to break down, she blinked and blinked and consequently finished the paragraph by slaughtering almost every word.

He shut the book. “Maybe we can get you an online typing tutor.”

She curved her lips into a smile. “If you don’t mind letting me borrow this laptop, I’ll take the clerical work home and do it on my own time since I’m slow, if that’s okay.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose—as if hiring her was the worst mistake he’d ever made. “That’s fine.”

“I’m not as bad as I seem at the moment,” she insisted.

“It’s fine, like I said. This is just a stopgap until you find something more suited to your, uh, skills. We can work around...whatever.”

In other words, he’d put up with her until he could conscionably get rid of her.

“And what do you think would be better suited to me?” she asked.

He shrugged as if he didn’t care as long as she eventually secured alternate employment. “There’s always retail. Or...maybe you should take some online classes while you work here to gain skills in other areas. Medical transcription or...or web design. Something like that.”

She winced but hoped he couldn’t tell. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

If he heard her sarcasm, he didn’t respond to it. With a nod, he went to his own desk. “I’m going to get a few pages done. The cleaning supplies are above the washing machine. Maybe you can start with the house.”

She curled her nails into her palms. His tone said,
Anybody ought to be able to do that.
“What time would you like breakfast?”

He was opening his document. “I had a piece of toast with my coffee earlier.”

“So skip breakfast?”

“Right.”

“And lunch?”

“I’ll eat at one and five, just to give you a rough schedule. Lunch you can bring up and set on that desk.” He indicated the desk she’d been using. “I’ll get to it when I can. Dinner should be ready at five so you can eat with Alexa before you go home. I’ll have the leftovers when I finish up for the day.”

He wasn’t planning on seeing much of her, despite the fact that they’d both be in the house, she realized. Since she couldn’t type, she’d been relegated to the nether regions. “Got it.”

When she didn’t immediately leave, he turned to look at her. “Is there anything else?”

“I might not be quite as worthless as you think,” she said and walked out.

12

H
e was an idiot. He’d thought he could employ Sophia for a few months without finding it too much of a sacrifice, but that was a joke. She was
in his house
where he’d have to face her every time he left his office. And she was going to be there all day every day, except weekends.

Instead of writing, Ted spent the next hour cursing his own ridiculous response to recent events. So when his phone buzzed, it was a welcome distraction rather than an interruption. He couldn’t create a good story, not in his current frame of mind. He might as well answer.

But when caller ID showed it was his mother, he almost put down the phone. She’d told him not to get involved with Sophia, and he’d done exactly the opposite. Now he’d hear about it. But if he didn’t answer, she’d just keep trying until she got through. Why not break the news, if she hadn’t learned it yet, and get that over with?

He pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Tell me it’s not true,” she stated flatly.

She’d learned, all right. “Who told you?” he asked.

“I ran into Sharon DeBussi at the gas station. She said her granddaughter told her they were going to be okay because of you.”

“Everyone needs a hand now and then, Mom.” He pretended his actions were perfectly logical and defensible. But he’d lost a lot of confidence since Sophia had arrived. Hiring her had been a mistake. She couldn’t even type, which suddenly seemed more significant than it had when he was feeling sorry for her. He sincerely doubted a woman who’d been
that
rich could cook or clean, either. She’d stupidly settled for being nothing more than Skip’s arm candy. So what had
he
been thinking? It wasn’t
his
responsibility to save her from her own poor choices, but he’d jumped in despite that, and now he had to deal with the fallout.

“Why not let someone
else
give her a hand?” his mother asked.

“Because no one else stepped up!” At least that was true. He wouldn’t have offered her a job if he felt she’d had a better option—or even
another
option. “From what I could tell, our fellow Whiskey Creek residents just wanted to...pile on.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“She inspires a great deal of resentment. I get it. But enough is enough.” That was true, too, and stating it so emphatically seemed to bolster him, if only slightly.

“I knew she’d draw you back into her web.”

His mother’s tone got on his nerves. She could be so smug. “Stop it. I’m not
in her web.
I’m trying to do something kind for another human being.”

“The same human being who broke your heart when she chose that bum over you?”

“Thanks for the reminder. But have you forgotten how hard it was when Dad left us?” he asked. “And you had child support, an education and a good job. What does
she
have?”

“The uncanny ability to prey on your sympathies, apparently.”

His mother wasn’t softening at all. She didn’t forgive easily as a general rule. She was too demanding of herself and others. Expecting her to forgive someone who’d wronged
him?
Forget it. They could fight between themselves, butt heads all the time, but she’d die defending him. That was what made their relationship so damn complicated. It was difficult to tell someone
that
devoted to quit meddling when the line between “meddling” and “loving” so often blurred.

“She didn’t come to me for the job, Mom. I offered it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Then you deserve exactly what you’re going to get!” A dial tone buzzed in his ear.

Ted couldn’t remember the last time his mother had hung up on him. She was
really
upset about this. But she had no right to be. He was an
adult,
for crying out loud. He could make his own decisions.

Slumping into his chair, he set the perpetual motion skier his editor had sent him for Christmas into action. He needed to get back to work. He couldn’t lose another day, not if he wanted to meet his deadline. But he was so distracted....

He stopped the skier as a new thought occurred to him. Was there any chance he could foist Sophia off on someone else, someone in Sacramento or the Bay Area?

That might be possible...
if
she had any marketable job skills.

He was still searching for a way out when a pleasant aroma began to waft into the room. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to decide what Sophia was baking. Cookies? A cake? Muffins?

He didn’t have to wonder long. A few seconds later, he heard a bump against his office door and swiveled around to see her standing on the other side, holding a plate and a glass of milk. She must’ve used her knee to hit the door because she didn’t have a free hand.

When he drew close enough to see what was on the plate, he realized she’d brought him some banana bread. It was an eternity since he’d had anything like that. He took his mother to Just Like Mom’s almost every Sunday, and the meals he got there were always good. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had banana bread, let alone smelled it baking.

He doubted Sophia could’ve brought him anything he’d find more appealing...at least not in the realm of food.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” she said. “I just thought you might enjoy a midmorning pick-me-up since you didn’t have much for breakfast.”

Her tentative smile and the way she hung back to ascertain his response reminded him of an animal that was eager for affection but feared it would be kicked instead. She’d never had that haunted look in her eyes when he’d been part of her life. He’d sensed the change in her at the church, too, during that meeting with Skip’s investors. She no longer knew what she could count on, what kind of response she’d get—from
anyone.

“Smells good,” he said.

That was the positive sign she’d been waiting for. Her smile relaxed as he held the door so she could come in, and she put his lunch on the desk where he’d told her she should leave it.

“It’ll be here whenever you’re ready. I’ll get the plate later.”

She scooted out of the room so fast he didn’t have a chance to say anything except thanks before she closed the door. But once she was gone he wasted no time in trying what she’d made.

The sweet bread, slathered in butter, nearly melted in his mouth. He groaned as he downed both slices and wished she’d brought him the whole loaf.

His cell phone buzzed as he swallowed the last bite. It was a text message—from Eve.

How’s she doing?

Better,
he wrote back and went down to the kitchen for more.

* * *

By the time Sophia finished cleaning two of Ted’s four bathrooms, she was tired even though it wasn’t quite noon. It’d been a while since she’d engaged in such strenuous activity. She’d
never
scoured a sunken bath—especially as large as the one he had off his bedroom. Her showers and baths were big and fancy, too, in a more elegant way, but Marta had handled keeping them clean.

At least she liked being busy. Maybe with some real effort and elbow grease, she’d be able to prove herself. This afternoon she’d take a few minutes and borrow that laptop he had on the desk in his office so she could search the internet for tips on how to keep a house clean and organized. She could even look up various recipes for healthy meals.

Determined to give her new position everything she had, to convince Ted he was wrong about her abilities, she returned to the kitchen. It was time to start lunch. After that, she’d clean the laundry room and do the laundry. From what she’d seen in Ted’s bedroom, he didn’t have a lot of dirty clothes, but some of his slacks and shirts would need ironing. And there was a far better way to organize his closet. She’d learned that from the specialist who’d come to organize hers.

She hoped he wouldn’t mind if she changed things around.... He’d given her so little direction. She was supposed to cook and clean, but he hadn’t told her specifically what he’d like cooked or what he’d like cleaned. She figured she’d just do the best she could, and if he disapproved of something, he’d have to let her know.

She rolled her eyes as she recalled his obvious disappointment at her typing skills. He certainly had no trouble being direct.

Grabbing a cookbook from a shelf near the pantry, she carried it to the kitchen table and sat down to pore through the recipes. She almost didn’t notice that the loaf of banana bread was nearly gone, but when the small chunk that was left caught her eye, she couldn’t help feeling vindicated. He’d liked it. He hadn’t said anything to her, but the proof was right there. He’d eaten enough for
five
people.

Maybe she’d be that lucky with his lunch....

The picture of an almond-and-berry salad with poppy-seed dressing caught her eye as she turned the pages. That looked healthy
and
delicious, which were the two stipulations he’d given her so far. She’d make the salad for lunch. For dinner she’d do a savory soup. It was growing so chilly in the evenings that a warm bowl of broccoli-cheddar served with sourdough bread might be perfect. Again, it was healthy, so she should be on track there. She just hoped he liked broccoli....

She considered asking him. She had to interrupt him anyway, to see if she could go to the grocery store for ingredients. But before she could make it out of the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

Figuring it was her job to answer—the whole point of having a housekeeper was to allow Ted more time to write—she hurried up the stairs and nearly bumped into him on the landing.

“Oh, did you want to get it?” she asked.

He lifted his hands. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“So greeting any visitors while you’re working would be my job?”

“That’s right.”

“Understood.” She reached for the handle. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No. Like I said, I don’t get many visitors during the day.” His tone confirmed that he had no idea who it might be.

She opened the door to find the answer to that question: Chief Stacy was standing on the front stoop.

Recalling their exchange last night, and how unpleasant that had been, Sophia stood rigidly as he looked her up and down.

“So it’s true,” he said.

She felt her pulse kick into a higher gear. “
What’s
true?”

“Ted hired you.” He shook his head. “Some people never learn.”

Ted, hidden by the door, pulled it from her grasp and, nudging her off to one side, replaced her in the opening. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You, of all people, should know she can’t be trusted.”

A muscle flexed in Ted’s cheek, but instead of responding, he glanced in her direction. “You can go back to work.”

She knew she should do exactly that. He was her boss. But the anger she’d felt at Just Like Mom’s welled up again. Was Stacy here to sabotage her first break since the night Skip had disappeared from their yacht?

“If he’s here to complain about me, he can’t claim I owe him anything,” she said. “From what he told Eve when he was at the house on Friday, he invested $5,000 with Skip. But he took items worth at least that much from my house. Maybe I can’t pay back
all
the investors, but he should be satisfied.”

“You don’t know anything,” Stacy said.

Ted didn’t even look at him. “I’ll handle this,” he told Sophia.

Would he give her the benefit of the doubt, no matter what Stacy had to say? Or was she crazy for even trying to keep this job?

Part of her said she was crazy—the same part that suggested she walk out before he could fire her. But if she did that...then what? She’d go home to a stripped-down house with little food and no money—and possibly fall back into the terrible depression that had so recently taken control.

That would be the worst thing that could happen, for her
and
Alexa. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to pull out of another nosedive like the last one. She hadn’t been drinking for just that reason—because she couldn’t afford to take the risk. She had to do everything in her power to avoid depression, even if that meant trusting Ted—a man she’d once scorned—to somehow see the best in her.

“I have to go to the grocery store,” she mumbled. “Maybe now would be a good time.”

Ted pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. After peeling off two hundreds, he handed her the money and said to get whatever she needed.

“You sure she’ll come back with the groceries?” Stacy quipped.

Difficult though it was, Sophia managed to ignore him. He was
trying
to provoke her.

“Thanks,” she told Ted. Then she retrieved her purse, shoved the money inside and slipped past both of them. She was eager for a few moments of freedom, a few moments when she wasn’t worrying about whether she was cleaning the right thing or cooking the right thing or if she’d only end up disappointing Ted like she had with her typing.

She could feel Chief Stacy’s gaze follow her all the way to her car. But then he disappeared inside the house and she drove off.

* * *

“What can I do for you?” Ted asked as Stacy took a seat opposite him in the living room.

The police chief pursed his lips and gazed around Ted’s house. “This is kind of different, isn’t it?”

He obviously didn’t approve. “You came to see my house?”

“No, I came to talk about Sophia.”

“With
me?
” Ted brought a hand to his chest. “Why?”

“I’m thinking you might be able to help. She owes me money—like she does a lot of other people.”

How could
he
help that? “I can’t garnishee her wages, not unless you get a judgment against her and go through the proper channels. And why would you waste your time? I’m guessing she’ll be forced to file for bankruptcy. She can’t make enough money to pay anyone. You’re lucky you came out of this as well as you did.”

“As well as I did?” Stacy repeated. “I’ve got more skin in the game than you realize.”

“How’s that? Was Eve wrong about the amount you invested? Or don’t you think the jewelry and other stuff you took from Sophia’s house has much value?”