And Then He Kissed Me. Teresa Southwick
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?”