She backed toward the door. “W-well, no,” she stammered. “Unless, of course, you have any other instructions for me.”
He waved a hand, hastening her exit. “No.” He swung his legs up, planting his boot heels on the polished surface of his desk, and reared back in his chair, holding the report before his face. “Not at the moment.”
Erik lowered the report to peer at the door his secretary closed behind her.
A mouse, he thought in disgust as the door snapped shut with a quiet, cautious click. A prim and proper, red-headed, scared-of-her-shadow mouse. What the hell was Mrs. H. thinking when she hired a woman like that to take her place as his secretary?
Knowing there was only one way to find out, he pushed back his chair and strode from his office.
His new secretary—the mouse, as he’d already dubbed her—glanced up from her desk as he passed by.
“Where are you going?” she asked in surprise.
“Out.”
“But you just got here!”
He ignored her and stepped onto the elevator, punching the button for the ground floor.
Twenty minutes later he was standing on the back stoop of his former secretary’s house, waiting impatiently for her to respond to his knock.
When she did, he brushed past her. “Who’s the mouse?”
“Mouse?” she repeated in confusion, closing the door behind him. “You mean the new secretary I hired for you?”
He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. “Yeah. Her. What’s the deal?”
She seated herself in the chair next to his. “You’ve met her, then,” she said, looking pleased with herself.
“Yeah. And she’s a mouse. What were you thinking? She’ll never work out.”
“But she’s perfect,” she insisted, as if surprised by his assessment. “Very organized, extremely intelligent, loyal to a fault. Plus, she’s single and more than willing to work the odd hours your schedule demands.”
“She’s a mouse,” he repeated disagreeably. “She’ll never be able to stand up to the pressures of this job.”
“You mean she’ll never be able to withstand your temper tantrums.”
He frowned at the reprimand in her tone and snatched up a salt shaker, narrowing an eye at it as he turned it in his hand. “That, too,” he muttered, reluctant to admit that his former secretary had hit the nail on the head.
“Then maybe you ought to learn to control your temper,” she suggested, sounding more like a mother than a former employee.
Erik glanced over at her and set down the shaker, unable to suppress the half smile her scolding drew. God, but he was going to miss the old girl. “Why don’t you give up on this retirement nonsense and come back to work for me? You know as well as I do that no one can replace you.”
“Can’t. My grandchildren need me.”
“I need you,” he argued. “Those rugrats have their own mothers to take care of them. I only have you.”
“You’re a big boy,” she was quick to remind him, “and more than capable of taking care of yourself.”
He let her argument pass without comment, allowing the silence to stretch out between them. He knew it was the right tactic when she began to wring her hands.
“When was the last time you ate?” she asked uneasily.
“Can’t remember. At least a day. Maybe two.”
“Erik Thompson!” she cried, and pushed herself from the table. “For heaven’s sake,” she fussed as she bustled about, setting a griddle on the stove and turning on a burner beneath it. “A man needs food to keep up his strength.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, smiling smugly. “That’s why I need you.”
She pursed her lips and gave him her best you’re-not-fooling-me-for-a-minute-young-man look over her shoulder, then turned her attention to pouring pancake batter over the griddle.
Chuckling, Erik reared back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans as he glanced around the cozy kitchen. God, but he loved this room with its never-ending supply of mouthwatering aromas, ridiculous clutter of useless knickknacks, the jumble of artwork and pictures that papered the refrigerator door. He figured he’d spent more time at this table and in this room than he had in those of his childhood home, a fact that spoke volumes about his relationship with his parents.
“Have you heard anything more from Boy Wonder?” she asked as she flipped a pancake.
Erik frowned, reminded of the irritating and mysterious hacker that jumped from machine to machine and server to server, continuing to elude Erik. “Yeah. A couple of times. He’s still around, slipping in back doors and into systems where he has no business.”
“Has he done any damage?”
“None that I can determine. I figure he’s due to do something big soon, though. He’s been hanging around way too long.”
“You’ll catch him,” she told him confidently.
“Damn straight,” he muttered, irritated that the hacker had thus far managed to dodge the traps he’d set for him.
“She’ll do a fine job.”
He glanced up, mentally thrown off balance by the quick change in topic. Then, realizing she was referring to his new secretary, he scowled and pushed back, giving her room to set a plate in front of him. “Not as good as you.”
She smiled, obviously pleased by the compliment as she sank down on the chair next to his. She placed a hand over his, her smile turning wistful. “I’m grateful for the job you offered me after Red died. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done, if not for you.”
Reminded of the death five years earlier of the man who had been more a father to him than his own father ever had been, Erik firmed his lips against the emotion that crowded his throat. He turned his hand over and gripped his fingers around hers. “Red was a good man. The best.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “He would be so proud of the work you’re doing.”
“He gave me my first chance. Taught me everything he knew.”
“Yes, and he’d be even prouder to know that you took that knowledge and continued his work.”
“We continued it,” he argued, reminding her that she was very much a part of the work he’d carried on after her husband’s death.
She laughed and gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it. “And I enjoyed every minute of it. But it’s time for me to enter the next stage of my life, that of doting grandmother.”
“You’ll be bored out of your mind in a month’s time, I guarantee it.”
“No,” she told him, and lifted her apron’s skirt to dab the telltale tears from her eyes. “I’m really looking forward to spending time with my grandbabies.”
He braced his forearms on the table and leaned toward her, his expression growing earnest. “Then just go part-time at the office. There’s no reason why you can’t continue to work for me and spend time with your grandchildren, too.”
Chuckling, she shook her head. “You’re just afraid that if I retire completely I won’t cook for you anymore.”
He scowled, but picked up his fork. “That’s not it at all. I need you, Mrs. H. We’re a team.”
“And