Courting the Clown (12 page)

“Help?”

“I can’t say their help is always very helpful, but they try,” he said, grinning lopsidedly. “They do a wonderful job when it comes to testing out our products.”

“Let me guess: Emily tests the boy toys and Lana tests the girl toys.”

“Yeah, pretty much. Of course, if it were up to Emily, the entire world would be pink, and I don’t think the average boy would want a pink animated dinosaur.”

Sylvie laughed. “I see. You need a boy.”

“I borrow some from the neighborhood. Emily tends to attract little troublemakers. I have a workshop in the basement. They love it. I have to lock the door to keep them out of there when I’m not working.”

“An toy inventor’s workshop,” she mused, finishing off her coffee. “Must be a paradise for kids. Almost like Santa’s workshop.”

“One or two have asked me where I keep my elves,” Nick said, grinning as he called for the bill.

Nick walked her back to the entrance of the store, then said goodbye. Sylvie wasn’t sure how she was feeling about their Friday appointment. Excited, yes. Apprehensive, definitely. Infatuated like hell, unfortunately, yes... He just kept becoming more intriguing. More attractive.

She slipped inside the store, then stood there hidden on the other side of the decorated window, watching Nick as he moved across the street towards his office building, then disappeared into the parking cellar.

She even loved the way he moved. It reminded her of her cat. Not soft and cuddly, of course, but lean and self-assured, the stride confident, but without the swagger too many successful men displayed. He was ... gorgeous. She just couldn’t get away from that word.

She smiled at one of her new co-workers, openly staring at her, and returned to the piano. There would no doubt be gossip in the staff room now. Several people had seen them at the store and at the restaurant. Did she care? No. She wouldn’t be here long enough for it to have any kind of impact.

And if this was a real date, and he was interested, and she was interested, then what the hell was she doing, saying yes? It was not a smart move. He was a father. He had two children to care for, and both of them terrified her, each in their own way. She just wasn’t cut out to be around children.

Either way, accepting his offer had been a stupid move. She blamed the butterflies. And Grandma Alex.

Grandma Alex
, Sylvie thought dimly as one song came to an end, and she repeated the last few bars as she tried to think of a Christmas song she hadn’t played already. Her hands skipped across the keyboard as she absently slipped into the first few bars of a song about someone kissing Santa Claus
.

Grandma Alex, I’m going to a Christmas party with my boss dressed up as Santa, and it’s all your fault!

Nick picked up the girls and drove home. He fed his daughters lunch, then all three of them moved into his workshop for an afternoon of work. The girls settled at “their” table, bickering over crayons. It was a tradition. If he didn’t have anything new to show them, they’d settle down at the table and produce a drawing or a painting – often their very own diagram of a new toy they wanted him to make. Their suggestions ranged from the absurd to the brilliant.

They still liked to hang around in there, and he loved having them around. It was the best thing about working from home – and it was an asset to the company too, as the girls had co-invented more than one of his toys.

“Did you see Iffy today? Is she ever coming for a visit again?” Emily asked. Behind her, Lana held the cat – which normally wasn’t allowed inside the workshop -- and stared at him too, letting Emily ask the question which was so important to her. He’d faced this question practically every day since Lana’s birthday.

“What is Fluffy doing in here?” he asked.

Lana chewed her lip and tightened her grasp on the long-suffering cat. “She gets lonely on her own.”

“Okay. Fine.” HE tended to give in easy when Lana stood up for herself. She did that so rarely. He’d probably have to watch it, or she’d become one spoiled little girl. “Okay. The cat can stay. This time only.”

Nick smiled weakly at his daughter and sank down at his desk. He turned on his computer and rubbed his forehead. This definitely called for a headache and he didn’t think any brilliant ideas would be flowing forward today.

Things were getting complicated. What in the world had he been thinking, asking Sylvie out?

It was such a bad idea to get involved with a woman his daughter had formed such an attachment too. He hadn’t been thinking at all, that was the problem. It had just happened. He hadn’t thought it through. He’d needed someone to accompany him to that party – and it wasn’t until she asked him straight out if this would be a job or a date that he’d realized what he was doing. And now he’d promised his daughter he’d take her to see the woman he was – sort of – dating.

He groaned, and wondered if there was any chance Lana would trade that visit with Sylvie out for a pet rat or unlimited television.

He glanced at his daughter, a secret smile on her face as she leaned over the table, carefully drawing a – yes – colorful clown.

No. Probably not.

Chapter 8

“And then he asked me to a party Friday,” Sylvie confessed to her cousins. They’d shown up at her door with plans for a hellish trip to karaoke bar next Friday. She’d told them she was busy, and wouldn’t be able to make it that day. Naturally, they’d demanded to know why she was busy, suspicious that she was just weaseling out of their agreement.

She could have lied. She could have made up a date.

But instead she’d told them the truth -- even knowing that it meant she wouldn’t get a moment’s peace for days. She
had
to tell someone, or she’d explode.

Helen scowled. “Your new boss? He asked you out on a date?” She shook her head. “That’s not quite appropriate, isn’t it? It’s not at all appropriate. He should know better than that.”

“I’m just a temp!” Sylvie objected, reverting to Nick’s own excuse. “I’ll only be there a month at most. So that’s hardly a problem. Plus, he just needs a date for this event. It’s not a real date. Besides, it happens all the time.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “There’s real consistency here, Sylvie. Yes, it happens all the time. Generally ends in tears – and guess whose tears!”

Susie poked Helen with her elbow. “Oh, shut up! Just because your company has a strict no-office-relationship policy and you’re seething because you can’t jump Mark, that doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t find our mates in the workplace.”

“ Excuse me?” Helen gave her cousin an icy look. “
Mark?
My
colleague
, Mark?”

“Oh, drop the pretence. We all know you have the hots for him.”

Icy acid dripped off Helen’s voice. “Did you say
hots
? For
Mark
?” She leaned away from Sylvie, glaring as only Helen could glare. “Where did you get that absurd idea from? I don’t even like Mark! He’s too much... well, too much like...” She took a deep breath before spitting out the last word. “Y
ou
!”

“We’re talking about Sylvie now.” Susie winked at Sylvie and backpedaled. Just in time. Helen seemed about to explore with outrage. “Forgot I said anything, Helen. Sylvie, tell us more about your guy and this party!”

“He’s not my guy,” she said automatically. “He’s my boss.”

“Exactly what I was saying,” Helen said. “This is bad. This is very bad. If you’d planned to date this guy, you shouldn’t have taken a job with him.”

“ You had to
ask
him if it were a real date?”

Sylvie ignored her mistrustful cousin. “What’s more, he’s playing Santa. He’ll be wearing a Santa suit half the evening. Not exactly romantic, is it?”

“Which brings us back to the question, is this a real date or not?” Helen said, her scowl deepening.

“He’s dressing up as Santa? Really?” Susie perked up. “He plays Santa to his staff? What a cool boss! I love a man who’s not afraid to get fat and bearded.”

Helen banged her coffee cup down and exploded into a coughing fit. “Fat and bearded?”

Sylvie snickered. “Thanks, Suz. Good to know. We’ll keep that in mind for your next blind date.”

“Fat and bearded or a day,” Susie amended. “You know what I mean! A guy who’s not afraid to dress up and be silly for a day. I’m not talking jelly belly and long white beard permanently, you know!”

“Yeah, we kind of guessed,” Helen said dryly. “And how do you fit in, Sylvie?”

“Did he hire you to come along as Mrs. Santa?” Susie asked. “Does this involve a short skirt and garters? I’ve got a Mrs. Santa costume if you need to borrow one.”

“Yes. Because I wasn’t sure if this was a part of my job or not. I was wondering if he wanted me to play the piano or tend the bar or do the washing up.”

“And it’s not?” Helen asked, to make sure.

“No. But what I can’t figure out, is whether he means this as a real date because he’s interested, or if he just needed a date and I was available, or if he’s just keeping me close because he had this strange idea that his daughter needs me.”

Susie finally managed to wipe the ecstatic you-have-a-date grin off her face, and settled down with a serious look. “Look – from the way you describe him, I doubt this guy can’t get a date.”

“Well, no,” Sylvie conceded. “But that still leave the other option. That this has something to do with his kid. He was so desperate to have me entertain at her party.” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know why, but that kid clung to me all through that party. Maybe he wants to keep me on hold in case the kid needs me. I know it sounds absurd – but the girl, for some reason, likes me -- and he’s desperate to do anything he can to help her.”

“I see,” Helen said. “So you think he may be keeping you on a short leash, making sure you don’t skip town on his daughter.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Okay. You think I’m being melodramatic.”

“Why is it so hard to believe that he may simply want to take you out on a date? You know, because he likes you? Because he’s interested?” Helen snorted. “You lack self-confidence. I told you should have started dating right after you dumped Doug. Practice is essential for these things.”

“She’s getting practice on Friday,” Susie said gleefully. “How about lunch Saturday, so we can get the scoop. No, wait.” She winked at Helen, making sure Sylvie would notice. “Let’s make it dinner. Just in case Sylvie will be unavailable for lunch...”

“Oh, come on! I don’t even want to get involved with this guy. And the last thing he’ll want is to get involved with someone. He’s got two little girls, remember, who are still hurting from losing their mother. Besides, single dads are off-limits to me, you know that.”

The fake belly stretched the buttons on his suit, the fluffy beard was big enough to hide a small army of mice, and his ho-ho-ho was deep enough to send vibrations through her. It was pretty much impossible to feel the least bit attracted to Santa Claus, so Sylvie felt relatively safe with him now. He’d picked her up, already dressed in that suit, and she’d convulsed into laughter as soon as she’d seen him, standing outside her door. “Oh, God. Oh, my God!”

“No. Not God. Just St. Nick,” he grumbled, and she was reminded of his nickname at the store. She was still curious about that, but she didn’t like gossip, and – despite the temptation - had refused to participate in any further chatting-about-the-boss at work.