Disclaimer: Not mine.

Helpless 5

The Boss

Trunks waited until he was sure she was out of sight before opening his eyes again. His new temp was turning out to be quite a bossy little lady, he thought, his mouth twisting wryly. He hadn't been ordered around quite like that since he was in grade school.

If he was truly honest with himself, he was beginning to enjoy all the attention. Especially since there were apparently no hidden strings. It was quite obvious Marron Chestnut had no idea who he was, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to let her go on thinking he was broke. That way, at least he could be certain she wouldn't be getting any wild ideas about becoming the first Mrs. Briefs.

He smiled, amused by the memory of her standing over him, arms crossed, with her blue eyes flashing and that quaint bobbed haircut making her look like a refugee from the 1920s. Most of the women he met hung on his every word, anticipated his every wish and fell over themselves to please him. Marron Chestnut's militant, no-nonsense, take-charge attitude was a refreshing change.

Mind you, he warned himself, a little of that went a long way. Sooner or later he would have to make a stand and put her in her place. Right now, however, especially since he felt weakened and annoyingly dependent, it was rather nice to lie back ad let someone else run things for a while.

He was dozing when his efficient temp woke him up, holding a plate of something that smelled like heaven.

"Spaghetti Bolognaise," she announced as she struggled to sit up, blinking at the room, which seemed to have become brighter while he slept. "Not too glamorous, I'm afraid, but the best I could do with what I could find. I don't know what you're doing with all those awful frozen dinners in the freezer. Apart from the fact they are utterly tasteless, there's not enough food in them to feed a rabbit."

Trunks was inclined to agree. Looking up at her disapproving face, he felt compelled to offer some defense. "Paresu brought them over on her way to work this morning. She thought they'd be easier for me to manage."

"A large pot of stew would have been easier."

Trunks stomach gurgled at the thought. All he could think about right then was getting him down the best food he'd smelled in days.

"Here." Marron handed him the plate, fork and a piece of paper towel. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you have a tray or napkins lying around somewhere?"

He practically snatched the plate out of her hands. "This will do fine. I'll manage."

"All I can find to drink is instant coffee or milk."

He almost groaned at the thought of steaming hot coffee. "I don't mind instant."

"I'll get it."

She was halfway back to the kitchen before he remembered his manners. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"I'll have mine in the kitchen. I decided to wash the curtains while you were napping. They were filthy."

He winced at her note of disapproval. So that explained the extra light. Now he could see that the windows were bare and sparkling clean.

He was tempted to apologize for the tatty curtains, though he had no idea why he should. The spaghetti, however, was right under his nose, and he wasted no more time. He'd wiped the plate clean by the time she returned.

She took the plate from him, and handed him a steaming cup of coffee. "Well, I'm glad to see you managed to eat it all. I've hung the curtains over the stove to dry, so I should be able to put them back up again before I leave."

She started back to the kitchen, adding over her shoulder. "I'll make a list of what you need from the supermarket and I'll shop for you on my way in tomorrow. I'll make you a nice pot of stew, and all you'll have to do is heat it up after I've left tomorrow night."

Warm and fed, Trunks was beginning to feel very mellow. Even the pain in his ankle seemed to be easing. Safe in the knowledge that Marron had no ulterior motive for her attention, he could afford to be gracious. "Thank you, Marron, I really do appreciate all you're doing for me." He watched with interest as a warm blush crept over her cheeks.

"You're entirely welcome." She disappeared before he could say any more.

Obviously she wasn't used to compliments. No doubt she was taken for granted by her large family. The familiar stab of pain went deep and he switched his thoughts to a more practical subject. Now that he was feeling better, he was anxious to get back to work.

Apparently Marron had the same idea, as she came out of the kitchen carrying a small briefcase. "Where would you like me to work?" She asked, glancing around the small living area with a look of apprehension on her face.

She was not a conventional beauty by any means, Trunks thought, studying her with unabashed interest. In fact, if he stood her up against the women he normally associated with, she'd be considered quite plain and even a little dowdy by comparison.

Most of the women he knew wouldn't be caught dead in that outfit. The black skirt was way too long and the shapeless knitted blue sweater did nothing for her figure.

There was something about her, though, that caught his attention. Maybe it was her eyes, so full of warmth and concern, or that engaging quick to her mouth when she smiled. She had the kind of full lips that always looked as if they were about to be kissed.

He'd like to see her in a tight-fitting dress, he decided. From what he'd seen, he had an idea that Marron Chestnut had the kind of voluptuous figure that most men adored and women fought all their life to lose.

"I could work in the kitchen if you prefer," Marron said, sounding unsure of herself for a change.

He pulled his thoughts together, aware that he'd made her uncomfortable by his scrutiny. "Oh, no, I'm sure we can find a spot for you in here. If you clear off that table, you'll have a space to work. I realize it's not what you're used to, but I'm sure we can manage. Just dump everything on the floor."

Everything, as far as he could see, was made up mainly of work papers that had occupied the floor anyway until Marron had picked them up.

Giving him a disapproving look that almost made him smile, she carefully piled that papers onto a chair, then sat down on the other one and opened up her briefcase.

"You work for an architect, I understand," she commented, as she took out a notebook, a couple of pens and a small alarm clock, which intrigued Trunks no end. Apparently Marron Chestnut was used to keeping strict hours.

He felt a stab of guilt, realizing that she had gone above and beyond the call of duty so far that day. "Yes, I do. It's a partnership, actually. Quite successful too." He strove to keep the gratification out of his voice. It had taken a lot of sacrifice and hard work to build up his side of the business, and the company was one of the few things he'd achieved in his life he truly took pride in.

"That's nice."

He'd detected a tinge of sarcasm in her voice and he frowned. "They've built some pretty impressive buildings in the city," he said defensively.

"Really. They must make plenty of money then."

"Lots of it." He was beginning to feel a little uneasy. She was obviously leading up to something.

All he could see was her profile, but he could tell she was upset about something. His apprehension grew as he watched her apparently wrestling with her thoughts. Then she turned on him so abruptly she made him jump.

"Well, I know it's none of my business, but I think it's disgusting. Do they have any idea how you live? If they've got all this money, surely they could give you a raise to tide you over until you get back on your feet? If I were you I'd demand a raise. Or find another job. You're an intelligent man. There must be a lot of people out there who would love to pay you well for working for them. You are certainly worth far more than those cheapskates deserve, and if I worked there I'd tell them so."

Trunks' jaw dropped. Never in his life had he been so passionately defended. She was wonderful. She was certainly wasting her time working as a temp. She should be studying to be a lawyer, or a politician.

Marron, it seemed, was now regretting her outburst. Her face was red; she was making a big pretense of hunting through her briefcase for something. "Sorry," she muttered. "None of my business."

"No, it's all right," Trunks assured her. "I appreciate your concern. Really."

She gave him a faint smile, and he found himself smiling back at her, a warm glow beginning to spread around his heart. Fortunately, for his peace of mind, Marron broke the spell by reaching for the computer. "We had better do some work, I suppose, or you might not have any choice about working for." She looked over at him. "What's his name?"

Trunks, still in a haze of well-being, gazed at her blankly. "Whose name?"

"The hotshot, skinflint architect you work for."

"Er." Trunks groped for a name and came up with Paresu's husband. "Son. Goten Son." Sorry, Goten, he thought privately.

"Hmmm." Marron flicked the computer on and sat watching it boot up. "I don't think I like your Goten Son very much."

Trunks felt very glad he wasn't the target of that remark. Deciding it was time to get down to some serious work, he switched his concentration onto the reports that were waiting for his attention.

He was startled a couple of hours later by the shrill alarm of Marron's clock. "Time for a break," she announced as she switched it off. "You probably need to go to the bathroom again."

He did, but he wasn't sure he could have mentioned it in such an offhand manner. She may not have had a nurse's training, he thought as he graciously allowed her to help him to the bathroom, but she had the bedside manner down pat.

The rest of the afternoon passed swiftly, and Trunks was surprised by how much he had accomplished when Marron's alarm went off again.

He expected her to grab her coat and take off. Instead, she insisted on heating up two of the frozen dinners, albeit serving them with a faint air of disgust, and then hung up the curtains again. She wrote down what seemed to be a long list of things she said he needed, and left without saying how she intended to pay for them.

Her stern command to be careful still rang in his ears, long after she'd departed. He'd never realized before how quiet was his mooring on the river, and how far from the civilization. Even the blaring of his portable TV did little to dispel the gloom that settled over him as he finished the second unappetizing mess in the pitiable foil compartments.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the phone rang. Since Paresu was the only one to have that number, he wasn't surprised to hear her voice when he answered.

"Just checking in to see how you're doing," she said cheerfully. "How's the temp working out?"

"She seems adequate," Trunks said cautiously. He wasn't about to wax poetic about his Florence Nightingale. His secretary knew him well enough to tell when he was impressed and he didn't want her getting the wrong idea.

"I trust you're behaving yourself?"

He frowned at that. "I never mix business with pleasure, as you very well know."

"Good. No problems, then?"

"Not so far."

"How are you managing for meals?"

"I'm doing fine with the frozen dinners."

"Is there anything else you need? I could drop in tomorrow with some supplies."

"No!" Trunks lowered his voice. "Thank you, Paresu, but that won't be necessary. Mar- Miss Chestnut offered to bring in what I need." If she can carry them all, he added inwardly.

"Sounds as if she's taking good care of you then."

She didn't know half of it, Trunks thought with a smug smile as he replaced the receiver. He'd landed himself one heck of a deal. An efficient temp, a great cook, an attentive nurse and no strings. What else could any well- confirmed bachelor ask for?

He rubbed his hands together and leaned back on the lumpy couch. It looked as if Trunks had fallen smack on his feet again. He was beginning to look forward to the next four weeks after all.

Hello there! You know what? It's good to be alive. Yes, alive. Why? Because I almost died on the way to that friggin island. Yes, I'm serious. I almost died. And to top it off, I saved a little girl's life and now she's stuck to me like glue. I guess I'm lucky. About thirty people didn't have the same luck as I did. Somebody loves me up there.

I've been writing original stories and fanfiction since I was 10 (way before I knew that fanfiction existed as a word). I'm happy that people like the stories, lia, so I don't think I'm putting them down. I'm very flattered that you think like that, but there are also other authors who are much better than I am.