“Nothing.” He wiped his eyes as he tried to bridle his laughter, only to start anew and louder. Several seconds passed before he was able to control himself.
“Do I have something on my face?” She wondered if she had smeared herself with baby poop when she changed the little cherub.
He shook his head. “Your face is perfectly fine, but I might never recover from this night.”
At a loss for words, Vivienne pointed her chin at the baby, who now softly complained.
“Right,” he said and resumed walking. “We’re almost there.”
True to his word, the next room was finally the kitchen. Like the rest of the penthouse, an entire wall was made of glass, and the furniture was that expensive-looking, elegant-sleek modern style that was all the rage in the interior design magazines Vivienne liked to read. The marble countertops were glossy, and the stainless-steel surfaces were polished like a mirror.
“Does anyone ever cook in this germ-free, surgical-grade kitchen?” she asked, admiring the SubZero appliances and the large counters that were also clutter-free. She caressed the faucet for the pot water jutting from the back of the six-burner stove.
“I don’t have much time nowadays, but I used to bake a lot,” he said, giving the stove what looked like a longing gaze.
“You bake?” Vivienne couldn’t help but cock her head and give him a raised brow.
“My mom is an excellent cook and taught me all the family recipes.” His lower lip curved into a smile, that in turn formed a dimple, making him look like a completely different man.
“What’s your favorite recipe?” she asked, sounding argumentative even to her own ears, but she just couldn’t help it.
“A savory Italian bread. It’s a recipe that’s been handed down for generations.”
“What’s inside it?” She was now genuinely curious. Looking around, she asked, “Microwave?” She couldn’t see the appliance anywhere in that showroom of a kitchen.
“Here,” he said, opening one of the dark wooden panels. He pressed the edge of the drawer, and it slid forward, revealing the microwave. “Italian salami and scamorza,” he answered her previous question.
“What’s scamorza?” She filled the baby bottle with water, then added the formula, shook it and popped it into the microwave.
“It’s aged mozzarella. Often smoked.”
“Sounds yummy.” She waited for the microwave ding, removed the bottle, and tested the temperature of the milk on her hand. “Too hot,” she commented.
“You’re good at this.”
Somehow, the compliment unsettled her. “Well, Mr. Prize—”
“Max,” he said.
His request unsettled her even more, but she nodded. “I love kids.”
“It shows.”
“I’ve overheated the milk—”
Mr. Prize, Max, waved her comment away. “Microwaves are finicky.” He studied her for a moment before adding, “You stormed in here, and confronted me right away—”
Vivienne wasn’t going to apologize but realized she had gone a bit too far. “I was tired.” She tested the milk on her skin a second time and found it was the right temperature. The baby immediately started sucking from the transparent nipple, making greedy noises.
“No, it’s not that. You were worried for the baby.”
“Of course, I was! Who wouldn’t be?” She cradled the little girl closer and inhaled her baby smell. “They are the most wonderful things in the whole world.”
Sadness engulfed her. It always did when she was holding a baby in her arms, but she wouldn’t have a meltdown in front of this multi-billionaire. So, she did what she did best after caring for children, she deflected. “If this isn’t yours, who’s it then?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why would anyone bring a baby to your penthouse?”
“Again, I’m clueless.”
“Who’s going to take care of her?” She didn’t want the job, but as it always happened, the moment she had picked the little angel from the carrier, she had fallen in love with her.
“If you promise not to insult me again, at least not in front of my staff,” he added the last part with a little smirk that brought forth the dimple. “The job is yours until we can find the baby’s rightful family.”
6
As he drove all the way to Prize Games, his headquarters in Seattle, Max couldn’t help but smile. A nice were-cat nurse had just drawn his blood for the DNA test, and soon, this baby-nightmare would be a thing of the past. Not even the morning traffic blocking the city center put a damper on his mood. He parked under the metal and steel high-rise and rode the elevator to the attic where his office occupied the entire floor.
A sense of pride always filled him when he remembered how Prize Games started. Max had bought the building with the profits from his first game and added to his empire ever since, giving jobs to more than a thousand employees, some of them coming from underprivileged parts of the city.
From behind her desk, Marie, his secretary, carefully smiled, looking at him from under the glasses she always kept at the very end of her nose. “Morning, Mr. Prize,” she said, handing him his first espresso of the day.
Marie had been with him since the beginning. She was a mortal but had never been afraid of Max’s dragon-shifter nature and could be trusted with his secret. They had established a nice routine where she anticipated every one of his whims, and he was forever grateful for her services.
Today, Marie looked as if she were on tenterhooks around him, and that was out of character for her. Being older than him by several decades, the woman tended to be frank to a fault. He appreciated that trait in anyone working for him, but his secretary was the only one of his employees who usually spoke to him without mincing words. Her current reticence made him worry.
“Is there a problem?” he asked on his way to his office, inhaling the strong aroma of the black espresso before sipping it. Perfect roast and temperature, as usual. Marie was a gift from heaven.
“Today is the big day,” she said, her eyes cutting to the newspaper sitting on her desk.
The top article was about the case against him. A picture of Mrs. Catalani, the disgruntled ex-employee, looking sad and dejected, dominated the first page. Behind the woman stood Louise Dortmund, her hand on Mrs. Catalani’s shoulder in a show of moral support. Mrs. Catalani was a conniving woman he had fired because she leaked a secret project after he refused her sexual advances. His ex-employee and Louise had so much in common, it must have been a match made in heaven when they met and started plotting against him.
“I forgot,” Max said.
“You forgot.” Marie gave him a long stare.
“Lots on my mind.” He entered his office and closed the large mahogany door behind him.
Although he wasn’t scheduled to be in court today, he had all but forgotten about the lawsuit. A baby and an infuriating nanny had made it possible.
His phone started ringing even before he reached his cocobolo desk. Marie screened all his calls, and only passed the important ones to him, or friends’ and family’s. Max was always available if his parents or his few close friends reached out to him during his office hours. They knew he was busy and would never call him if it wasn’t for a serious reason.
“Mr. Saints for you,” Marie said.
Max finished his espresso and grabbed the handset of his landline. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve hired Mr. Stamper to find the baby’s mother,” Wilson said.
“Good thinking.”
Mr. Stamper was a werewolf who owned a successful PI firm that worked for the supernatural community of Seattle. He was the man to call when discretion was needed.
“Good thinking indeed. My exceptional brain is the reason you pay me an exorbitant salary,” Wilson said.
“You know that my accountant files your salary under charities because you are a desperate case, right?”
“Your sense of humor is hilarious, as usual,” W
ilson said. “Mr. Stamper wants to speak with you,” he added. “But not at your place or your office.”
Max nodded. “Okay.”
If the tabloids spotted the PI anywhere near where Max lived or worked there would soon be a frenzy of reporters stalking Max.
“I’ll tell Marie to give Stamper my parents’ address. I need to talk to them anyway.”
“Have you told them about the baby?” Wilson asked.
“Not yet.”
“Can I come, too?” Wilson’s mischievous tone made Max shake his head in frustration.
“You think that’s funny.” He loved his friend, but sometimes, he wanted to strangle the idiot.
“I do.” Wilson laughed.
Max hung up on Wilson’s chuckle and swiveled his chair to face the window wall behind him, then grabbed his cell phone and called his mother.
“Max!” It didn’t matter if they had seen each other the previous day or a month ago, his mother always greeted him with the same heart-warming enthusiasm.
“Hi, Mom.” He loved the woman with all his heart because she had chosen him when his biological mother had dumped him behind a trash bin. “Is it okay if I drop by later this afternoon?”
“You don’t need to ask,” his mother answered. “I’ll bake a pie.”
“Thank you, Mom.” They exchanged a few more words before he hung up with a promise to arrive before tea time, so his mother could show him her new rose hybrid in the light of day.
He spent the rest of the day in meetings with the shareholders and with several of his teams of designers and developers. Prize Games was about to launch several apps for the holidays, and as was usual in the software industry, problems tended to multiply near the release date.
“Your last appointment for today,” Marie announced, knocking on the door. “Martin is waiting outside.”
Max smiled at her and gestured to let the developer in.
A moment later, a large mop of red curls appeared from around the door. “Mr. Prize—”
“Come in, Martin.” He had lost any hope of having Martin call him Max, as he had asked countless times. Max hired Martin fresh from high school, saving him from an uncertain future and an abusive family, and the young man venerated him for it, which was the last thing Max wanted.
“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news,” Martin said, stalling at the threshold, rocking from one foot to the other, making the soles of his red tennis sneakers squeak.
“Please, sit.” Max pointed at the chairs facing his desk. “Your fidgeting is making me nervous already.”
The young man gulped and left the safety of the door, walking toward the desk as if he were about to be executed.
Max smiled. “What did you find?” He didn’t need a report to know what the answer would be.
“Bugs in the interface—” the developer started saying.
“That was to be expected.” Sometimes, his employees forgot that Max came from the same background and that he had created games before running an empire. “What kind of bugs?”
“The chicken doesn’t make a sound when clicked on it, and it doesn’t lay eggs when the player reaches the third level.” Martin lowered his eyes. The week before, the chicken had responded to the commands.
Max shrugged one shoulder. “There’s always the possibility that when you fix one bug, a variable is introduced, and it screws things up.”
“Yes, but some of the testers are complaining that the game sucks, and the general feedback we’ve received so far isn’t great. People don’t seem to like the retro graphic—”
“We knew that FarmLife was a bit of a gamble, but I still believe in it,” Max said.
Prize Game’s team of creatives had pitched the farm-themed app to Max a year ago, and the project had seen all sorts of roadblocks since its inception. Still, Max liked the quirky game and had given the team the thumbs up.
“Send me the steps to reproduce the bugs, and I’ll take a look at them as soon as I can.” Max stood, signaling the end of the meeting. He could’ve had the conversation by phone but preferred to talk face to face with his employees.
“Thank you, Mr. Prize,” Martin said as he shot toward the door.
Marie peeked from around the door soon after. “Did you eat him alive?” she joked before adding, “A shot of espresso before you leave?”
He couldn’t have chosen a better secretary.
7
“You are the most beautiful baby girl, aren’t you, my sweet?”
The moment Vivienne had touched this baby, something visceral happened to her. She couldn’t explain it in words, but she felt a deep connection with that small bundle of joy. She usually reacted strongly to kids because she couldn’t have any, but this baby was different.
“I can’t keep calling you baby, can I now?” Vivienne cooed to the minuscule girl who bubbled in response. “Let’s give you a proper name.”
She cradled the baby in her arms and rocked her slowly, walking back and forth the entire length of the billionaire’s bedroom. He would probably be furious when he got back home, but she stumbled into his bedroom—okay, she hadn’t stumbled in it as much as looked for it and found it after wandering through the penthouse for several minutes.
“There’s something about him, isn’t there?” she asked the baby.
Vivienne hated to admit it, but Max Prize was a handsome man, and when he lowered his guard—as he had done in the kitchen—he could be quite charming.
“He’s also a big jerk, though,” she said out loud in a singsong tone that made the baby smile. “Yes, he is,” she added in the same tone, eliciting another beautiful, toothless smile from the girl.
“Back to your name…” She thought for a moment, then her eyes went to the baby’s head and the big pink bow that looked like a rose. “Rose—”
The baby’s eyes widened, and they were bright amber.
“Amber Rose!” Vivienne danced around the room, laughing. “Amber Rose, you are the most perfect baby girl in the whole wide world, and someone will love you so much.”
A familiar pain seized her heart. It was bittersweet, and tears welled at the corner of her eyes.
Steps resonated from the hallway, and she immediately wiped the tears away with her free hand.
For a moment, she thought Max was about to appear, and the notion wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
“Miss Vivienne—” Hugo called from the doorway, after rapping on the frame once.
She turned to face the man. “You’re already back,” she said, spotting the large plastic bag in his hand.
“Your list wasn’t that long, miss.” He smiled, but she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes nervously looked around the room.
“Don’t worry; I haven’t touched anything.” She chuckled to hide that she was indeed nervous about her trespassing.
At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Right now, with the owner of that humongous bed bound to burst into the room at any moment, her reptilian brain told her to scramble.
“Mr. Prize called to say he won’t be back until dinner,” Hugo said as if reading her mind.
“Good,” she said, then realized she might’ve misspoken. “Not good that he isn’t coming until late—” It didn’t sound any better than her first attempt.
“It’s okay,” Hugo said with a paternal smile. “I understand that you are both curious and intimidated by my boss.”
“Intimidated? Me?” Vivienne gave him her raised brow and cocked hip combo. “I don’t think so.”
Hugo laughed. “Of course. Forgive me if I misspeak.” He pointed down at the bag. “Where do you want them?”
Vivienne found the man’s attitude contagious and smiled back. “Let’s go to the guest room.”
“Excellent idea.” Hugo opened his free arm to the side, indicating the way. “Mr. Prize said that you don’t have to wait for him to eat and to order anything you like. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll deliver it when you want to have dinner.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can pick up something on the way home,” she said.
Hugo stopped in the middle of the long corridor. “I believe there must be a misunderstanding—”
“What misunderstanding?”
“I think Mr. Prize is under the impression that you’ll be staying here for the time being—”
“What?”
“Well, until the baby’s family is found.”
“He can’t think I’ll move here,” Vivienne said, but she could imagine someone as self-centered as the young billionaire would take for granted that the rest of the universe moved around him.
“I’m sorry. I thought Mr. Prize had talked to you already.”
“He didn’t even mention it.”
“From what I understand, it’s only for a day or two, and you’ll be compensated for the extra hours and inconvenience, of course.”
“It’s not about the money!”
“I am sure it is not, but I can assure you all the same that Mr. Prize is exceptionally generous with his employees.” Hugo paused before adding, “If you strongly feel that you can’t stay here for a few days, I will immediately contact Mr. Prize’s secretary and I’m sure she’ll be able to find a replacement.”
“No—” Vivienne hurried to say. The idea of leaving Amber Rose with someone else hurt her deeply. “I can stay.”
8
Daring the afternoon traffic, Max left Prize Games and drove to his parents’ house in Ballard. He found his mother waiting for him on the whitewashed porch of the Victorian home his parents had bought soon after they adopted him.
“Max!” His mother rushed to hug him as soon as he parked by the curb and exited his Lambo.
It didn’t matter that he had visited only a few days earlier. Corinne Prize always greeted him as if they hadn’t seen each other for a decade. He loved her all the more for it.
“Mom.” He smiled at the petite redhead who had raised him as her own. “Is Dad around?” he asked, peeking at the large window that opened into the porch.
The Alpha’s Gift_Bad Alpha Dads_The Immortals Page 3
