The Boss and the Baby

by Leigh Michaels

  He sounded genuinely admiring, but Molly wasn’t fooled. “I have no plans to leave the building till the end of the day. And in any case, I’m not exactly an employee, remember? I’m a contractor, which means I don’t have to punch a time card.”

  “I suppose not However, Dad’s been here for an hour already.”

  “Oh. I thought since he was still recuperating...”

  “You seem to have inspired him into becoming a morning person.” He pushed the folder toward the secretary, but his gaze was on Molly.

  He was looking at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, and Molly wondered if Bailey’s tantrum had left her disheveled. By sheer willpower she kept herself from smoothing her palms over her tomato-red skirt. No matter what the reason for that stare, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of reacting.

  “That’s certainly a good indication, isn’t it?” she mused. “That he’s so eager to start, I mean.”

  “Don’t start spending that bonus just yet,” Luke recommended. “Wanda, make sure Ms. Matthews gets an employee badge before she leaves so she doesn’t have to go through the routine at the gate every day.”

  “Yes, sir,” the secretary murmured.

  “You expect me to give up a daily portrait session?” Molly turned the little laminated card around. “I thought this was much better than yesterday’s. And as long as we’re on the subject, I was really unhappy when the automated gatekeeper made me give that one back last night before I could leave. What do you use them for, blackmail?”

  The secretary, Molly noticed, was trying to fight off a smile.

  “It’s an idea—though I’ll have to work on figuring out what you have that I want.” He strode toward his office.

  “Luke,” Molly said quickly. “I do have a serious question. If I could have a minute in private...?”

  “That’s just about all I have.” He pushed the door open and stood aside for her to precede him.

  Molly stopped a few feet inside the door. “There’s a little problem of a budget. In addition to the price of my time, putting together a book is going to cost some money. Even if you’re assuming it’ll never get to the publication stage, there will be certain expenses—”

  “We set up a budget. Wanda can get you the precise figures.”

  “And if your father wants me to pursue my other idea?” She was deliberately nonspecific. He’d had his chance yesterday to explore that avenue, and he hadn’t bothered. She wasn’t about to make it easy for him. “It won’t be inexpensive, either.”

  “You mean the video version?”

  Molly’s eyebrows lifted. She had to give him credit for that one. “Curious, were you?”

  “Not especially. He rattled on about it all through dinner last night.” He glanced at his watch and walked toward his desk. “You’d better hurry,” he suggested, “before Dad gets all his joie de vivre back and I conclude you haven’t earned anything at all.”

  Molly fought a sensation of breathlessness and said cheerfully, “Want me to go tell him you’ve already fired me because you don’t care what happens to his book, and then wait and see how long his enthusiasm lasts?”

  He tossed a sheaf of papers on the desk blotter. “Dammit, Molly, exactly what do you want?”

  “Besides for you to admit you need me just now? Permission to spend some money on the video.”

  He glared at her. “Put a proposal in writing and have Wanda leave it on my desk.”

  “Happily,” Molly murmured. “Especially the part about Wanda as delivery person. Goodness knows I don’t have any desire to come in here ever again.”

  He was still standing by his desk when she walked out, staring after her. Molly knew, because his gaze felt like sandpaper running up and down her spine.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MOLLY’S nerves were still vibrating when she reached the office Wanda had indicated, and her first sight of it didn’t help. The room was small and almost bare of furniture, but corrugated archival boxes—thirty of them, at least—had been stacked in a ragged half-circle around the desk, taking up most of the floor space. One had been opened. The papers inside were untidy, as if they’d been tossed in rather than filed in order. And the only hint of what the precise contents of each box might be was a date scribbled on the once-white cardboard lid.

  Mr. Luke’s had some things sent over from the warehouse, Wanda had said. Molly would bet he’d taken great delight in creating this mess. Though it would have been thoughtful of him to have given some consideration to how this sight might affect his father’s mood. She’d waded through this kind of chaos before, but for someone who hadn’t—someone who wasn’t in top condition to start with—the confusion might be overwhelming.

  Near the window Warren sat, leafing through what looked like a crumbling scrapbook. He’d shed his coat and tie and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He looked a little overwhelmed, Molly thought, though perhaps that impression arose not so much from Warren himself as the fact that the wall of boxes seemed to be confining him like a prison fence.

  “Look here,” he said. “It’s the original brochure listing products my great-grandfather sold.” He held out the scrapbook.

  The pages were crackly and the ink faded. The descriptions were fascinating, but the poor quality of the etched illustrations would make them difficult to reproduce. “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to put this scrapbook together.”

  “It’s from the earliest box. Unfortunately, it looks as if nobody had time to look after the later things, and they’re a mess.” Warren looked perplexed. “I don’t know, Molly. This seemed like such a good idea, but now that I see it all spread out...”

  “You’ll be surprised how quickly we’ll be able to make sense of it,” Molly said cheerfully. She hoped he didn’t suspect that she had her fingers crossed behind her back.

  Even with all the clutter, however, and the dust that had her sneezing fiercely and frequently, working with Warren was a joy. The hours sped by, and Molly was surprised when Luke tapped on the office door with a uniformed chauffeur standing behind him.

  “Jason was getting worried, Dad,” Luke said mildly. “He’s been waiting since two o’clock—which is when you told him to pick you up.”

  “What time is it?” Warren brushed off his fingertips and rolled down his sleeves. Molly noted a streak of grime on the once pristine shirt. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Molly cast what she intended to be a triumphant look at Luke, and spoiled it with a sneeze.

  “God bless you, Molly,” Warren said punctiliously. “Though now that you mention it, Lucas, I am feeling a little hungry. What about you, my dear? You’ve missed your lunch, too. If you’ll come with me, I’m sure the cook can find us something.”

  “Oh—thanks, Warren, it’s very sweet of you. But I have some errands to run.”

  “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He set his hat firmly in place and strolled out, leaning just a little on the chauffeur’s arm.

  Luke’s gaze was like ice. “You just ignored lunch?”

  “I didn’t intend to,” Molly admitted. She felt a little ashamed of herself for not paying more attention. She should have insisted Warren take a break. “But I’d say we made a good start, wouldn’t you?”

  Luke surveyed the boxes, now stacked along one wall in a semblance of order, and the desktop, lined with neatly sorted piles. “I told you to inspire him, not work hum to death.”

  “I am sorry about that,” she said frankly. “I really did lose track of the time, and I’ll be more careful in the future.” She took her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk.

  “Are you leaving, too? It’s only the middle of the afternoon.”

  Molly paused in the doorway. “Remember? You said yourself the book isn’t my job, Warren is.” She smiled at him and snapped off the lights.

  Molly was early the next morning—until the automatic gatekeeper refused to acknowledge that she existed. Somewhere inside that emotionle
ss hunk of plastic and metal was the employee badge Wanda had issued her. She’d turned it in as commanded when she’d left the plant at the end of the day, and the machine wouldn’t give it back.

  She muttered under her breath and tried again, but with an almost threatening buzz the machine said, “Access is denied.”

  From her safety seat in the back of the car, Bailey commented, “That was a naughty word you said, Mommy.”

  “It certainly was. And it’s a naughty machine, too.” A car’s horn beeped behind her, and Molly glanced into her mirror. Not only was she blocking traffic, but the black Jaguar waiting in line had pulled so close that she couldn’t even get out of the way. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out who was behind the wheel of that sleek, expensive car. “Great,” she muttered as she watched Luke get out of the Jaguar.

  He strolled up and leaned into her car, his arms folded on the window ledge. “Having a problem?”

  “That depends. Have you told the gatekeeper to lock me out?”

  “Hadn’t thought of it, no.”

  “Then I don’t have a problem, the machine does. I keep typing in my name, but it won’t spit out my badge or—more important—open the gate. Perhaps it’s gone on strike. How long has it had to work without a day off?”

  Luke turned to the keyboard, and moments later the gatekeeper docilely produced Molly’s badge Luke caught it and presented it to her with a tiny bow.

  “Stupid machine,” she muttered, and hooked the badge onto the collar of her sweater. “Thanks for making me look like a fool. The humans who used to do this job wouldn’t have had a problem.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It seems to be confused about whether you’re a regular employee—which puts it in pretty good company, I’d say. On the other hand, it might just not have recognized you with your hair pulled up like that.”

  Molly’s fingertips went to the French braid at the back of her head. “If you think I’m taking my hair down because a machine doesn’t approve of the style—”

  From the back seat, Bailey piped up. “I need a badge, too.”

  Molly wanted to groan.

  Luke raised his eyebrows, and leaned into the car once more. “Who’s this?”

  “A very short industrial spy,” Molly muttered. “I was hoping to sneak her past you by pretending to enroll her in the day-care center, but of course now that she’s blown her cover—”

  Luke grinned, but it was Bailey he addressed. “A badge? I think that could be arranged, tyke.”

  “I’m not a tyke,” the child announced with dignity. “I’m Bailey.”

  “We shouldn’t hold up traffic,” Molly said. “And whatever she thinks, she doesn’t need a badge.”

  “Well, no—she doesn’t. We haven’t started labeling all the day-care kids yet. But why shouldn’t she have one if she wants?” Luke looked over his shoulder. “There isn’t anybody waiting, and it’ll only take a minute, anyway. But you’ll have to get out of the car, Miss Bailey, to have your picture taken.”

  Before Molly could object, he lifted the child out of her safety seat and held her up beside the gatekeeper. A couple of minutes later Bailey gleefully showed off her still-warm trophy. The camera had caught her almost in profile, looking at Luke instead of the lens, giggling, with her eyes squeezed almost shut. It was nearly as bad as Molly’s first one had been.

  “The resemblance between the two of you,” Luke said solemnly, “is almost astounding.”

  “Thank you very much,” Molly said. “I suppose when it’s time to turn the badge in at the end of the day you’ll meet us here and explain why she can’t take it home? Because I don’t think I can possibly—”

  “But she can keep it. It’s only a sample, missing all the important coding.” He winked at Bailey. “Just in case you really are an industrial spy and intend to flood us with illicit copies.” He set her in her seat and stepped away from the car, whistling as he walked to the Jaguar.

  Molly shook her head and put the car in gear.

  “He’s a funny man, Mommy.”

  “Isn’t he, though,” Molly muttered. “A regular comedian.”

  And he’d been practically friendly, too. Which was enough all by itself to make her wonder what the man was up to.

  Pure habit was all that guided the Jaguar up the curving main drive to the administration building. Luke pulled the keys from the ignition and sat tapping them on the steering wheel, staring at nothing.

  So Molly Matthews had a little girl.

  Three years old, maybe? He was no judge of kids’ ages—not only did he lack first-hand experience, but he had no particular desire to acquire any. But if he had to take a guess...

  So Molly had done exactly as he’d predicted she would. Despite his best efforts, she hadn’t learned a thing from her infatuation with him. Angry, frustrated, hurt by what she saw as Luke’s rejection, she’d turned to another man to soothe her wounded pride. Obviously not a prizewinner, either, or she wouldn’t need this job so desperately. And now she had a child.

  Luke carried no guilt for the choices Molly had made, of course. He’d done his best to warn her, to explain how vulnerable she was. But Molly had obviously not been able to see beyond her own nose.

  And he certainly felt no satisfaction at being proved correct. He’d done what he thought—what he’d known—was right. If, instead, he’d taken advantage of what she’d so trustingly offered him all those years ago...

  That little girl might have been mine.

  The words were like a jab to his gut, a blow that reminded him of the bruise on Molly’ jaw. But he had done what he had to, and apparently so had Molly. And this was no time to start regretting it.

  Molly looked over Warren’s shoulder at the invoice he’d discovered, folded into a tiny square in a corner of one of the archive boxes. One of the earliest dates they’d found yet, it hadn’t been in the earliest of the boxes but with a number of things from a couple of decades later. Just sorting out the mess was shaping up to be a bigger job than Molly had anticipated. After nearly a week they still hadn’t opened all the boxes.

  Warren’s eyes were aglow. “From the date, this must be the first delivery truck my great-grandfather ever owned, and just look what he paid for it. You couldn’t buy a bicycle for that these days.”

  “Not much of a bike, at any rate. Though I’m sure it wasn’t inexpensive then.” Molly made a note to herself. “In order to compare, we’ll need to calculate the average rate of pay in this area at that time. Then we can figure how many hours a person had to work in order to buy—” The phone on the desk rang. “That’s probably for you, Warren.”

  He glanced at his watch. “No doubt it’s Jason, and he’s early. Tell him I’ll be a few minutes yet, will you?”

  Molly smiled at him. “You’re still spoiled from all the years of having a private secretary.” She reached for the phone.

  But it wasn’t the chauffeur’s polite tones that greeted her but a woman’s voice saying, “Molly, I need you desperately.”

  Megan, Molly thought. Well, there’s a first time for everything. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m having a dinner party tonight, and one of my guests called this minute and canceled. So of course I thought of you.”

  “Because you need an extra woman?” Of course, Molly thought, for Megan that would be an emergency. “It’s really not a good night for me. By the time I finish here and pick up Bailey and find a sitter—”

  “I’ve already called Mom, and she’ll take care of her. Actually, she told me at lunch today that she misses Bailey, can you believe it?”

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Molly said dryly. Daddy, the psychologist, was right, she thought. Of course, he couldn’t possibly have lived with Alix for thirty years without figuring out what made her tick.

  “Molly, please come.”

  Molly had to admit to a tinge of curiosity. This might be the only opportunity she’d ever have to get a direct look at how the Bannisters lived. “All right. Wha
t time?”

  “The guests are invited for seven, but come at six so we can find you a dress.”

  “I might be able to manage one of my own,” Molly said dryly.

  “I’m sorry.” Megan’s voice was small. “I just thought... I’m sorry, Mol.”

  “It’s all right. If Daddy can take Bailey home, I’ll come straight there. Otherwise I’ll be just as quick as I can.”

  She thought she heard Megan whisper, “Thanks.”

  Molly put the phone down with a thoughtful frown. Only when Megan stopped being brittle was it apparent how far from normal she was most of the time.

  Molly felt a sudden twinge of guilt because she hadn’t tried harder to stay in touch with her sister through the years. But of course Megan hadn’t made an effort to maintain contact, either. She hadn’t seemed to care, and Molly had had far too much on her mind to worry about it.

  Warren’s voice brought her back. “Go on and get ready for your party, my dear. You deserve it. I’ll sit here and sort a little longer.”

  “If you’re sure... Just don’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip, all right?”

  Warren smiled. “Don’t worry about that. I’m a bit too tired today to be flinging boxes around.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Molly picked up her handbag and started down the hall toward her father’s office. If Bernie could pick up Bailey tonight...

  It was odd, Molly thought, that she suddenly felt so anxious to reach Megan’s side.

  She popped around a corner and ran headlong into Luke, who caught her, set her on her feet and stepped out of her way. “Sorry,” he said. “If I’d realized what a hurry you were m I’d have gone the other way around.”

  Molly felt a rush of color in her face. That figured. She’d hardly caught a glimpse of the man since their encounter beside the automatic gatekeeper—so what did she do? Almost trample him, of course. The impact had left her almost breathless, and the muscles in her upper arms, where his hands had rested, were still tingling.