Regarding The Tycoon's Toddler.... Mary Wilson Anne

only until those blue eyes flicked over her again. Their impact was not diminished.

      “And you’re who?” he asked in a low voice.

      “I’m late,” she said, snatching at reason and logic, and making herself move past him. “Sorry,” she called back as she hurried away and up the stairs.

      She heard a soft, “No problem,” and as she rounded the next corner, she glanced back for just a moment. He was still there watching, and it jolted her. She gripped the handrail, looked away from him and climbed faster, fighting the oddest feeling that she was running away, instead of hurrying toward her appointment.

      Chapter Three

      But by the time she got to the twentieth floor, the man was forgotten. She stepped out into a lavishly appointed area. Paintings on the wall, carpet underfoot and wood accents everywhere—they were a far cry from tile floors and a Big Bad Wolf with chipped paint.

      She stopped to catch her breath, to center herself and focus. And since there was no blue-eyed man anywhere around, she gathered her composure quickly. Then she headed down the corridor to a massive door with a discreet plate on it: Z. Holden.

      Bracing herself, she stepped into an even more lavish area and crossed to a marble desk facing the door in the reception room.

      “Lindsey Atherton to see Mr. Holden,” she said to a woman as plain as the space around her was lavish. A navy dress, no makeup and very short gray hair were untouched by jewelry or frills. When she spoke, it was the cold voice Lindsey remembered from the phone conversations.

      “I’m sorry. Mr. Holden had to cancel.”

      Lindsey closed her eyes for a brief moment to get whatever control she could find. All of this hurrying for nothing. Running into that man. And Zane Holden wasn’t here, anyway. “But I had an appointment.”

      “He got called away. He said to reschedule.”

      She grabbed at anything. “I’ll wait.”

      “No, he won’t be back for quite a while.”

      The woman opened a leather-bound book in front of her, and Lindsey could see it was an appointment ledger. Names and notes in every hour frame were highlighted with different colors—red, blue, green and yellow. The hour blocks were all filled up to five in the afternoon.

      “Let’s see,” the woman was saying as she ran her finger over the pages. “If you wish to reschedule, he could work you in…hmm, uh, let’s see.” She flipped some pages. “How about two weeks from yesterday at eight-thirty in the morning.” She looked at Lindsey. “Should I pencil you in?”

      She knew her jaw was clenching, but she nodded. “Yes, please, pencil me in.”

      She watched the woman write. “Atherton” in a space, then highlight it with yellow. She didn’t think she wanted to know what a “yellow” appointment meant. Instead, she handed the envelope to the woman. “Could you please see that Mr. Holden gets this?”

      The woman’s expression stayed neutral as she took the envelope, laid it on the desk by a stack of letters, then date and time stamp it. She looked back at Lindsey. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

      “No, I guess not,” she said, then turned and left before she did or said something totally irrational.

      She hurried out into the hallway and back to the stairwell. Inside, with the door closed, she fought every urge in her to scream at the top of her lungs. Weeks to wait. Two full weeks. Until the day before Thanksgiving. She inhaled deeply, exhaled, willed herself to calm down, then headed back downstairs.

      She went slowly, taking the time to get a grip on herself and the mixture of frustration and anger churning inside her. All a group of two- to five-year-olds needed was a furiously frustrated caregiver. When she got to the landing where she’d collided with the stranger, she paused; something laying in the corner of the top step caught her eye. She stopped, crouched down and saw a gold pen. A very expensive gold pen.

      She picked it up, fingered the smooth coolness and read the brand. Her heart sank. It had to be his, and it must have cost at least two hundred dollars. He’d had on a suit that must have cost a lot more than the pen. And he’d been coming down from the upper levels of the building…. Her heart sank.

      “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she muttered as she pushed the pen into her purse and sank down on the top step.

      He didn’t just work here. He had to be an executive. An executive who had to know Zane Holden. “I’m dead,” she breathed. All the things she’d said about Holden to him. She couldn’t even remember now what she’d said. It was all a blur. But it hadn’t been good. She knew that for sure.

      Twenty-seven years old, and she still hadn’t learned not to talk to strangers. Especially strangers coming down from the executive level. A flashing memory of those gray-blue eyes came to her, the intensity there, the way he asked her about Holden, the way she’d said something about a screw-up.

      She didn’t think she’d told him her name or why she was here, or where she was going or that her appointment was with Holden. She was sure she hadn’t told him anything like that. At least, she hoped she didn’t.

      She stood, pushed the pen in her purse and tried to think positive thoughts. He didn’t know anything, except that she was complaining—and any number of employees were complaining these days. Every employee was complaining. She was part of a very large crowd.

      So, if she ever met up with the man again, she’d give him back his pen. He probably wouldn’t even remember her. She had a feeling about him—he was the sort of person who had so much going on in his life that a clumsy woman in a stairwell who crashed into him wasn’t memorable. Not for a man like that.

      Friday

      MATT STUCK HIS HEAD in Zane’s office just before six and said, “Dinner anyone? I’m heading out at seven.”

      Zane sat back and tossed the cheap pen he’d had to use today onto the papers. “No, I’ve got too many loose ends here. One of them is finding that pen you gave me for Christmas. It’s gone.”

      “I’ll get you another one when we finish up here,” he said.

      Zane hated losing something like that. “If it works out, I’ll get you one, too.”

      “So, no dinner?”

      “Dinner, but not with you. I’m meeting someone at eight.”

      “Business?”

      “Half and half. Karen Blair. She’s a publicist for Schle-singer and Todd. She’s good at what she does. I’ve seen her work, and I’ve been thinking that LynTech could use some good publicity for a change.”

      “You can say that again. Wait until those cuts hit the light of day.”

      “Everyone shares in the cuts equally,” Zane said. “We’ll face the angry hordes when we have to.”

      “Okay. Oh, Rita had to cancel out two nanny interviews yesterday morning, so she rescheduled for today. She’s going to take those, and I’m going to make some calls. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and left, closing the door behind him.

      The room felt empty and seemed too quiet. Why should it be a major production to find this nanny? His mother had found them easily, one after another, until he was sent off to boarding school. It wasn’t an impossible request to fulfill, he thought as he reached for the side lamp and snapped it on a higher beam. The light made him squint a bit. Running a hand roughly over his clean shaven face, he picked up the cheap plastic excuse for a pen, and frowned. God, he hated losing things.

      LINDSEY SPENT THE DAY doing schedules and trying to figure out how to make the stove in the kitchen work for a bit longer. But she kept thinking that waiting two weeks to speak to Zane Holden was two weeks too long. When she looked up at almost