Millionaire's Christmas Miracle. Mary Wilson Anne

hanging around all evening, Anthony, in a miniature tux.

      The four people looked happy enough, very close, but he wasn’t about to get near them. He’d talked to Robert earlier that evening to discuss his original vision for LynTech, but had ended up hearing all about his problems with Brittany. Right then the elevator arrived and the doors slid open.

      Anthony grabbed Brittany and Matt by their hands, tugging them into the elevator, followed by Robert who turned as the doors started to close. Quint caught the older man’s eye long enough to see Robert smile at him, then the barrier shut and Quint was alone in the corridor.

      He headed down past the bank of elevators and went directly to the exit door for the stairs. He pushed it back, and his dress shoes tapped on the metal stairs as he headed down to the bottom floor. He was a bit amazed at the congeniality he’d just witnessed, considering the mood Robert had been in an hour ago. Back then, he’d been very upset over Brittany’s attitude and actions.

      “My Brittany just can’t focus, she can’t seem to settle,” the man had said. “She runs here and there. She’s started so many university courses, so many majors that it’s ludicrous, then she just walks away. I’d hoped that getting her to come to work here would help, and I thought it had, but now…” He’d shaken his head as if he’d lost all hope. “I’ve tried, but I admit that I’m at a loss.”

      Quint had never been the sort that people opened up to and confided in, partly because he wouldn’t have done that with someone else. He’d learned to keep his distance to make working with people easier, and he really had no answers for anyone’s personal life. With the exception of Mike, he’d made a mess out of his personal life.

      His hand skimmed over the coldness of the metal handrail as he rounded the corner on the stairs. He’d told Robert to do what any parent did—his best. That was when the conversation had gone beyond what he wanted to discuss. “I’ve tried, but how I wish her mother was still alive.” Robert had exhaled, a sound that was more of a sigh tinged with a shadow of sorrow. “I think I missed having her mother there more than Brittany did.” Yes, sorrow. “I heard you’d raised your boy alone, so you understand.”

      Quint kept going down, level by level. Robert’s comment had struck an unexpectedly still-raw nerve in Quint. Whatever mistakes he had made with Mike wouldn’t have been righted if Gwen had stuck around. But Robert had obviously loved his dead wife. Quint couldn’t relate to that and had been unnerved that the old bitterness about what had happened so many years ago had reared its ugly head.

      He went down more quickly, the movement doing nothing to stop the thoughts that came to him in a rush. Plunging into a hurried marriage with Gwen when she’d informed him she was pregnant had begun the nightmare. Then there had been that long year when Michael had been born and Gwen had realized that not only did she not like being a wife or mother, but she wasn’t even going to go through the motions. She’d left with little more than a glance back and a thin explanation about being worried she’d end up hating both him and Michael if she stayed.

      Before Robert had been able to say the usual when Quint had told him he was divorced—how sorry he was to hear about Gwen leaving, and how sorry he was that Quint had had to raise Michael alone—Quint had pleaded jet lag and gone to get another drink, which hadn’t helped at all. And neither had the next drink. That’s when he’d known he’d had to get out of there. He was ditching the party, just as Mike had suggested, but he wasn’t going to “find some sexy woman and go with the flow.”

      He slowed slightly. Instead of celebrating Christmas, he was going to work on the company prospectus and start his planning. Being brought in as a growth consultant meant a lot of research. Instead of getting crazy for the New Year, he’d probably have an early dinner, get his files in order and ring the New Year in studying financial profiles. He wouldn’t be looking for any miracle beyond the miracle of helping a faltering, previously family-owned business become a viable, thriving corporation.

      He reached the lobby level, and stopped, took a deep breath, once, twice, then pulled back the door and stepped out into a side area off the main reception space. He glanced past the elevators, past the glitter of Christmas that seemed to be everywhere in gold and silver, and saw clusters of people waiting for their cars to be brought around to the front. Limos lined the curb out in front and a bar had been set up near a stunning Christmas tree.

      He spotted several people he’d been introduced to during the evening in the crowd, but he had no desire to renew any conversation with them. So, turning his back to the crowds, he discovered a hallway that seemed to lead to the rear of the building and probably a secondary exit. He’d head out that way, forego the company-provided limousine and grab the first taxi he spotted to get back to the hotel.

      “If you do that, you’ll be sorry, Charlie. I swear, you’ll pay and you’ll pay big-time. And that’s a promise!”

      The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and even though it wasn’t terribly loud, it came to him over the drone of voices behind him. Maybe it was the passionate intensity in every word, he didn’t know, but it made him stop and turn to see where it was coming from.

      There were double doors across from the elevators, one true blue, one bright red, and both shared a rainbow logo splashed across them—Just for Kids. It had to be the new location for the company child-care center, a place he’d avoided earlier when tours were being formed to see the facility.

      “Charlie, you’re vermin!” the voice said and he could tell it was coming from beyond the red door, which was slightly ajar. He couldn’t hear whether or not Charlie was defending himself, but he could definitely hear the woman. “If I let you live, and at this point in time, that’s a big if, you’re going to pay for this.”

      He went closer to the door. The voice, touched with a slight huskiness even through the frustration and anger, was starting to intrigue him…really intrigue him. There was the promise of murder and mayhem in the words, but the voice could have been sexy if the words had been different. That thought was shattered when he eased back the red door and glanced inside the facility as the woman ground out, “You rat! You miserable rat!” Not sexy at all at that moment.

      He looked down a short, wide hallway to the center of the facility where twinkling lights seemed to be everywhere, and the scent of baking gingerbread drifted on the air. He couldn’t see anyone, but the voice was still there, somewhere ahead of where he stood.

      “If you move, if you so much as turn, it’s going to be your last move.” The words were lower now, a bit muffled. “My panty hose are history, just ruined.” There was a tearing sound, and the woman gasped, “My dress! Oh, great! Now it’s ruined, too, and it’s not even mine! Jenn is going to be as mad as I am. You’ll have her to deal with after I’m through with you.”

      This was none of his business, nothing to him if employees or guests got drunk and made out in the day-care center, then had a horrendous fight. Torn dresses, ruined panty hose and threats of murder—none of that stopped him going farther into the center until he could see that the twinkling lights were draped all over a climbing-frame tree that stood dead in the middle of the huge main room. Massive branches that probably masked climbing trails spread to four corners and into what looked like four separate tree houses suspended under a domed ceiling over the carpeted floor.

      He was beginning to feel suspiciously like a voyeur and would have left right then if he hadn’t seen movement high in the center of the tree. It was a quick movement, little more than a flashing image of a woman with dark hair and her back to him. Then she was gone, but the voice was still there, echoing in the gingerbread-tinged air.

      “What a waste, the dress, the panty hose, the stupid gingerbread family! I thought it would work. Well, color me wrong, very wrong.”

      He smiled as he moved a bit closer, the voice drawing him as surely as the words she uttered. Then there was more movement at the bottom of the tree, and he could have sworn he saw a bare foot coming out of an arched hole in the trunk. It was a foot, then another, coming out soles-first, followed by an expanse of legs tangled in some material that could have been ice blue, but the lights were