Baby for the Bosshole

He gives me a look. “Were you listening?”

“Sorry. I was just…thinking about the Drone due diligence.”

“I said we should do the wine country tour we were going to do last weekend.”

“When?” I ask, out of reflex.

“This weekend.” Now he’s frowning at me.

“Oh. Well.” Shit. This is going to be the second time I’m torching his plan. Well, the baby’s going to torch his life, too, but… Crap. “Maybe not this weekend.”

“It’s no big deal. There are tons of flights, and I can book the resort right now.”

I swallow. He obviously thinks I’m worried about the logistics. But planning a sudden trip is the least of it. When you have the kind of money he does, nothing’s out of reach.

On the other hand… Maybe this is the opening I need. I can turn down the trip and tell him why I can’t go drink a bunch of wine. I just have to do it all cool and calm.

“Emmett, there’s, um—”

An alarm suddenly blares and lights start flashing above us. Emmett curses and picks up his phone from the counter. He taps the screen a couple of times, and the alarm dies.

“What was that?”

“Somebody just jumped the fence.”

“What?” Emmett’s home has a high wrought-iron fence. Plus it’s in a safe, wealthy neighborhood. And it’s not even eleven a.m. Who’d do something so crazy in broad daylight? “Maybe it’s a false alarm?”

His eyebrows pinch as he glares at the phone screen. “No. We have an intruder.”

“Seriously? Should I call 911?”

“No.” Emmett seems totally calm, which is comforting.

The doorbell rings. He sighs deeply, stands up and walks past me to the foyer.

I sling my purse over my shoulder—in case I need my phone or the pepper spray Dad sends me every Christmas—then grab the butter knife and fork off my bagel plate, too, just in case. Now properly armed, I follow him.

The hi-res security panel next to the door shows the person on the other side. A redhead looks up and smiles at the camera. She’s gorgeous, with sharp, high cheekbones that belong in a fashion magazine. Careful makeup covers her face, her eyes edged with long, curly lashes. Her hair is thick and glossy, shining like burning copper.

The only thing strange about her is the clothes—a beige trench coat. The weather’s too warm for that. But still, facially, anyway, she’s a ten.

And compared to her, I’m quite ordinary. Just mascara and lip gloss. A white shirt and jeans. My sandals are cute, with nice heels, but that’s about it.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

He shakes his head slowly. “I…have no idea.”

The redhead waves then starts banging on the door.

“Maybe you shouldn’t open it.” I have a bad feeling about this. Not because I suspect he and she have some history. But my instinct says she’s bad news. “She could be unhinged.”

“Mmm.”

“Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean she’s sane.”

“I know,” he says, squinting at the woman.

“Hello?” she calls out from the other side. “I know you’re home. Ted Lasker sent me!”