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

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      He turned away from the stack of papers and computer, stood and crossed to open the drapes. But before he could pull back the fabric, there was a flash of light behind him.

      “Hey, Zane,” Matt said. “I thought you’d be at things early.”

      He turned without opening the curtains toward the big man who, once again, was dressed all in black, from a turtleneck sweater to slacks and boots. “I’ve been here since six. I was just going to call you to work out a time as soon as possible for us to meet with Sol Alberts’s people.” He undid the buttons at the cuffs of his gray dress shirt and slowly rolled the sleeves up as he talked. “I have a good feeling about Alberts’s group. A real good feeling.”

      “Okay, let’s do it. Tomorrow. I’ll make time.”

      “Great. Now, what’s up with you?”

      He came over to the desk. “I was just going to update you on the nanny situation.”

      Matt didn’t look pleased as he dropped down in one of the two chairs by the desk. “I thought you said it was under control,” Zane said.

      “That turned out to be a bit of an overstatement. Rita’s on it, doing interviews, but it appears that none of the nannies that have been sent out so far from the agency is right for this situation.”

      He sat forward, elbows on the desk. “How can a nanny that’s trained to be a nanny not be right?” Zane didn’t have the patience for this right now. “What about that woman who showed up yesterday afternoon—the one I saw talking to Rita in the hallway by your office with that silly hat and sensible shoes? She looked like a real Mary Poppins type.”

      “More like Attila the Hun, according to Rita.” Matt leaned forward. “Listen, I don’t know one end of a kid from another, but Rita’s got three children. She knows what she’s doing. That’s why I asked her to take care of this for you. And she says that none of the applicants so far is acceptable.”

      “You trust her judgment?”

      “Implicitly.”

      Zane exhaled as he sank back in his chair. Strong fingers raked though his slightly long, brown hair, and his gray-blue eyes narrowed. “Then, let her do her job. We have until Monday. How hard can it be to find a glorified babysitter? I had a dozen nannies when I was a kid—and a nanny’s a nanny. My mother never had any trouble finding one.”

      “According to Rita, the first one was a ditz, another one thought that painting a child’s face blue and dancing in circles would free his spirit. Another older lady wasn’t up to the stress of a two-year-old. One was acting like a drill sergeant.”

      “Then came Attila the Hun?”

      “She was about number five, I think.”

      Zane clasped his hands behind his neck, lacing his fingers together and staring hard at the shadowy face of his friend. “How are you with kids?”

      Matt smiled immediately. “I told you, I don’t know one end from the other. I never go near the little people. I like the way they look from a distance, but I don’t like the way they act. Besides, I’m an attorney turned co-C.E.O.—at least, I was last time I looked.”

      “No chance of making an addendum to your job description?”

      “None. Rita’s got some interviews today, so she’ll probably hit upon someone who she thinks is right for the job. I just wanted to tell you this isn’t easy and it’s eating up a lot of time.”

      “Yeah, I know. And we don’t have extra time right now. Not with the Alberts group showing interest.”

      “That’s my point.”

      “Well, when Rita meets the kid’s flight on Monday morning, there has to be a nanny at the penthouse—a wonderful, intelligent, caring nanny who bears no resemblance to Attila the Hun.”

      Matt grinned at him. “This is crazy.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      The phone rang, and Zane reached for it. “Holden.”

      “Ron Simmons here. Have you got a minute?”

      “Sure, hold on,” he said, then hit the speaker button. “Okay, I’m here. Matthew Terrel’s in the office, too.”

      “Good. I need input on the figures you sent over. Is there any chance you can come by for half an hour, no more?”

      Zane looked at Matt, who shook his head. Zane sighed, then pointed to himself. Matt nodded. “Sure, your office?”

      “Yes, over on Grammercy. I’ll see if I can get someone from Alberts over, too.”

      “Great, see you as soon as I can get there.”

      He hung up, then sat back. “The first nibble on our offer.”

      Matt stood. “Let me know what happens,” he said, then headed for the door. But before he could leave, he turned. “Zane, it’s sunny out. Open the curtains.”

      “I’m leaving, anyway. Meet me back here after lunch, and we’ll talk?”

      “Sure, your office or mine?”

      “If the nanny candidates are meeting with Rita at your place, come on up here. We’ll have more privacy.”

      “Okay, see you then,” Matt said, and left.

      Zane rolled his sleeves down, buttoned the cuffs, then reached for his jacket and briefcase. He headed out of the office. As he passed the reception area, he stopped long enough to lay his briefcase on the desk and to talk to his secretary. “Cancel appointments for the next two hours and reschedule anything important.” He slipped on his jacket as he spoke. “Route any calls that you need to, to Mr. Terrel. Just hold down the fort,” he said as he checked his inside pocket for his gold pen and cell phone.

      He smoothed his vest, then picked up his briefcase, but before he could head back into the office to take his private elevator down, she stopped him. “Mr. Holden, all the elevators are down, even yours. One of the maintenance men just came in to say they’d be shut down for an hour.”

      “Oh, great.” He headed for the outside door and the stairwell beyond the useless elevators. At least it was all down for the twenty flights.

      Thursday

      THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY of her life, and it had been messed up for her before it even got going. First, the dream came again, taking away her sleep. Then when Lindsey had finally gotten back to sleep, she’d almost slept through the alarm. She’d been so preoccupied with the paperwork to present during her meeting with Zane Holden, she’d forgotten the only suit she owned was stained from finger paint and still at the dry cleaners. She’d missed her bus to work and had had to call a taxi—and the final blow had been the elevators.

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