too seriously. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth, the playfulness disappearing from his expression. This kiss would be different, she sensed.
The other ones really hadn’t been without a parachute. But this one might be.
Still her hand raised higher, until her fingers were bare, naked inches from touching him. Her heart was suddenly pounding, pounding.
Until she heard the bellowing wail of a baby.
Molly stepped back, startled, just as a woman barreled into Flynn’s office. And not just a woman, but a baby— a pumpkin-shaped squirt of maybe a year old, who was squirming in every direction and announcing loudly to the world that he was unhappy. The woman was flustered and distraught, trying to juggle the eel of a baby and baby gear and a flapping purse.
“Flynn, damn you. No one wanted to even let me see you...I practically had to battle past a nutcase in a bathrobe at the front desk—”
Molly froze for a second. Flynn whirled around. Bailey shot in just behind the woman, his face flushed like a brick—and yes, he was wearing a bathrobe over his clothes. Bailey was one of Flynn’s brilliant creative nerds; very sweet, just a little goofy. When he had a creative challenge inspiring him, he wore his lucky robe. No one paid attention, not even Molly anymore. Bailey never voluntarily met the public, because nerves brought out his stutter—and he was stuttering painfully, trying to explain to Flynn how the lady had barged past him.
Molly heard that conversation, but she wasn’t really listening. The intrusion was just so bizarre.
The woman dropped a diaper bag on the carpet. Then she plunked down the baby with the same kind of exasperated attitude. The baby, let free, quit bellowing and squirming and promptly took off on all fours.
“What on earth... ?” Flynn reached behind him to yank the blinds open further. Cheerful sunlight instantly poured in, but didn’t seem to illuminate anything that was going on. Flynn wasn’t easily thrown by any brand or flavor of surprises. His bushy eyebrows lifted in question, but initially his expression showed more intrigue than concern over the mystery woman’s arrival.
Molly didn’t catch the lady’s face until she straightened back up. Golden hair billowed around her shoulders then. A red sweater hugged a top-heavy bust; poured-on jeans showed off several miles of slim legs. Her face might have been strikingly pretty, if there hadn’t been huge shadows under the eyes and drawn lines around the mouth.
“Don’t you ‘What on earth’ me, Flynn McGannon. And don’t even try claiming not to recognize me.” Either fury or nerves made her voice shrill. Molly could see the skilled effort with makeup, but it didn’t conceal the pallor of her skin or the exhausted dark eyes.
“I didn’t claim anything. But I honestly don’t know...” Flynn was frowning now, studying her hard.
“Virginie,” she snapped. “Tuscon. The Silver Buckle. Add up thirteen months—the age of your son—and the nine months I carried him, and maybe that night’ll come back to you. You were with some party. I was with some party. But the only party that mattered was the one that ended up back at my place. Chivas was your drink that night, as I recall. Unfortunately, I recall more than that. You were a hell of a lover, you cretin. But no man’s worth the price you cost me.”
“Son?” Flynn echoed blankly, and then wildly shook his head. “That isn’t possible. You said you were protected—”
“Ha. So suddenly you do remember that night—and if it isn’t just like a man to remember the part that gives him an excuse. And at the time, I was. On the pill. But I missed a couple—and before you tell me that was my fault, let me tell you that I don’t give a damn. That doesn’t make the baby any less your responsibility—”
“Look, if you’d just try to calm down...you can’t just show up out of the blue, making claims that you seem to expect me to instantly believe—”
Virginie didn’t try responding to that. She seemed on a one-track road, the words spilling out of her at cyclone speed. “Your son’s name is Dylan. And he’s all yours as of this minute. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You can’t even guess. My life’s been a nonstop nightmare from the instant this child was conceived. I was sick. Lost my job. He had colic and he doesn’t sleep and I’m about to lose my apartment and I can’t do it anymore. Right now I don’t even have a way to feed him—”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, just slow down—”
“The hell I will. And don’t waste your breath offering me money because this isn’t about money. It’s about everything. I never figured you’d want to know you were a father, but that’s just tough. Every woman on earth isn’t cut out for motherhood. I gave it a shot—you don’t know how hard I gave it a shot—but nothing’s working out. I can’t do it anymore, and you’re responsible for this. It took me forever to find you—”
Molly had never seen Flynn lose color before. Normally when he was upset, he got noisy, not quiet. But he raked a hand through his hair and looked dead-quiet now. “Surely you realize this is impossible? You can’t just barge in here and claim I’m the father of a child. I can see you’re upset, but if you’d just calm down—”
“I’m not calming down. I’m leaving. You. With your son.”
“It’s not my son.” Flynn’s baritone could have carried to the next county. So could the blonde’s shrill soprano.
“Oh, yeah it is. I know it is. And if you’ll look back twenty-one months ago, you’ll know it is. If not, there has to be some blood test or something that’ll prove it to you—because believe me, it will.” She snatched up her tote-size purse again, but withdrew a folder from it and tossed it on his desk. Pictures spilled out. What looked like medical records, maybe a birth certificate. “I need a job. I need a place to live. I need a chance at life again, and I’m going after it The baby ruined everything I ever had. He’s your problem from this minute on.”
When she spun around, Flynn lurched toward her. “Wait a minute. For God’s sake, you can’t just walk out of here—”
“Watch me.”
Molly couldn’t seem to unfreeze. The whole scene was just so unreal. The frantic-faced woman and the whole yelling match couldn’t have taken five minutes. She stormed back out of the office as fast as she’d stormed in.
Flynn hiked after her. Molly had never seen his complexion turn that ashen gray before. She heard his booming voice from the hall, fading as the two of them reached the front doors. There wasn’t another sound in the entire office—not because Flynn’s handful of staff weren’t there, but likely because everyone had been listening as intently to the whole scene no differently than she had.
It took a few seconds before Molly could seem to gather her wits. And another second before she abruptly realized that the infamous “Virginie” had left a package behind her.
The baby had been padding around on all fours, fanny in the air, crawling at cruising speeds that could probably earn him a ticket on the freeway.
Temporarily, though, the baby was nowhere in sight.
And no one seemed to give a damn.
Two
Molly hustled out of Flynn’s office in search of the baby.
Initially real worry never occurred to her—she figured she’d have heard the sound of the baby crying if he’d been in trouble, and there were other adults around besides. She just wanted to find him. It wasn’t the safest environment in town for a crawling toddler to be running around loose.
Flynn’s office opened into the circular area that the staff called Brainstorming Central. Undoubtedly the original architect had designed a normal office space with walls and doors, but Flynn had predictably obliterated all that logical construction long since.
The virtual reality booth was an intrinsic part of the