The Good Father. Kara Lennox

laid yesterday afternoon, and the furniture had arrived only this morning.

      Carol had literally been hanging the last picture when the potential clients had arrived.

      Ellen was in her forties, round and matronly with salt-and-pepper hair and a penchant for dangly earrings. She was cheerful and upbeat, and Max felt he was making a good impression on her.

      Unfortunately, also present was the Kidz’n’Stuff marketing manager, a hard-nosed, nonsmiling man with the unfortunate name of Ogden Purcell. It was hard to know what Ogden was thinking, because his poker face offered up no clues. But Max got a distinct impression the man would not be impressed with flash. He would want hard figures.

      “I understood today was simply a get-to-know-you meeting,” Ellen said. “I had no idea you would put in so much work on spec.”

      Ogden cleared his throat. “You do understand, Mr. Remington, that we’re still considering several agencies.”

      “Yes, of course,” Max said smoothly. “But my artist was so enthusiastic about the possibility of working on this account, she stayed up all night working on these. She really loves her work.”

      “It shows.”

      “Let’s talk about print placement,” Ogden said. “You said in your original proposal you had some fresh ideas?”

      “Yes, I do.” Max whipped out some documents he’d prepared for this moment. “I’ve been researching some smaller publications that are on the rise in terms of circulation. In my opinion, these lesser-known magazines…”

      Max realized he’d lost Ellen. Her gaze wasn’t on the numbers in front of her, but on something behind Max. Max turned, and his heart sank. A drowsy little girl had just pushed the conference-room door open and toddled into the room.

      “My goodness, who is this?” Ellen asked.

      Max wasn’t sure if she was pleased or appalled to see a child roaming around the Remington Agency. “That’s Kaylee. She has an earache and couldn’t go to preschool today, so she’s hanging out with us.”

      “She’s the little girl in the ad!” Ellen said.

      Kaylee stared up at Ellen, apparently fascinated with her bright colors and dangly earrings.

      For a moment, Max was paralyzed. He’d never had to deal with a situation like this. But when Kaylee took another step forward, looking like she wanted to climb into his client’s lap, instinct drove Max to move. He reached out, snagged Kaylee’s hand, and drew her toward him instead.

      He could pick the girl up and return her to her mother with some strong words about keeping the child out of his hair, as Jane had promised to do. But he hated to break up the rhythm of this meeting any more than it already was.

      Instead, he scooped up Kaylee and placed her in his lap. She looked up at him with big, questioning eyes, and Max prayed that she didn’t let loose with an earsplitting scream like she’d done yesterday afternoon, before her medicine had taken effect and dulled the pain of her earache.

      He also hoped she didn’t call him “mean” as she’d done two days ago. Having Ellen see him reviled by a little girl wouldn’t help with his image.

      But either Kaylee was too drowsy on medicine to show much of a reaction, or she had revised her opinion of Max, because after a moment or two she looked away and settled into his lap, shoving her thumb into her mouth.

      “Anyway,” Max said, “I’ve done some research into the demographics of some smaller circulation magazines…” He continued the presentation as if nothing was wrong, keeping one arm around Kaylee and using the other to point out the various numbers as he talked about them.

      Ogden seemed interested. He asked several intelligent questions about the magazines, and Max answered them with confidence.

      Ellen, however, seemed a little bored, and her gaze frequently strayed to Kaylee. Maybe numbers weren’t her thing. Since she was the ultimate decision-maker, he tried not to get too technical.

      She probably thought having a child at their meeting was the height of nonprofessionalism. If Jane and her wayward three-year-old lost him this account, he was not going to be happy.

      Finally the meeting concluded, and Kaylee had fallen asleep, drooling slightly on Max’s shirt. Wonderful.