Page 17 of Baby Perfection

Rain beatdown on them for the rest of the week in a seemingly unending gray curtain. Friday, the sun made a brave reappearance, battling back the storm clouds, and by late that afternoon gained strength, flowing triumphantly through the window behind Lucius’s desk. Streams of soft gold flooded the room and he tilted the printout he held to catch the tidal wave of light. He read the name the computer had kicked out for the umpteenth time.

“How is this possible, Pretorius?” he demanded in disbelief, his hand tightening around his cell phone. “Answer me that. How?”

“I don’t know. I’m as stunned as you are.”

“You programmed the damn thing. Are you telling me you don’t know how your own program works?”

“It must have been the result of this latest tweak in parameters,” Pretorius insisted doggedly. “But she’s your perfect apprentice/wife.”

The name of the “perfect” woman danced across the page in a taunting tango. Angelique Colter, Angelique Colter, hisdammittohellPA, Angelique “Angie” Colter. “How was her name even picked up by your program?”

“Not sure, but I can guess,” Pretorius said cautiously.

“Fine,” Lucius snarled. “Guess. But make it an accurate one or I swear I’ll reach through my computer and peel your circuits right off your mainframe. Then I’ll get really mean. Now explain.”

Pretorius erupted into speech. “It’s possible that the new program, the program designed to find you the perfect wife, was accidentally connected to the old program, the one designed to find you the perfect PA. Apparently, Ms. Colter is an acceptable candidate for both positions.”

“Both.”

“Exactly. I guess that makes her more than perfect, doesn’t it?” Pretorius gave a quick laugh, then cleared his throat when Lucius didn’t join in. “So the real question is… Would you prefer her for your PA, or for your wife?”

For some reason that one simple question hit Lucius like a towering wave, sweeping his feet out from under him and tumbling him over and over. “I’ll get back to you,” he said and disconnected the call.

An image of Angie in a tiny triangle of blue blossomed fully formed in his mind. So did the rest of her, a very naked rest of her. He saw her again as he had a week before. Her small, pert breasts—Eve’s apples, perfect and perfectly tempting. Those killer legs that went on forever. That long, supple flow of her naked back. That glorious backside, round and biteable. The way that glorious backside twitched when she stalked away from him.

His hand clenched around the printout. Dear God, he could have it all. He could have Angie, probably the most trustworthy woman he knew—not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. He could have a mother for Mikey and, hopefully, an end to the Ridgeway’s impending lawsuit. He could have Angie in his bed.A suitable hostess. Angie in his bed. Someone to welcome him after a hard day’s work with home-cooked meals. And best of all, Angie in his bed. How perfect would that be? It was every man’s secret fantasy. And it could all be his.

He shook his head. Forget the fantasy. He needed to consider more urgent issues than personal gratification, the most important of which was Mikey’s welfare. If he believed for one minute the boy would be better off with the Ridgeways, he’d have discussed terminating his guardianship in their favor. Had seriously considered it. But in the three months since the death of Geoff and Lisa he’d had ample opportunity to speak to Mikey’s grandparents and watch how they cared for him. And one overriding fact had become painfully clear. They were more concerned about the boy’s “tainted” blood and the need to suppress that taint than they were about any other aspect of childrearing.

Not only that, but they were a cold, hard couple, totally unlike Geoff. Maybe that was why his friend had spent so much time hanging out at the Devlins. Memories of those days gathered around Lucius, as faded gold as the sunlight at his back. A bittersweet smile carved his mouth. His father and Geoff had been as alike as two peas in a pod. Open. Trusting. A friend to all. The irony didn’t escape him. Maybe they’d been accidentally switched at birth, he the offspring of the emotionally compromised Ridgeways, Geoff the son of Angel Devlin.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Not any longer. All that mattered now was Mikey and Lucius’s determination to save him from the Ridgeway’s tender, loving care—or lack thereof. That left only two questions to consider. First, was Angie an appropriate mother figure for the boy? It didn’t take any thought at all. He’d seen how she interacted with Mikey. Seen her lightup whenever she held him. Witnessed the ease with which she held him. Fussed over him. How her eyes would track him whenever Keesha was around. She was as maternal as they came. And according to the computer printout, experienced with children.

Which brought him to his second question… How did he convince Angie that she’d rather be his wife than his PA?

He shoved back his chair and paced the length of the office.Face facts, Devlin.No one would want to take him on full-time. He was a workaholic. Emotionally compromised. Hard. Ruthless. Not the best attributes in a husband, even a temporary one. So, what did he have to offer a woman like Angie that would induce her to accept the position? Money. That was a given. But from what he could tell, financial gain had never been a driving force in Angie’s life. Her career had always been her main focus. So, how did he convince a woman dedicated to her career that marrying him was a better option? There was one lever available to him, though he’d rather not use it.

Angie was crazy about Mikey. If she believed the Ridgeways would win custody of the baby if she didn’t agree to his proposition, it might put just enough weight on his side of the scales to convince her to go along with his plan. Well, there was only one way to find out whether he could make an offer Angie wouldn’t refuse. Ask her.

He touched a button on his phone and an instant later she appeared in the doorway of his office, electronic tablet in hand. Ever since the night they’d had dinner with Gabe Moretti, she’d subtly changed her appearance. She wore her hair looser, the style more flattering to her delicate features. She’d also changed the type of suits she wore from boxy to tailored. And though shehadn’t quite broken loose when it came to the color of the suits, they were far more attractive than they had been.

Of course, ever since that night all he could think about was the earth-shattering kiss they’d shared. The softness of her skin. The perfection of her breasts. The taste of her mouth. And all that could be his. He only needed to convince her that she wanted a different sort of career.

“Come in and close the door,” he requested. The minute she’d done so, he crossed to the wet bar and poured her a glass of wine. Her brows shot upward when he exchanged the drink for her electronic tablet.

“Am I going to need this?” she asked uneasily.

“Possibly.” He shrugged, setting the tablet aside. “Probably.”

Her face paled. “Have I done something wrong?”

He allowed a brief smile to touch his face, despite the seriousness of the situation. “I don’t usually offer wine to someone I’m about to fire.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” she murmured. “Or I would if you hadn’t taken my tablet.”

“You won’t need it for this.”

She took a tiny sip of wine, probably to fortify herself. “Andthisis…?”

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