Focus gave her peace.
Damn Flint Collins. Bringing his newborn baby sister to work. She wasn’t going to think about him, other than to dissect his dealings with Owens Investments down to the last cent. Every investment. Every sale. Every client. Every expense report. Every report he ever wrote, period.
How his first night with a brand-new baby was going was not her concern.
The vulnerable look in those dark brown eyes didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty of theft.
The baby resting against that gorgeous, suited torso had no bearing on his business dealings.
Tamara was not going to have a relapse.
She was going to focus.
* * *
Setting his phone to wake him every two hours, knowing he was going to be up several times during the night, Flint had considered himself fully prepared for his first night as a brother/father. Or at least his first night as the sole responsible person for his “inheritance.”
When at 1:52 a.m. he was up for the fourth time, holding a bottle to a sleeping baby’s mouth, he didn’t feel capable of anything more. She’d cry. He’d feed her. She’d fall asleep sucking on the nipple. He’d put her back to bed and within half an hour her cry would sound on the monitor again, waking him.
At a little after one, he’d let her cry. She wasn’t due for another feeding until two thirty. She was dry. Surely she’d fall back asleep.
She hadn’t.
He’d changed her Pack ’n Play sheet.
He’d changed her diaper, even though she’d been completely dry.
He’d checked the stump of her umbilical cord.
And used the axillary thermometer under her arm. It had registered perfectly normal.
So he’d put the bottle back in her mouth and she’d sucked and swallowed for a few minutes before going back to sleep.
He hadn’t heard from Howard Owens. Had Tamara put in a good word for him? Or broken her promise and told his CEO that Flint had a crying baby in his office?
Even if he heard from Howard first thing, inviting him up, how sharp was he going to be in the morning on less than two hours’ sleep?
He had to get some rest. Parents didn’t stop requiring sleep the second they had a kid. His mom had slept.
Not that his mother was the greatest role model but, in this case, the thought made sense.
Settling the baby in her Pack ’n Play, double-checking the monitor, he quietly crossed the hall to his room, slid between the sheets and closed his eyes.
A vision of Tamara Frost was there. Her fiery hair, a cross between brown and red, curling and long, framing the gold-rimmed green eyes...
His eyes open, he stared at the ceiling for a couple of seconds before closing them again. He was supposed to be resting, not getting turned on.
Memories of the gravesite that morning assailed him. And then Bill Coniff’s distrusting face when Flint had asked for job security.
The sale he’d made had been a success. He had a client for life on that one. And earned his job security, as it had turned out.
He’d signed the noncompete. Financially he was sound.
Careerwise, he’d still be doing what he was good at.
Tamara Frost wanted a sit-down with him—
The monitor beside him blew that thought away.
Diamond Rose was awake again. Desperate now, he picked her up, wasn’t even surprised when she quit crying the second he was holding her. With his free hand, he hauled her portable playpen into his room. It wasn’t what he’d planned, but it now seemed the only sensible choice.
The playpen went right next to the bed, He placed the baby inside while she was still awake, talking to her the whole time, then lay down beside her, keeping his hand on the netted side of the crib.
“I’m right here, Little One,” he said. “Right here. I’m always going to be right here. For as long as I live. That’s the one thing you can count on. And I’m going to give it to you straight, too. That’s what I do. Mom always said I was going to be someone.”
He paused, thinking that last statement highly inappropriate. Stupid, even. Diamond Rose’s eyes half blinked open.
“We’ll get better at this.” He started talking again immediately. “We’ll figure it out together. No—scratch that. You’re great. I’ll get better. I’ll figure it out. You go ahead and be a newborn. And then someday you’ll be a kid, and I’ll still be here, still figuring things out. You won’t need to start doing that until you’re at least ten. Maybe twenty. Yeah, twenty works. We’ll revisit it when you’re twenty and see where we’re at...”
The baby was zonked. But just for good measure, Flint kept right on telling her how it was going to be until he’d talked himself to sleep.
* * *
How could a woman accomplish the tasks before her if the people in her life insisted on pulling her into distractions she could ill afford?
Hating the thought, retracting it immediately, Tamara picked up the phone when she saw Flint Collins’s name pop up.
Yeah, she’d added him to her contacts. Because she’d given him her number and if he was calling, she wanted a warning before she picked up.
“Hello, this is Tamara,” she said in her most professional voice.
“I’m available to meet with you at your earliest convenience.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Flint. Collins. You asked me to phone to set up a meeting after I met with Howard Owens. I’m calling to let you know I’ve done that.”
His voice, all masculine confidence, didn’t sound like he was reporting anything—and shouldn’t be sending chills all the way through her.
“Yes, Mr. Collins. I’ve got meetings scheduled all day today. Let me see where I can fit you in.”
She hadn’t scheduled even one yet. She had people waiting to hear on times. She’d been waiting on him. Because, at the moment, her father didn’t give a damn about the efficiency of his staff.
“You’ve met with Mr. Owens already today?” she asked inanely, buying herself a moment to cool down. She knew he had, and not just because he’d told her so. She’d had a call from her father the minute Flint Collins had left his office.
Just as she’d had a call from Mallory earlier that morning, the second she’d had Diamond Rose in her care. For the first time ever Tamara had almost had to ask her friend to stop talking. The way Mallory had gushed over the baby, thanking her for the chance to help care for the motherless infant. And then stating again that she couldn’t believe the baby hadn’t worked her magic on Tamara.
That had been right about the time Tamara had begun second-guessing the wisdom of her decision in sending Flint to Mallory.
But she’d quickly recovered. She’d made the right choice for Diamond Rose, first. And for Mallory, too.
Flint Collins was still on the line, having told her that not only had he met with her father, but that Howard Owens had been completely decent about everything—about keeping him on and the fact that he suddenly had sole care of an infant.
There it was again. Sole care. Her father had told her the same thing, adding that he’d suggested Flint take a few weeks off to get acclimated to this major change in his life. Flint had demurred, saying he already had care plans in effect for the infant. Tamara had wanted to ask about the lawyer girlfriend her father had mentioned the day before—clarifying that “sole care” meant that Flint was the child’s only guardian, for now. But she hadn’t actually voiced the question.
She still didn’t know why she’d hesitated. Just that bringing up Collins’s girlfriend to her father had seemed...uncomfortable.
Which made no sense at all.
She looked around her small office. And pictured his, which would undoubtedly still have the baby smell. Or at least her memory of it. “Can you do lunch?” she finished.
Yes, a nice pu
blic meeting. Over food. Something to do while she questioned him about...she wasn’t sure what. So far, the figures that had put her to sleep the night before were all adding up, and all looked legitimate.
What she needed to see was his personal bank account.
His personal tax records.
She had no access to either.
“Lunch would be fine,” Flint said, suggesting a place that she recognized. Close to the office but more upscale than they needed. A third-floor place down by the pier, overlooking the ocean.
She needed him fully cooperative—willing to give her the goods on himself when she didn’t even know where to look—so she graciously accepted. Agreed to meet him in the lobby to walk the short distance between her father’s building and the restaurant.
Although it was the first of November, San Diego was San Diego, no matter what season it was. She wouldn’t be cold in her navy formfitting dress pants and short navy jacket. And the wedged shoes... Having worn five-inch heels more times than she could count, she figured she could walk in pretty much anything.
She just hoped she wasn’t walking into something that would turn out to be more than she could handle.
Her father was counting on her.
Chapter Eight
She never should have agreed to walk over to the restaurant with him. While the day was pleasant, and being out in the sun with the blue skies overhead was even better—especially considering the windowless room where she’d spent her morning—Tamara still regretted her choice. The people milling around them, tourists lollygagging and business people bustling, left her and Flint Collins in a world of their own.
At least that was how it felt to her.
While people could probably hear what they said, with everyone moving at a different pace, no one could follow their conversation.
Making their togetherness seem too personal. Too intimate.
To begin with, they just talked about being hungry. About the restaurant. They’d both been there many times. She liked their grilled chicken salad. He was planning on the grilled chicken and jalapeño ciabatta.
It didn’t surprise her that he was a daring eater. Preferred his food hot.
The crowds forced them closer together than she would’ve liked. At one point he put a hand at her back to lead her ahead of him as they crossed the street.
He didn’t touch her, exactly, but she could feel the heat of his presence.
Looking down, she could see the tips of his shining black shoes and the hem of the dark gray business pants he was wearing with a white shirt and red power tie.
New baby or not, he’d been perfectly and professionally put together when he’d greeted her in the lobby earlier. She hadn’t asked about Diamond Rose. If she wanted to get closer to him for the sake of her father’s investigation, she probably should ask—
“You mentioned that you travel all over the country to the companies you work for, like Owens Investments, yet you seem so familiar with the area. Are you staying nearby?”
“I was born and raised in San Diego.” She didn’t see any harm in telling him that. “I work locally as much as I can, but I need to be free to go where the jobs take me.”
At least that was the plan—to work locally as often as possible. She’d only started to send out her portfolio to companies in the area. She’d always gone where she’d been sent, but she wasn’t with a big firm anymore. She was on her own and would be responsible for finding her own work.
As soon as she finished the job she was on.
She’d spoken with her father again, just before leaving for lunch. She’d been through every line item she had on Flint Collins, she’d told him, and had found absolutely nothing that raised a single question mark. Other than that the man pushed the boundaries on risk-taking.
A few of his investments had seemed questionable because of the amounts and the commodities those amounts were spent on—until she’d followed them through to the sale that had grossed impressive amounts.
He’d had a few losses, too, but they were minimal in comparison.
Her father still suspected Collins was behind the thefts. However, he agreed that she should spend equal time on others in the company. She’d already started to do that.
And in the meantime, people who spent time with someone noticed things.
So maybe that was her “in” with Flint. Maybe she had to spend time with him, eyes wide open, and look for whatever could help her father.
While she simultaneously scoured the files of everyone else in the company.
If she failed, her father was going to have to go to the police. Investors would learn that Owens Investments had trouble in the ranks and the client list would dwindle.
Not only would her father’s company be at risk of going under, but Flint Collins’s job security would be at risk, as well—if he wasn’t the thief.
So, in a way, she could be helping him by spying on him.
The thought was a stretch.
Tamara went with it anyway. She was going to help her father. She’d been her parents’ only shot at being grandparents and she’d failed them there. She knew it wasn’t her fault but...
She wasn’t going to fail them here.
* * *
Flint had called ahead to make certain they wouldn’t have to wait for a table. He’d requested a booth—strictly for the privacy. The fact that they got one by the window facing the ocean was a gift, but one he wasn’t surprised to receive. He frequented the restaurant. Almost always with clients who had a lot of money to spend.
“Excuse me a second,” he said, pulling out his phone as soon as they’d ordered drinks. Raspberry iced tea for both of them, something the restaurant was known for. Touching the icon for the new app he’d downloaded that morning at the Bouncing Ball Daycare, Flint waited for the portal to open. Mallory Harris had cameras installed in the nursery and with the app he could check in on Diamond Rose whenever he wanted.
Mallory was also keeping a detailed feeding spreadsheet for him—at his request—but, as it turned out, something she normally did anyway.
He’d checked in on his new family member before heading down to the lobby and his meeting with Tamara. But half an hour had passed since then.
That was the longest he’d gone without seeing his baby sister since she’d been placed in his arms the day before. In the office, he’d had his phone propped up on his desk where he could see the screen app at all times.
She’d cried twice to be fed, an hour after he’d dropped her off and then an hour and a half later. He hoped he hadn’t missed the next one...
Almost as though on cue, the sound came—a little warning first, more of a cough than a cry. But if they didn’t get to her soon, she’d be wailing so hard it would sound like she was going to suffocate or something.
As the second cry followed the warning, a foot hit his shin under the table.
“I’m sorry.” Tamara moved in the booth, placing herself more to his left rather than directly across from him.
The accidental touching of their bodies under the table wasn’t attention-worthy. But her hands were clasped so tightly together he could see her knuckles were white.
She was tense.
Because he’d been looking at his phone rather than listening to her questions? He couldn’t blame her, really; this was a business lunch. But their food hadn’t even been delivered yet.
Still, he set the phone on its stand, pushing it off to his right. He could keep an eye on it and still give her his attention.
“I’m the one who should apologize,” he told her in his most affable tone. “Being on my cell—that was rude of me.” He couldn’t afford to have her thinking that he was wasting business time on personal pursuits. He needed her to know he was in no way a threat to the company’s efficiency.
On a hunch, and feeling frie
ndly toward her due to her help the day before—the godsend her friend Mallory was turning out to be—he moved the phone so she could see.
“Mallory has cameras installed, and that means I can keep an eye on Diamond Rose,” he explained. And then hastened to add, “This allows me to set my mind at ease where she’s concerned so I can focus fully and completely on the job at hand. I’m all yours.”
She was staring at his phone, her lips tense now, too.
“I’m glad things worked out with Mallory,” she said, her delivery giving no indication that she was upset with him or his activity. On the contrary, she sounded genuine.
Diamond Rose’s cries were growing more intense. Tamara looked around them and although his phone’s volume was already on its lowest setting, he muted it completely. Mary Beth, the grandmotherly woman Mallory had introduced to him this morning as one of the Bouncing Ball’s full-time nursery personnel, appeared on screen, scooping up the baby and holding her close.
Flint relaxed as Diamond Rose snuggled against Mary Beth. He’d made it in time for feeding.
“How’d it go last night?” Tamara was smiling at him now.
He’d thought her heaven-sent before, but that smile... Yeah, she was something.
“With the baby, I mean,” she added when he failed to respond in a timely fashion. She was watching him, not his phone. And seeming to care about more than just the business reason for their lunch.
Her look felt...personal.
Of course, he was a bit sleep deprived.
“It was rough.” He told her the truth, but he grinned, too. “Still, we made it through.” He told her about the number of times the baby had cried, shortly after being fed and changed. About going back and forth between his room and hers, and his eventual desperate fix—the Pack ’n Play on the floor right next to his bed.
He was honest with her because he was done living a double life: the convict’s kid and the successful businessman. Done lying to himself about who he was.
If he was going to be worthy of that completely innocent little girl taking that bottle on his screen, if he was going to teach her how to come from what they’d come from and still be a success, then he’d have to quit denying to himself that he was different from most of the people in the world he inhabited.
An Unexpected Christmas Baby Page 7