Vivienne heard her cell phone’s loud ring, but it took her several seconds to open her eyes.

“What?” she barked before looking at the caller ID to see who was calling her at the ungodly hour of three in the morning.

“Sis?” Her brother’s voice echoed from the speaker as her eyes focused on Jack’s name on the screen.

“What happened?” Vivienne’s heart leapt in her throat.

Images from the accident that had changed her life forever played in her mind.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jack hurried to say. “But I need a big favor.”

“Now?” she asked, relieved that he was okay, but starting to get pissed off at him for waking her. She always slept fitfully, when she managed to sleep at all.

“I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important,” he said.

By now, her eyes were wide open, and she knew she wouldn’t resume her beauty nap any time soon. I wish I could fall asleep at will, she thought as her brother repeated how important his request was without hinting at what he was about to ask.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked suspiciously.

“There is this little girl who needs some babysitting—”

“Fine, I’ll do it. I’m free anyway tomorrow, today now,” she amended, “but couldn’t you wait four hours to tell me?”

“You are needed now.”

“Right now?” Vivienne leaned away from the phone to look at the time. “At freaking three fifteen in the morning?” After I was awake until one for a Game of Thrones marathon?

“The child has nobody and could use some loving care at the moment,” Jack said, knowing which buttons to push.

“Whose is this favor for?” Again, suspicion entered her mind. Her brother worked for Maximus Prize, one of those billionaire jerks who looked good on the cover of men’s magazines but was rotten inside.

“My boss,” he answered, then hastily added, “But it’s truly a favor you’re doing for the little girl, not him.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes. What had Mister Douche done this time? She never referred to his brother’s hotshot boss by his name—it was too douchey to begin with. What were his parents thinking when they named him?

“Please, Vi, she doesn’t have anyone, and she’s really small and cries a lot.”

“How old is she?” She brought both her legs to the side and swung her feet to the hardwood floor of her studio apartment.

“Not sure—”

She could hear her brother scratching his jaw. He always did that when he was deep in thought.

“She’s small,” he finally said.

“We’ve established that already.” Vivienne grabbed the sweater she had thrown over the back of the kitchen chair and dragged her feet to the coffee maker. “Is she a toddler?”

“How old is a toddler?”

“Between one and two and a half. At the youngest, they’ve usually just started walking.”

“Nope. She’s definitely younger than that.”

“Is she a newborn?”

“She might be.”

“Is she your boss’ baby?”

“I can’t answer that because I don’t know. We have a baby situation here and need someone we can trust who isn’t going to sell a story to the press first thing in the morning,” Jack said, a hint of panic in his voice.

“Okay,” she said because she couldn’t help being a big sucker when either her brother or babies were concerned.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, sis.” He sighed. “I’m sending you a limo.”

Not even fifteen minutes later, Vivienne saw a black stretched Hummer parking on the street, three floors below her apartment. Cup of strong coffee in one hand, she took the elevator as her fingers typed on her cellphone.

Does Mr. D have diapers & formula?

She sent the text to Jack before exiting into misty Seattle.

A large man stood with his back to the limo, and when he saw her, immediately walked toward the building’s entrance with an umbrella.

“It’s just a drizzle,” she said with a smile as he accompanied her to the passenger door.

“Good morning, Miss Vivienne,” the man said when he sat in the driver seat. “My name is Charlton. Let me know if you need anything or if you need me to stop on the way to Mr. Prize’s residence.”

As the driver talked, Jack answered back.

Diapers, check.

Formula, check.

“No stops necessary, and I don’t need anything, thank you, Charlton,” Vivienne said, eyeing the minibar behind the glass door.

“Please, help yourself with anything you like, Miss Vivienne.”

Vivienne wasn’t a wine connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination, but when she saw the bottle of Egon Muller, even she recognized the expensive German Riesling.

“It’s a bit early to start drinking,” she joked.

“There’s fresh chocolate, espresso, or tea,” Charlton said, looking at her from the rearview mirror. “I apologize, I didn’t have time to buy croissants.”

“It’s all right. I’ll manage.” Vivienne couldn’t help but laugh which prompted the driver to chuckle, too. “Don’t let it become a habit, though.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Charlton was now openly laughing.

They spent the drive in mindless chit chat about the weather, and several minutes later, they arrived at Mr. Douche’s.