“Are you insane?” Vivienne asked the Neanderthal in front of her and swore one more time when she reached her free hand up to her forehead and found a bump that hurt like the devil.

The caveman stared at her in what looked like stunned silence.

“You could’ve hit the baby!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, advancing toward him.

Her brother’s hand reached for her elbow and gave her one of those warning squeezes that usually infuriated her even more. This time, it wasn’t an exception.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Douchebag said, surprising both her and her brother, who released her elbow and stepped by her side.

Vivienne moved the baby from one hip to the other. “You are sorry—”

“I am truly sorry.” The man’s face showed traces of remorse, but Vivienne was too furious to back down.

Tilting her chin so she could look him in the eye, she said, “You are a terrible human being. A conceited, arrogant, spoiled man with the brain of a twelve-year-old boy. Useless—”

“I’m not spoiled.” His eyes had lost the fire that had burned bright a moment ago.

She briefly wondered why he had singled out that insult among the many she had just thrown at him, then decided to go for the kill. “You are unfit to raise a child.”

“We are in perfect agreement,” he said, surprising her once more.

It was difficult to keep screaming at a man who didn’t fight back, and that left her unbalanced.

She looked around and found both Jack and the doorman staring at their employer in a clear state of shock.

“This baby isn’t mine, therefore arguing about raising her is moot,” Mr. Prize said. “Again, I apologize for accidentally hitting you. It wasn’t my intention.” He paused, waiting for her to acknowledge his words. When he saw that she had no intention of saying anything, he added, “Although my temper would make you think otherwise, I abhor violence in any form or shape. And I would never hit a woman.”

The baby girl stirred in Vivienne’s arm, her small head moving toward her breast, looking for food. Vivienne blushed and adjusted her hold on the baby. “Okay. I accept your heartfelt apologies. Now, is there a kitchen in this place?”

“Follow me,” Mr. Prize said, surprising her again.

She had expected the man to order either Jack or the doorman to show her the way and trailed after him across the foyer and into the next room. The entire apartment was lit without a care for the electric bill, and the place shone as bright as day. When she had gone to change the baby, she only saw a small part of the hallway and of course the guest bathroom. That room by itself was bigger than her studio apartment, but the rest of the house seemed to never end.

“Where do you have your kitchen? In Portland?” she asked, after yet another turn around the penthouse.

The man stopped and turned to look at her.

She shrugged and raised her free hand to the side, palm up. “What?”

To her shock, Mr. Prize shook his head, then began laughing. A genuine laugh, one of those bubbly sounds that start in your belly and warm your heart.

At his unexpected reaction, she couldn’t help but smile. “What?” she asked again, this time unable to stop her sympathetic laugh.

“Nothing.” He wiped his eyes as he tried to bridle his laughter, only to start anew and louder. Several seconds passed before he was able to control himself.

“Do I have something on my face?” She wondered if she had smeared herself with baby poop when she changed the little cherub.

He shook his head. “Your face is perfectly fine, but I might never recover from this night.”

At a loss for words, Vivienne pointed her chin at the baby, who now softly complained.

“Right,” he said and resumed walking. “We’re almost there.”

True to his word, the next room was finally the kitchen. Like the rest of the penthouse, an entire wall was made of glass, and the furniture was that expensive-looking, elegant-sleek modern style that was all the rage in the interior design magazines Vivienne liked to read. The marble countertops were glossy, and the stainless-steel surfaces were polished like a mirror.

“Does anyone ever cook in this germ-free, surgical-grade kitchen?” she asked, admiring the SubZero appliances and the large counters that were also clutter-free. She caressed the faucet for the pot water jutting from the back of the six-burner stove.

“I don’t have much time nowadays, but I used to bake a lot,” he said, giving the stove what looked like a longing gaze.

“You bake?” Vivienne couldn’t help but cock her head and give him a raised brow.

“My mom is an excellent cook and taught me all the family recipes.” His lower lip curved into a smile, that in turn formed a dimple, making him look like a completely different man.

“What’s your favorite recipe?” she asked, sounding argumentative even to her own ears, but she just couldn’t help it.

“A savory Italian bread. It’s a recipe that’s been handed down for generations.”

“What’s inside it?” She was now genuinely curious. Looking around, she asked, “Microwave?” She couldn’t see the appliance anywhere in that showroom of a kitchen.

“Here,” he said, opening one of the dark wooden panels. He pressed the edge of the drawer, and it slid forward, revealing the microwave. “Italian salami and scamorza,” he answered her previous question.

“What’s scamorza?” She filled the baby bottle with water, then added the formula, shook it and popped it into the microwave.

“It’s aged mozzarella. Often smoked.”

“Sounds yummy.” She waited for the microwave ding, removed the bottle, and tested the temperature of the milk on her hand. “Too hot,” she commented.

“You’re good at this.”

Somehow, the compliment unsettled her. “Well, Mr. Prize—”

“Max,” he said.

His request unsettled her even more, but she nodded. “I love kids.”

“It shows.”

“I’ve overheated the milk—”

Mr. Prize, Max, waved her comment away. “Microwaves are finicky.” He studied her for a moment before adding, “You stormed in here, and confronted me right away—”

Vivienne wasn’t going to apologize but realized she had gone a bit too far. “I was tired.” She tested the milk on her skin a second time and found it was the right temperature. The baby immediately started sucking from the transparent nipple, making greedy noises.

“No, it’s not that. You were worried for the baby.”

“Of course, I was! Who wouldn’t be?” She cradled the little girl closer and inhaled her baby smell. “They are the most wonderful things in the whole world.”

Sadness engulfed her. It always did when she was holding a baby in her arms, but she wouldn’t have a meltdown in front of this multi-billionaire. So, she did what she did best after caring for children, she deflected. “If this isn’t yours, who’s it then?”

“I have no idea.”

“Why would anyone bring a baby to your penthouse?”

“Again, I’m clueless.”

“Who’s going to take care of her?” She didn’t want the job, but as it always happened, the moment she had picked the little angel from the carrier, she had fallen in love with her.

“If you promise not to insult me again, at least not in front of my staff,” he added the last part with a little smirk that brought forth the dimple. “The job is yours until we can find the baby’s rightful family.”