Nothing spoiled Max’s fun like having to drive back to his penthouse when the schedule for the night should’ve involved a threesome with a duo of blondes who had been eye-fucking him forever.

“This better be a life-or-death kind of situation,” Max barked at Hugo as soon as he exited his private elevator and found the doorman looking expectantly at him from the center of his foyer.

Jack, Max’s security detail chief, stood behind Hugo, his eyes cutting down to the floor before looking back at his employer.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” Hugo said, his hands wrenching the hem of his black and silver uniform jacket.

The man stepped aside, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what he was looking at. “I have no time for games—” he started saying before he followed Jack’s lowering gaze and found himself staring at a plastic contraption—like one of those carriers for kids, not that he had ever seen one up close—sitting at his security detail’s feet. A flannel blanket in a shade of pink that hurt the eye covered the contents beneath.

“What is that?” Max’s frustration only grew when neither his doorman nor Jack provided him with an answer. His dragon, who had paced like a rabid animal until a moment ago, stilled. A strange and yet familiar scent hit his nostrils, raising the hair on his arms. “What the fuck is in there?” he growled.

Jack stepped forward, assuming a defensive pose as if Max were a threat against whatever was in that carrier.

“Move, or I’ll make you.” Max walked the gap between him and his soon-to-be-ex security detail.

Then something moved inside the hideous plastic box, the blanket fell to the side and the smallest hand Max had ever seen popped out from the gray edge. He tilted his head, wondering if he was hallucinating when a loud sound transformed the quiet of his penthouse into a bedlam.

“Do something!” Max jumped back several steps and pointed at the wailing thing as the blanket slid to the ground, revealing that the little hand was attached to a little arm, and up higher were a miniature neck and an equally small face. A face that was becoming increasingly redder as the little monster screamed her lungs away.

“Take it away!” Max yelled, competing with the banshee, and failing to be heard over the horrendous cacophony. “Take it away, right now!” He pointed at the floor and then at the elevator to make his order crystal clear.

Jack gave him a shocked look, while Hugo shook his head, eyes bright and lower lip trembling as if Max had just said something horrible.

Before such a blatant display of betrayal, Max stomped toward the carrier, only to find both his now ex-employees erecting a wall before the pint-sized monster.

“Move!” Max commanded.

The elevator’s door opened, and the monster stopped crying. In the blessed moment of silence that followed, a voice resonated inside the foyer.

“The baby girl stays,” Wilson said, strolling out of the elevator and into the foyer. Dressed in a pinstripe, charcoal gray Armani suit, he stopped in front of Max and pushed his frameless glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Max opened his hand to the side, pointing at the thing ruining the polished beauty of his Italian marble tiles. “That—” He couldn’t even say the word baby. “That isn’t going to stay in this apartment a moment longer. I have no idea how it arrived here—” He turned to Hugo. “How did that happen?”

“A private courier came with a huge pack; he said it was a special delivery for you and left. I ran after him but then I heard a strange noise coming from the cardboard box—” Hugo answered. “I thought it was some pet, but when I lifted the lid, there was this beautiful baby inside.”

“And you thought that bringing it up to my penthouse was a good idea how?” Max’s voice rumbled throughout the high-ceilinged room, triggering the baby’s wailing again.

“Please, don’t shout,” Hugo said. “You’re scaring her.”

“Now I’m the bad one here. Unbelievable—” Max could only keep his temper in check for so long before he would let his dragon out. Although, confusingly, his usually fiery beast wasn’t clawing at his mental cage as expected of him. He clenched and unclenched his fists before speaking again, and this time, he lowered his voice to a more civilized tone. “Why didn’t you do the right thing and call the police?”

“I told him not to,” Jack interceded, but immediately lowered his eyes.

There must be a raging and very contagious flu in the air that rendered mad all the people in his employment. There was no other explanation for the series of idiotic responses Max was receiving.

“And why would you tell him not to call the police?” Max maintained his calm and enunciated word by word as if he were talking to a bunch of five-year-olds.

“Because of the gift tag we found in the box,” Jack answered, this time raising his eyes long enough to cut a fleeting glance toward the cardboard box.

Hugo scurried to the corner, and after rummaging inside the pack, he retrieved one of those fancy tags usually attached to Christmas gifts. He handed the tag to Max and stepped back.

Max eyed the ornate piece that was laser cut and of good quality. Shaped like a flying dragon, it looked like a custom job, and it said: A Gift for the Alpha.

“We called Mr. Saints as soon as we read the tag because we didn’t know what to do,” Jack finished.

“And you did the right thing,” Wilson said. “What were you going to say to the mortal police when they asked you why a baby ended up at your doorstep with a note mentioning an alpha?”

“They could have called Seattle Shifter PD.” Max brought his hand to his jaw, his fingers caressing the dark stubble. He shaved twice a day, but never managed to completely remove his five o’ clock shadow.

“She’s too little. Until we find her mother, it’s hard to say if she’s fully supernatural.” Wilson gave Max a pointed look.

Supernaturals—or paranormals as the Europeans liked to be called because they thought it was more politically correct—lived among the mortals without humans being the wiser. A secret organization called the Immortal Council had controllers everywhere, making sure the existence of the supers was kept hidden. In the United States, there was a strong movement brewing against the Immortal Council’s strict laws, but the times weren’t right to come out, yet.

“My niece looked like a mortal baby until she was three and shifted for the first time,” Wilson said.

The red haze slowly dissipated from Max’s vision. “Okay, I can see the merit in not involving the official authorities. What I don’t see is why this baby should remain here.” He had said the repugnant word and survived unscathed.

“It’s temporary. Just for tonight and maybe tomorrow. As soon as we find her mother, you’ll be free. But before we do, you need to keep a low profile.” Wilson answered him in the same patronizing tone Max had used a moment earlier. “Remember Mrs. Catalani, the disgruntled ex-employee that is suing you?”

Max raised his brow and didn’t answer.

“Imagine if the tabloids catch even the mere whiff of this—” Wilson pointed his chin at the baby, who had thankfully stopped crying. “Your image will be compromised beyond repair and we’ll never find a sympathetic jury ever again. Louise Dortmund will use this baby to hammer the last nail to your coffin.”

Max’s blood ran cold at the mention of the she-dragon, Louise Dortmund, his ex-friend and currently the lawyer defending Mrs. Catalani’s interests. Louise had been out for blood, his, for the longest time, and would use anything at her disposal to make Max pay for having refused her so many years ago. The woman could hold a grudge like no other.

Wilson shrugged. “Do you like your lifestyle?”

This time, Max didn’t bother raising his eyebrow, but gave his friend the bird.

“I guess the answer is yes, so pay attention to what I’m going to say next.” Wilson waited for Max to acknowledge him before adding, “We need to find a nanny, someone we can trust to keep her mouth shut—”

“A nanny?” Max couldn’t help but throw up a bit in his mouth at the mere thought. “In my penthouse?”

“Yes, in your penthouse.”

“With the baby?”

“Of course with the baby.” Wilson opened his hands to the side in frustration. “What are we playing, Clue?”

“This is a bachelor den, not a nursery!” Max’s ire burned rapidly, and it would reach the explosive stage soon.

The baby wailed once again. Hugo and Jack sent Max reproachful glances, and Wilson stared at him with censure.

“Do something to make it stop,” Max said.

“You could start lowering your voice,” Wilson bit back.

And that was the reason women weren’t allowed in his penthouse; they instigated violence in otherwise reasonable men.