As he drove all the way to Prize Games, his headquarters in Seattle, Max couldn’t help but smile. A nice were-cat nurse had just drawn his blood for the DNA test, and soon, this baby-nightmare would be a thing of the past. Not even the morning traffic blocking the city center put a damper on his mood. He parked under the metal and steel high-rise and rode the elevator to the attic where his office occupied the entire floor.

A sense of pride always filled him when he remembered how Prize Games started. Max had bought the building with the profits from his first game and added to his empire ever since, giving jobs to more than a thousand employees, some of them coming from underprivileged parts of the city.

From behind her desk, Marie, his secretary, carefully smiled, looking at him from under the glasses she always kept at the very end of her nose. “Morning, Mr. Prize,” she said, handing him his first espresso of the day.

Marie had been with him since the beginning. She was a mortal but had never been afraid of Max’s dragon-shifter nature and could be trusted with his secret. They had established a nice routine where she anticipated every one of his whims, and he was forever grateful for her services.

Today, Marie looked as if she were on tenterhooks around him, and that was out of character for her. Being older than him by several decades, the woman tended to be frank to a fault. He appreciated that trait in anyone working for him, but his secretary was the only one of his employees who usually spoke to him without mincing words. Her current reticence made him worry.

“Is there a problem?” he asked on his way to his office, inhaling the strong aroma of the black espresso before sipping it. Perfect roast and temperature, as usual. Marie was a gift from heaven.

“Today is the big day,” she said, her eyes cutting to the newspaper sitting on her desk.

The top article was about the case against him. A picture of Mrs. Catalani, the disgruntled ex-employee, looking sad and dejected, dominated the first page. Behind the woman stood Louise Dortmund, her hand on Mrs. Catalani’s shoulder in a show of moral support. Mrs. Catalani was a conniving woman he had fired because she leaked a secret project after he refused her sexual advances. His ex-employee and Louise had so much in common, it must have been a match made in heaven when they met and started plotting against him.

“I forgot,” Max said.

“You forgot.” Marie gave him a long stare.

“Lots on my mind.” He entered his office and closed the large mahogany door behind him.

Although he wasn’t scheduled to be in court today, he had all but forgotten about the lawsuit. A baby and an infuriating nanny had made it possible.

His phone started ringing even before he reached his cocobolo desk. Marie screened all his calls, and only passed the important ones to him, or friends’ and family’s. Max was always available if his parents or his few close friends reached out to him during his office hours. They knew he was busy and would never call him if it wasn’t for a serious reason.

“Mr. Saints for you,” Marie said.

Max finished his espresso and grabbed the handset of his landline. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve hired Mr. Stamper to find the baby’s mother,” Wilson said.

“Good thinking.”

Mr. Stamper was a werewolf who owned a successful PI firm that worked for the supernatural community of Seattle. He was the man to call when discretion was needed.

“Good thinking indeed. My exceptional brain is the reason you pay me an exorbitant salary,” Wilson said.

“You know that my accountant files your salary under charities because you are a desperate case, right?”

“Your sense of humor is hilarious, as usual,” Wilson said. “Mr. Stamper wants to speak with you,” he added. “But not at your place or your office.”

Max nodded. “Okay.”

If the tabloids spotted the PI anywhere near where Max lived or worked there would soon be a frenzy of reporters stalking Max.

“I’ll tell Marie to give Stamper my parents’ address. I need to talk to them anyway.”

“Have you told them about the baby?” Wilson asked.

“Not yet.”

“Can I come, too?” Wilson’s mischievous tone made Max shake his head in frustration.

“You think that’s funny.” He loved his friend, but sometimes, he wanted to strangle the idiot.

“I do.” Wilson laughed.

Max hung up on Wilson’s chuckle and swiveled his chair to face the window wall behind him, then grabbed his cell phone and called his mother.

“Max!” It didn’t matter if they had seen each other the previous day or a month ago, his mother always greeted him with the same heart-warming enthusiasm.

“Hi, Mom.” He loved the woman with all his heart because she had chosen him when his biological mother had dumped him behind a trash bin. “Is it okay if I drop by later this afternoon?”

“You don’t need to ask,” his mother answered. “I’ll bake a pie.”

“Thank you, Mom.” They exchanged a few more words before he hung up with a promise to arrive before tea time, so his mother could show him her new rose hybrid in the light of day.

He spent the rest of the day in meetings with the shareholders and with several of his teams of designers and developers. Prize Games was about to launch several apps for the holidays, and as was usual in the software industry, problems tended to multiply near the release date.

“Your last appointment for today,” Marie announced, knocking on the door. “Martin is waiting outside.”

Max smiled at her and gestured to let the developer in.

A moment later, a large mop of red curls appeared from around the door. “Mr. Prize—”

“Come in, Martin.” He had lost any hope of having Martin call him Max, as he had asked countless times. Max hired Martin fresh from high school, saving him from an uncertain future and an abusive family, and the young man venerated him for it, which was the last thing Max wanted.

“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news,” Martin said, stalling at the threshold, rocking from one foot to the other, making the soles of his red tennis sneakers squeak.

“Please, sit.” Max pointed at the chairs facing his desk. “Your fidgeting is making me nervous already.”

The young man gulped and left the safety of the door, walking toward the desk as if he were about to be executed.

Max smiled. “What did you find?” He didn’t need a report to know what the answer would be.

“Bugs in the interface—” the developer started saying.

“That was to be expected.” Sometimes, his employees forgot that Max came from the same background and that he had created games before running an empire. “What kind of bugs?”

“The chicken doesn’t make a sound when clicked on it, and it doesn’t lay eggs when the player reaches the third level.” Martin lowered his eyes. The week before, the chicken had responded to the commands.

Max shrugged one shoulder. “There’s always the possibility that when you fix one bug, a variable is introduced, and it screws things up.”

“Yes, but some of the testers are complaining that the game sucks, and the general feedback we’ve received so far isn’t great. People don’t seem to like the retro graphic—”

“We knew that FarmLife was a bit of a gamble, but I still believe in it,” Max said.

Prize Game’s team of creatives had pitched the farm-themed app to Max a year ago, and the project had seen all sorts of roadblocks since its inception. Still, Max liked the quirky game and had given the team the thumbs up.

“Send me the steps to reproduce the bugs, and I’ll take a look at them as soon as I can.” Max stood, signaling the end of the meeting. He could’ve had the conversation by phone but preferred to talk face to face with his employees.

“Thank you, Mr. Prize,” Martin said as he shot toward the door.

Marie peeked from around the door soon after. “Did you eat him alive?” she joked before adding, “A shot of espresso before you leave?”

He couldn’t have chosen a better secretary.