Page 74 of Third Time Lucky

Chapter Twelve

Joey

There’s a motorcycle where Derek should be.

I know I sent him my schedule. I check for a text message, but there’s nothing from him saying he’s been delayed. Since he doesn’t seem the type to trade in the new SUV for a ball-shaking midlife crisis machine, I’m thinking he must be stuck in traffic. I should call him.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Redmond?”

I look up from my phone in time to see Mr. Gordon striding around the corner toward his concierge desk, his arms full of…

Baby?

“Who’s your new assistant?” I smirk, charmed by the infant’s pink cheeks and duck pajamas. “Another family member? I met your niece the other night.”

During the elevator escapade I’m not thinking about.

“So I heard. I apologize for the inconvenience. I wasn’t aware of the issue until Mr. Ransom discussed it with me. It won’t happen again.” He smiles down at the fascinated baby. “This is Kay. She belongs to a lovely young couple on the third floor, and at the moment, I’m the only one she’ll stop crying for. I think she likes looking at my glasses.”

Well who doesn’t?

“She must be using a lot of power.” Do I sound casual? “The woman on the fourth floor, I mean.”

He hums noncommittally and my shoulders droop. “You’re wondering where your driver is, I assume.”

Psychic wizard.“I am.”

“Ms. Chahal left with him in quite a hurry after informing me that you had the day off.”

“What?”

The baby startles and Mr. Gordon raises a reproachful brow.

“Sorry.”

“She left you a note.”

“A note?”

He adjusts Kay in his arms and retrieves it from the papers on his desk, handing it off without a word.

Relax. Please.

My phone is dead to you for the day.

You know who I’ll call if you show up to the office.

Love you, T-Diddy

P.S. Maybe you should talk to him.

“We’re partners,” I say out loud in a quieter, but no less irritated tone. “She’s not the boss or anything. She can’t steal Derek and order me to take the day off whenever she feels like it.”

He gives me another look over his sparkling glasses.

“Well, she can’t.” I grumble.

Oh, but we all know she can. And she will rat you out to Matilda without an ounce of guilt.

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