ES, MR.FARRELL, Mr. Wyatt is in his office. Just one moment.” Mitchell’s New York assistant, Sophie Putnam, had been in the process of showing a newly hired secretary named Claire around the office. She paused in that endeavor in order to put Matt Farrell’s phone call through. “Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Farrell is on line one,” she told Mitchell.

“Thank you, Sophie,” he replied.

With that duty completed, Sophie returned her attention to Claire, but before she could continue, Claire glanced toward Mitchell’s closed door and said, “How long does it take before you stop noticing how incredibly handsome he is?”

The new secretary had impeccable credentials, and since theirs was a small office in which everyone worked closely together, Sophie didn’t think that that was an inappropriately personal question. “When you realize that he does not play around with his employees—ever—you’ll relax and forget his looks. In two or three years,” she joked.

“Does he have a lot of girlfriends?”

Since Claire would be involved in facets of his personal life, such as arranging for theater tickets, dinners, and looking after his penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side, Sophie felt that that question, too, was well within reason. “The lady du jour is Kira Dunhill,” Sophie replied with a touch of pride as she named the acclaimed Hollywood actress who was costarring on Broadway with Leigh Valente in a new play scheduled to open that night. “She’s a little on the haughty side, but she’s so gorgeous and so talented, who can blame her?”

“What about Mr. Wyatt? I imagine he’s a little arrogant and temperamental at times?”

“You’re wrong. He’ll expect your best, and in return, he will treat you with respect. He won’t forget your birthday or patronize you or send you out to buy gifts for his girlfriends. He is also the most even-tempered man alive. He doesn’t even curse,” she added, heading to Mitchell’s office so that he could officially welcome Claire as the new member of their New York team.

MITCHELL BARELY MANAGED to say a civil good-bye to Matt Farrell before he slammed the phone into its cradle. “Son of a bitch!” he said in English, then he said it again in French. Picking up the Steuben crystal fist that Stavros had commissioned as a gift for him, Mitchell squeezed it in his hand hard enough to pulverize it, were it made of mere stone. He was so furious that his mind refused to accept what he’d just heard, and he had to keep repeating it to himself, even though it made him angrier with each repetition....

Kate Donovan has a child almost two years old who’s been kidnapped, and he is the boy’s father!

There is no doubt of his paternity because there is DNA proof in Gray Elliott’s office!

She didn’t have the decency, or the courtesy, to let him know he has a son!

She is raising his son just as he himself had been raised—without any idea of who his father is!

Somewhere in Chicago, a little boy—his own son—is in danger!

Infuriated beyond all bounds, he looked at the fabulous crystal object in his hand, and in an unprecedented display of rage, he hurled it across the room just as Sophie opened the door. Claire instinctively threw her arms up to protect her head, but Sophie froze in astonishment as the ten-pound object sailed past her, smashed into the wall, crashed to the slate floor, and shattered.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Wyatt?” Sophie asked as Mitchell bounded out of his chair, stalked around his desk, and bore down on her.

“Do I look like something is right?” Mitchell replied, and began snapping out instructions to her. “I’m leaving for Chicago. Call Calli and tell him to pick me up downstairs immediately, and tell him he’s going to Chicago with me. Find my pilots and tell them to be ready to take off in an hour. Call Pearson and Levinson in Chicago and tell them to stand by for a phone call from me in fifteen minutes.”

“Sir, the plane’s having maintenance work done. It can’t fly until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Then get two tickets on the first nonstop flight to Chicago.”

“What if I can’t get first class?”

“Get whatever you can,” Mitchell said as he headed toward the main office door.

“You were supposed to have dinner after the play tonight with Kira Dunhill, Leigh and Michael Valente, and Zack and Julie Benedict,” Sophie called after him.

“Call everyone and tell them an emergency has come up and I can’t be there.”

“Mr. Wyatt?”

Mitchell turned back impatiently.

“This is Miss Dunhill’s first opening night on Broadway.”

“Thank you for reminding me. Send her a lot of flowers.”

“Flowers? For missing her opening night?”

“You’re right. That probably calls for a necklace. Please pick one out and send it over to her,” he said as he shoved the door open.

“Sir?” Sophie called, craning her neck because he’d disappeared down the hallway. “How much should I spend?”

There was no answer. He was gone.