At 3:00 AM, I sent a text to my boss. "Do you want a baby?" Ten minutes later, my phone lit up. "Meeting at 8:30 AM. Have the pitch deck ready." I stared at the cold, unfeeling command from my capitalist overlord, then looked over at the little boy fast asleep in my bed. It was hard to imagine that my boss and I could ever create something so cute. 1 I became a mother at twenty-eight, and the stork didn't bring the baby. Mrs. Higgins, the building superintendent, did. When Mrs. Higgins knocked on my door holding the hand of a little boy, I was bewildered. The kid looked about five or six. He had bright, dark eyes and deep dimples. He was wearing a t-shirt, overalls, and a little yellow duck backpack. He looked clean and well-cared-for. Definitely a kid who belonged to a good family. He was also a kid who was very easy to like. That is, until he opened his mouth. Upon seeing me, the boy’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. He wrenched his hand free from Mrs. Higgins, barreled into my living room, and wrapped his arms around my waist. "Mommy!" he shouted. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Before I could speak, I saw Mrs. Higgins muttering something about a pot roast in the oven and fleeing the scene. The boy rubbed his face against my stomach and looked up at me with sparkling eyes. "Mommy, where’s Daddy?" Daddy? Mommy? I am a single woman. I haven't even dated in two years. Where would I get a five-year-old? I crouched down, placed a finger on his forehead, and gently pushed him back. "I’m not your mommy, and your daddy isn't here." "You are! You are!" The kid’s eyes turned red, and his cheeks puffed up. "Mommy is Willow Evans, and Daddy is Spencer Sterling. I wouldn't recognize the wrong people!" My heart skipped a beat. My eyelid twitched. I am Willow Evans. That part is true. But Spencer Sterling? That’s my CEO. To prove he wasn't crazy, the kid rattled off my phone number, Spencer’s private number, and even our social security numbers without missing a beat. Then he puffed out his little chest, looking proud, waiting for praise. Am I awesome or what? his face seemed to say. I face-palmed. I had no choice but to bring him inside. I handed him a pair of guest slippers. Surprisingly, he took off his shoes and lined them up perfectly by the door. Impeccable manners. But he was clearly unhappy with my reaction. He sat on the sofa, pouting, arms crossed. I found it funny, so I grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer and handed it to him. His mood flipped instantly. He dug in happily. "Since you’re sharing, I won't tell on you." I raised an eyebrow. "Tell on me for what?" He grinned, holding up a spoon full of Half Baked. "This. You always get a stomach ache when you eat ice cream, so Daddy banned you from having it." I froze. I do have a sensitive stomach. I do lack self-control. But how would this kid know that? We chatted. I learned his nickname was "Bean." He said he was five. He claimed he lived at 28 Riverside Estates on Oak Avenue. He said he got lost walking home from school, met Mrs. Higgins, and she brought him here. I pulled out my phone and checked Google Maps. Oak Avenue existed, but it was currently a construction site for a future luxury development. No houses yet. A weird feeling settled in my stomach. "Bean," I asked cautiously. "What year is it?" Bean wobbled his head. "I know this one! Teacher said it's the Year of the Ox." Ox? I looked at the calendar on my desk. It was the Year of the Tiger. Holy cow. Bean traveled back from the future. Eight years, to be exact. I looked at the kid devouring ice cream. He did look familiar. Wait. Who did he say his father was again? Spencer Sterling. 2 At 3:00 AM, after finally getting the time-traveling toddler to sleep, I was tossing and turning. I looked at Bean, sleeping soundly, smacking his lips in a dream. Like possessed by a ghost, I opened WeChat and found my boss’s contact. Our chat history was a wall of business. Files, meeting minutes, schedules. I typed the message. "Do you want a baby?" Ten minutes later. "Meeting at 8:30 AM. Have the pitch deck ready." I looked at the text. I looked at the time. I gritted my teeth and got up to work for the capitalist machine. Serves him right for being single at thirty! Go marry your spreadsheets! 3 I pulled an all-nighter, handed the files to a colleague, and then asked the Boss for time off to drop Bean at a daycare near my apartment. I couldn't leave a five-year-old alone all day. When I finally got to the office, it was 10:30. Liam, a colleague, walked over. "Boss wants to see you." I nodded and walked to the CEO's office, clutching two binders. The door was closed. I could hear a woman’s voice inside. It sounded like an argument. I didn't knock. I just waited. Ten minutes later, the door swung open. Vanessa, the daughter of one of our board members, stormed out. She looked gorgeous but furious. "Miss Vanessa," I nodded. She glared at me like I was trash and stomped away. I waited two minutes, then walked in. Spencer Sterling was sitting behind his mahogany desk. Gold-rimmed glasses, black fountain pen, lips pressed into a thin line. He was reading a contract as if a beautiful woman hadn't just screamed at him. Stoic. Terrifying. He signed his name, looked up, and scanned me. "Are you free tomorrow night, Willow?" I ran a mental check of my schedule. "No plans." "Accompany me to a gala. Starts at 6:30, ends around 8:00." I nodded. I could pick Bean up, drop him home, and then go. He could handle two hours alone with an iPad. Spencer waved a hand, dismissing me. As I reached the door, I looked back. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sharp brows, clean jawline, slightly upturned eyes. When he looked down, his eyelashes were long and thick. Except for the cold expression... he looked exactly like Bean. Back at my desk, Lily, the office gossip, slid her chair over. "Did you hear? Vanessa came to beg him to take her to the gala." Spencer Sterling. Heir to the Sterling empire. Ivy League grad. Took over the company sophomore year. Stock price tripled. Handsome. Rich. Clean record. Every heiress in the city wanted a piece of him. But Spencer was an iceberg. Most girls gave up. But Vanessa was like a cockroach; she kept coming back. Since Spencer wouldn't crack, she took it out on us assistants. Specifically me. She was convinced I was the gatekeeper preventing her true love. 4 The next morning, I dropped Bean at daycare and swung by a clinic to drop off a DNA sample. I decided that if the results backed Bean’s story, I’d tell Spencer. Two heads are better than one, and his head is worth a billion dollars. He has a stake in this kid too. I left work early to pick up Bean, set him up with dinner, and got ready. The dress was from Spencer. Emerald green velvet, spaghetti straps. It made my skin look porcelain white. He even sent jewelry. A purple diamond necklace. The man had taste. When I walked out, Bean gasped. "Mommy! Are you going on a date with Daddy again?" He patted his chest. "You guys always try to ditch me for romance." He squinted at me. "Daddy picked that dress, didn't he? He always makes you look like a princess." My heart did a weird flip. I went downstairs. The company car was waiting. I opened the back door and froze. Spencer was already inside. "Get in," his cool voice commanded. I gathered my skirt and slid in. As I bent over, I felt his gaze. The neckline was draped. From his angle... he could see everything. I sat down and immediately covered my chest, my face burning. I wasn't wearing a bra, just adhesive covers. Spencer didn't react. He was typing on his laptop. But the atmosphere was thick. I noticed his PowerPoint slide hadn't changed in ten minutes. It was the title slide for a project I managed. I leaned over. "Is there an issue with the—AH!" A shadow darted across the road. The driver slammed the brakes and swerved. I was thrown sideways, straight toward Spencer. To avoid face-planting into his lap, I twisted my body. A strong hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. I crashed into his chest. One of his hands gripped my arm; the other wrapped firmly around my waist. The scent of sandalwood and expensive cologne filled my nose. I looked up. His jawline was inches away. "Stray cat," the driver announced, checking the mirror. "We didn't hit it." Spencer let go. I scrambled back to my side of the car, staring out the window at the dark trees, trying to ignore my heart hammering against my ribs. "You okay?" he asked. "Fine."
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