We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ridley’s POV

I strode purposefully toward the executive suite on the top floor of the Preston Hotel. Tonight’s meeting with the Evans Group would finalize months of negotiation, though my mind was already on the next three projects in Sterling Design’s pipeline.

As I rounded the corner toward the elevator bank, a small figure darted behind a large potted plant. The glimpse was brief–just a flash of a small figure and

a familiar grey sweatshirt.

Oliver?

I paused, scanning the lobby. Nothing. Oliver should be at his outdoor exploration camp, not downtown Chicago. I must have been mistaken, though that

silhouette had been remarkably similar to my youngest son’s.

The elevator arrived, and I pushed the troubling thought aside. Business first.

The brief meeting with the Evans Group was drawing to a close. We had covered the essential points, and I was preparing my concluding remarks when a

knock at the door interrupted us. A security guard stood in the doorway, his expression signaling urgency.

“Mr. Sterling, may I have a word?”

I glanced at the Evans representatives. “Gentlemen, I believe we’ve addressed the key points. My team will draft the agreements for your review by Monday.”

After efficiently ushering them out with practiced courtesy, I turned to the security guard in the now–empty room. He lowered his voice. “Sir, we thought we have seen young Master Oliver in this hotel.”

A cold certainty settled in my chest. I had been right.

“Is he alone?”

‘Yes, sir. He appears to be moving near Suite 412.”

I nodded sharply. “Take me there.”

As we descended in the elevator, irritation tightened my jaw. Oliver had been testing boundaries lately, but this was beyond acceptable.

“Has he entered any rooms?” I asked.

“Not that we’ve seen, sir, but there’s been some… unusual activity in Suite 412.

‘Elaborate.

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “The General Manager of Wilson Group booked the suite. Our staff reported hearing disturbances. When they inquired, Mr. Brad Wilson insisted everything was fine.”

We approached Suite 412, and the sounds became immediately apparent—a woman’s muffled protest, a man’s aggressive tone. Without hesitation, I rapped sharply on the door.

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Chapter 10

“Get lost! Brad Wilson’s slurred voice shouted. ‘I said no interruptions!

I knocked again, harder this time. When no response came, I turned to the security guard. ‘Open it.”

He hesitated. “Sir, we don’t have-

“This is my hotel,‘ I said coldly. “Override the lock. Now.”

The electronic lock disengaged, and I pushed the door open.

The suite was in disarray–furniture displaced, empty glasses scattered. Brad Wilson stood in the center, hastily tucking in his shirt, his face flushed with

alcohol and adrenaline.

My eyes quickly searched for Oliver, finding no trace of my son.

Instead, in the far corner, I saw her–the woman from yesterday’s collision at the design show. Her blouse was torn open, and her hair was disheveled.

“Mr. Sterling, Wilson sputtered, suddenly pale. “This isn’t-”

“Get him out,” I ordered, my voice deadly quiet. “And inform the Wilson Group that all collaborations with Sterling are terminated, effective immediately.”

The security team moved quickly, flanking Wilson, who attempted justification.

“Mr. Sterling… This was just a misunderstanding—”

“If you stay here any longer, not only will Sterling Group stop working with Wilson,” I cut him off, “but I’ll personally ensure every major developer in

Chicago knows exactly why.” I stepped closer. “Now get out of my hotel.”

Wilson’s face contorted with anger, but self–preservation won out. As security escorted him out, I instructed them to permanently revoke his access.

With Wilson removed, I turned my attention to the woman. She remained in the corner, arms wrapped protectively around herself, eyes wide with residual

fear and uncertainty. Something twisted uncomfortably in my chest at her vulnerability.

I remembered how my heart had skipped when I first saw her. Something about her felt different from the wealthy socialites I’d grown to despise. And the

subtle fragrance when she bumped into me, the feel of her waist when I steadied her–these sensations lingered. In eight years, she was the first woman who

hadn’t repelled me, though I couldn’t understand why.

I slowly approached her, my eyes falling to the exposed skin below her collarbone where her blouse had been torn.

She looked at me like a frightened animal, her voice trembling as she said, “Mr. Sterling…”

Coming back to my senses, I removed my suit jacket. She stepped back slightly in fear. I held the jacket out to her.

‘Ms. Wright, correct?” I kept my voice deliberately neutral.

She nodded once, her gaze still wary.

I held out my jacket. “For coverage.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it, slipping her arms into the sleeves that dwarfed her small frame. The sight stirred something unexpected–a protective instinct I rarely experienced outside of interactions with my children.

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Chapter 10

“Are you injured?” I asked, clinically assessing her condition.

“No.” Her voice was steady despite everything, which I found oddly impressive. Thank you for intervening.”

I nodded, maintaining distance. “Why are you here?‘

‘I was scheduled to meet with Emily Parker, Wilson Group’s design liaison. Her eyes flashed with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. I had no idea it

would be… him instead.”

I studied her face, searching for deception but finding none. “And my son? Have you seen a small boy, about six?”

Confusion crossed her features. “No, I haven’t seen any children here.”

I frowned, glancing around the suite again. Where was Oliver then?

“I should go,” she said quietly, beginning to remove my jacket.

“Keep it for now.” The words left my mouth before I could analyze them. I reached out, my fingers circling her wrist to stop her movement. The contact sent

an unexpected current through my palm.

She froze, looking down at where my hand touched her skin, then up to my face. Something passed between us–recognition, perhaps, or some deeper

connection I couldn’t name and didn’t welcome.

I released her wrist immediately, disturbed by my own reaction. “Security will ensure you reach your destination safely.”

For a moment, we stood in charged silence. I found my gaze lingering on her, noticing that despite her shock, her tightly pressed lips and the line of her jaw

revealed a stubborn refusal to surrender.

“Mr. Sterling?” Her voice stopped me. “Thank you again.”

I nodded once without turning, unwilling to examine why her gratitude affected me. “Security will assist you, Ms. Wright.”

As I stepped into the hallway, I was struck by the bizarre realization that I still needed to locate my wayward son. Still, part of my mind remained fixed on the woman in the suite behind me a woman I’d encountered four times in as many days, most times in unusual circumstances.

I didn’t believe in coincidences. And I certainly didn’t believe in instant connections with strangers.

So why did I feel as though I’d known Cedar Wright far longer than our brief encounters would suggest?

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