We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 124

Chapter 124

Ridley’s POV

I stepped back quietly before returning to the living room. Just as I

settled onto the worn mid–century sofa–an interesting vintage piece

that was clearly beneath my standards–thunder crashed outside,

followed immediately by sheets of rain hammering against the

building.

“Ridley, could you grab my shoes from the windowsill before they get

soaked?” Cedar called from the kitchen, her voice competing with the

sound of running water and sizzling pans.

I approached the window–clearly original to the 1920s walkup, with

metal tracks corroded by decades of Chicago winters. When I applied

pressure to the frame, it refused to budge. I pushed harder-

The ancient mechanism surrendered with a sharp crack as the frame

splintered.

Even I, Ridley Sterling, perpetually composed CEO of Sterling Design

Group, couldn’t suppress an internal curse.

This Wicker Park apartment was beyond salvaging. How could such

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substandard fenestration possibly withstand Lake Michigan’s weather

patterns? After retrieving her canvas shoes, I discovered the window

wouldn’t close at all anymore.

Wind drove rain through the opening, quickly saturating the small

balcony area. An unfamiliar sensation of culpability settled in my

chest.

Last time I visited, I’d managed to break a dozen of her vintage

plates. This time, I’d destroyed her window. At this rate, she’d issue a

restraining order.

Cedar’s POV

I moved efficiently around the kitchen, taking advantage of Ridley’s

absence to quickly study a sea bass recipe I’d found online before

adjusting the flame on the vintage gas range and getting to work.

Thirty minutes later, dinner was ready. Besides the newly attempted

fish dish, I’d prepared several comfort foods that presented well on

the mismatched plates I had left. I untied my apron and carried the

serving dishes from the kitchen, then froze at the sight before me.

The impeccable CEO of Sterling Design Group was using my ancient

mop on my water–damaged floors.

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Had hell frozen over?

“Ridley, what are you doing? Put that down–I can handle my own

maintenance issues.”

I hurried forward, not noticing the water covering the worn

hardwood. My feet slipped beneath me.

The world tilted as I lost balance. Ridley abandoned the mop and

lunged toward me, catching me in his arms as we tumbled onto the

sofa together.

I found myself pinned beneath him, his weight partially supported by

one arm braced beside my head. Our faces were barely two inches

apart. I could see the perfect symmetry of his features, the impossible

depth in his dark eyes that somehow reflected my startled expression.

Thump! Thump! My heart hammered against my ribs.

I quickly raised my hand to his chest, intending to create distance

between us. My palm landed directly over his heart, which beat with

surprising force, each pulse resonating through my fingers.

I hastily moved my hand lower.

“Touching my chest wasn’t enough? Where exactly are you planning

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to explore next?” His cool voice sent electricity through me.

Looking down, I realized my hand had somehow drifted to his

abdomen, dangerously close to his designer belt.

I snatched my hand back. “I–you–just get up!”

Ducking beneath his arm, I scrambled away, desperate to change the

subject. “Why is there water everywhere…”

That’s when I felt the cold breeze. Looking over, I saw the curtains billowing wildly as rain poured through the broken window. At least half an inch of water had accumulated on the small balcony and was steadily flowing toward the living room with its thrifted rug and fabric furniture. If it reached them, the damage would be

catastrophic.

I stared at him in disbelief. “Ridley, did you–did you actually

demolish my window?”

He stood with perfect posture, not even bothering to adjust his

expression as he replied flatly, “It broke itself.”

Those dismissive words ignited my anger. No wonder the high–and-

mighty CEO had suddenly stooped to handling a mop.

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I wanted to push him out through the very window he’d broken. My

rental was compromised! I’d never get my security deposit back now. I

was absolutely livid.

Ridley glanced at me surreptitiously, then cleared his throat. “It’s a

minor structural issue. Nothing to warrant distress. Let’s eat.”

Eat? I was tempted to upend the entire casserole over his perfectly

styled hair!

Taking a deep breath, I managed to say, “Please start without me. I

need to mitigate the water damage.”

Otherwise, when the moisture warped the hardwood and mildewed

the drywall, I’d be paying my landlord for repairs out of my hard-

earned house fund.

The early summer storm passed as quickly as it had arrived. Though

the balcony was a disaster zone, the damage was containable, which

helped cool my temper somewhat.

I sat down at the table, filled a bowl with some food, and walked

toward the guest bedroom. I knocked gently. “Oliver? Are you asleep?”

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No response came from within.

I returned to the dining area with the bowl still in hand.

“If I were in your position,” Ridley said evenly, “I’d take him to the

hospital immediately.”

“But you’re not in my position, so it’s not your decision,” I replied

sharply.

He broke my window, and now he has the nerve to tell me how to

raise my child?

If he weren’t essentially controlling my career trajectory, I wouldn’t

be so restrained. Professional matters were one thing, but I certainly

wasn’t taking parenting advice from him.

“Some minor viral infections don’t require medical intervention, I continued firmly, “The body’s immune system will address the pathogen naturally. You’re being too anxious. I know how to take care

of him–he just needs some rest.”

Ridley’s sculpted lips curved into something between a smile and a

smirk.

“A cold may seem inconsequential,” he said with clinical detachment,

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“but when neglected, it can develop into pneumonia or myocarditis. Some children experience respiratory compromise during sleep when congested, which could lead to sleep apnea or even respiratory arrest, resulting in irreversible outcomes…”

“Don’t invoke those possibilities with my child!” My face blanched at

his words.

When Oliver had spoken earlier, his voice was nasally, his nasal

passages obviously congested. If his breathing was obstructed and he

couldn’t get air through his nose… if he didn’t instinctively open his

mouth… would he suffocate?

Unable to contain my anxiety any longer, I abandoned my utensils

and rushed to the guest bedroom.

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