We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Cedar’s POV

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of my modest apartment as I finished buttoning my silk blouse. Hunter had arrived precisely at seven, his punctuality a trait I’d come to appreciate during these past few weeks. Oliver sat cross–legged on the living room rug, still in his pajamas, carefully arranging his collection of miniature architectural models–gifts from Hunter that had quickly become his treasures.

“Hunter, thank you again for coming on such short notice,” I said, gathering my portfolio and the paper bag containing Ridley’s dry cleaned suit. “Oliver’s been having some bad dreams lately. If he seems upset…”

Hunter nodded, his expression reassuring. I understand, Ms. Wright. We’ll have a good day together.”

Ill be extra good, Mommy,” Oliver promised, looking up from his models with those earnest blue eyes that never failed to melt my heart. And I’ll finish all

my lessons.”

1 knelt down, brushing his soft curls from his forehead. “I know you will, sweetheart. You’re my perfect little man.”

His small arms wrapped around my neck, and I breathed in the clean, soapy scent of his hair. These moments–these simple, perfect moments–still felt like

miracles to me.

As I stood to leave, my fingers tightened around the paper bag containing Ridley’s suit.

Today, I would finally free myself of this lingering obligation to Chicago’s most intimidating businessman.

The design floor at Nest Design buzzed with activity as I finished reviewing concept boards for a residential project. My team had produced excellent work,

and I’d spent the morning offering feedback and direction. Now, it was time for the more delicate part of my day.

I made my way to Thomas Coleman’s office, knocking lightly on his open door. “Thomas? Do you have a moment?”

He looked up from his computer, and something in his expression shifted–a subtle straightening of his posture, a careful arrangement of his features into

professional deference that seemed oddly exaggerated.

“Cedar! Of course, please come in,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if Mr. Sterling is in the building today,‘ I said, trying to sound casual. “I need to return something to him.”

Thomas’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Mr. Ridley Sterling? No, he’s at Sterling headquarters today. But Young Master Aiden is here, actually. He’s been spending time in the executive suite, learning the business.” He paused, studying me. “Is there something I can help you with instead?”

I shook my head. “It’s a personal matter. Thank you, though.”

As I turned to leave, I noticed something strange in Thomas’s demeanor–a certain deference I hadn’t seen before. It was as if I were someone to be handled with particular care.

Walking back through the design department, I caught fragments of whispered conversations that abruptly halted as I passed.

…did you see her going into Coleman’s office with that fancy bag…”

…Coleman practically trips over himself when she walks in…”

4:00 pm

Chapter 39

…must be gifts we’re not seeing. She must have gotten that position through connections or bribes…”

I kept my eyes forward, my expression neutral, though I felt heat creeping up my neck. Office politics weren’t new to me, but being at the center of gossip

certainly was.

“Hey, Cedar!” Melissa’s voice rang out, deliberately loud enough for the entire department to hear. “Some of us were wondering what’s your secret to getting such special treatment from management? Especially for someone without the traditional qualifications.”

The room fell silent. I turned slowly, meeting her smug gaze with a level one of my own.

I believe my work speaks for itself, Melissa,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “If you have questions about my qualifications, you’re welcome to review the project presentation I submitted.”

I could have explained more to defend myself. But I’d learned long ago that when people are determined to think the worst, explanations only feed the fire,

The elevator to the executive floor moved with silent efficiency, its polished brass interior reflecting my nervous expression back at me. The paper bag containing Ridley’s suit felt heavier with each passing floor. Was I overstepping by coming here? Perhaps I should have just mailed it.

When the doors opened, I stepped into a hushed corridor of power. Every surface was either gleaming glass or rich walnut, the carpet so thick it absorbed all sound.

I approached what appeared to be the main office, its door slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Aiden, seated at a desk sized for an adult. Despite his small stature, he commanded the space with an authority that was uncanny in its miniature resemblance to his father’s.

Just two days ago, he was sitting at my kitchen table, eating with Oliver and me over dinner–shy, sweet, just like a regular kid. Now here he stands like a

tiny CEO in training.

“Mr. Parker,” Aiden’s clear voice carried through the gap, addressing someone I couldn’t see, “you’ve flagged a new design director’s compensation package as

exceeding industry standards.”

1 froze, my heart suddenly pounding.

“Yes, Young Master Aiden,” replied a man with a crisp British accent–likely the financial advisor. “It’s significantly above our standard rate for design directors. I thought perhaps there was an error in processing.”

“Let me have a check.‘ He seemed to be reviewing documents on his desk. “Ah, this is Cedar Wright. I remember her portfolio.

“But sir, her credentials, while respectable, don’t justify such an outlier in our compensation structure,” Parker persisted.

“If I may remind you, Mr. Parker, Aiden replied with unexpected firmness, “I personally approved this package when Mr. Coleman presented it. Ms. Wright’s innovative approach demonstrated value beyond standard metrics. Her spatial concepts alone justified the compensation.”

There was a pause, and I held my breath.

“This matter is settled,‘ Aiden concluded. “The agreed compensation stands. That will be all, Mr. Parker.”

My mind reeled. Aiden–a six–year–old child–had approved my salary? And apparently at a rate far above normal? None of this made sense.

Before I could process this information, the door swung open fully, and I found myself face–to–face with Aiden.

2/3

We Want Mommy, Not You, Daddy!

Chapter 40