We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Albert’s Perspective

I spotted Mr. Sterling emerging from Cedar’s office. He walked slowly, his long fingers absently tracing along his jawline as his gaze drifted somewhere in the distance. There was something that looked almost like a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

I approached cautiously. “Mr. Sterling, there you are.” He turned slightly, the afternoon light catching the sharp angles of his face. A subtle smile played at the corner of his lips, the kind that never quite revealed what he was thinking.

“Thomas Coleman just confirmed his reassignment to Regional GM in Milwaukee,” I said, consulting my tablet. “About the executive position at Nest Design–are we headhunting externally or promoting internally?”

His eyes fixed on mine with unsettling intensity. “I’ll take the position myself.”

I nearly dropped my tablet. “You… what? You’re going to run Nest Design personally?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Albert?” His voice was calm but carried that unmistakable edge that made even veteran executives squirm.

“No, sir.” I struggled to maintain my composure. The CEO of Sterling Group stepping down to manage a subsidiary? Unheard of.

Unfathomable. Unless…

My eyes caught the faint scratch on his jaw. And Mr. Sterling has just walked out of Cedar’s office with a smile? The pieces suddenly

clicked together in my mind.

It must be related to her.

My mind instantly conjured a scandalous scene–Mr. Sterling attempting to kiss Cedar, only to have her slap that perfect jawline in self-

defense!

So that’s why he was demoting himself to run Nest Design–he was pursuing Cedar Wright!

I’d worked for Mr. Sterling for eight years, and I’d never seen him pursue a woman. Not once. Yet here he was, stooping to personally

oversee a subsidiary company just to get closer to her.

“Send out the announcement immediately,” he instructed, straightening his already perfect tie. “And Albert?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Cancel my dinner with the Langford Foundation tomorrow. I have other plans.”

As I watched him stride purposefully toward the elevator, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering–what exactly did Cedar possess that could transform Mr. Sterling this way?

1/4

9:44 Thu, Nov 6 B

Chapter 62

Cedar’s POV

96

I stared at my computer screen in disbelief, reading the company–wide email for the third time.

Effective immediately, Ridley Sterling will assume direct executive control of Nest Design…

Ridley Sterling–would be my direct supervisor? I felt my stomach drop. How could this be happening? With him as my boss, I’d never escape from under his thumb,

Why this sudden change? Couldn’t I just resign from my design director position?

But… no. That wasn’t realistic. I needed the money–desperately needed it. The $150,000 salary was enough to make me swallow my pride. The mortgage payments, the loans, the mounting bills–they wouldn’t pay themselves.

I sighed, closing the email. I’d just have to endure it for now. When it became truly unbearable, I could always quit and find something else. But until then, I needed this job too much to walk away.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of anxiety and dread. By six, I was more than ready to escape to my Wicker Park apartment and the one bright spot in my otherwise chaotic life.

“Mommy, this is the best spaghetti in the universe!” Oliver exclaimed, marinara sauce decorating his cherubic face like abstract

expressionism.

I laughed, reaching across our small dining table to wipe his cheek with a napkin. “Easy there, Jackson Pollock. The food goes in your

mouth, not on your face.”

“Who’s Jackson Pollock?” His big blue eyes–so like his father’s–widened with curiosity.

“A famous artist who splattered paint everywhere. Just like you’re doing with that sauce.”

Oliver giggled, twirling another impossibly large forkful of pasta. “I don’t wanna stop staying with you,” he said suddenly, his voice dropping to that small, vulnerable register that always broke my heart.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “What do you mean, sweetie?”

He set his fork down, eyes fixed on his plate. “Daddy called. He wants me to come home.”

Though I’d been expecting this moment, the pain was still sharp. Ten magical days with this little boy had somehow healed places in me I

hadn’t known were broken.

“Well,” I said carefully, “your daddy must miss you very much.”

“But I don’t wanna go!” His lower lip quivered. “You make the best food and tell the best stories and you don’t get mad when I spill

2/4

Chapter 62

things!”

I moved to his side of the table, kneeling beside his chair. “Oliver, your daddy loves you. Just in a different way.”

His shoulders slumped in resignation. “Maybe just for one night? Then I can come back?”

I brushed his unruly brown curls from his forehead. “We’ll see each other again, I promise. And you know what? I’m going to send a little

gift for your daddy with you.”

Oliver’s head snapped up, his expression suddenly alarmed. “A gift? For Daddy? No, that’s–that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? I want to thank him for letting me spend time with you. Maybe a nice thank–you note and something he might like?”

“He doesn’t like things,” Oliver said quickly. “He’s very… particular.”

I smiled, not catching the panic in his eyes. “Everyone likes thoughtful gifts, sweetie. And I’d really like to meet him properly, to thank

him in person.”

Oliver’s face paled visibly. “Meet him? No, no, no. He’s very busy. Super busy.”

His exaggerated protest made me laugh, though I couldn’t understand his reluctance.

Oliver had mentioned his father “didn’t want” him, but I could only take that claim with a grain of salt. The boy was clearly well–fed, with round, healthy cheeks that showed he was well cared for. “Not wanting” was almost certainly an exaggeration–though I suspected there

might be some emotional distance or coldness at home.

I loved Oliver deeply, even after this short time together. All I wanted was for him to grow up in a home filled with warmth and affection.

That’s why sending a gift to his father felt so important. A thoughtful present accompanied by a heartfelt note might help break the ice. Perhaps I could gently suggest ways to connect with this sensitive little boy who clearly craved attention and affection.

Yes, that’s exactly what I would do. A gift and a letter–nothing intrusive, just a bridge between two adults who both cared about Oliver’s

wellbeing.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “Now, how about some ice cream?”

Oliver bounced excitedly in his seat, instantly distracted by the promise of dessert.

We Want Mommy, Not You, Daddy!