We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 67

Cedar’s POV

The air conditioning in Ridley’s office was fierce. Goosebumps rose on my arms the moment I stepped inside. I stood a good thirty feet from his desk, not wanting to get too close.

“Mr. Sterling,” I said softly.

Ridley released his grip on his Mont Blanc pen and looked up. His piercing gaze took in my casual attire–dark jeans and a simple cream blouse–a stark contrast to my usual professional wardrobe. I felt exposed somehow, vulnerable without my armor of tailored blazers and

structured dresses.

His lips pressed into a tight line. “Why are you standing so far away? Afraid I’ll bite?”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Wasn’t that exactly what I was afraid of? This man was unpredictable, operating by rules I couldn’t begin to comprehend. He consistently knocked me off–balance, and I was simply no match for him.

“I spent the day at Navy Pier with my-” I caught myself before mentioning Oliver. “I’m a bit sweaty from walking around all day. I thought I’d spare you the discomfort.”

His dark eyes studied me with amusement. “Aren’t you a bit old for amusement parks, Ms. Wright?”

“Is there an age limit on fun I wasn’t aware of?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I quickly redirected, “About the issues

you mentioned–how serious is it?”

“Come see for yourself.” He tossed a folder onto the edge of his desk.

Great. So much for maintaining a safe distance.

I walked forward and picked up the folder, flipping it open to scan its contents. The design department had been rushing to prepare for the upcoming Lake Shore Drive showcase in less than two weeks. In their haste, they’d mismatched client specifications with room renderings, and several key material sourcing details were incomplete. A small error on paper, but one that could derail multiple high-

profile projects and damage our reputation with Chicago’s elite design community.

“This is serious,” I admitted, my expression sobering. “I’ll correct these tonight and ensure it doesn’t impact the event timeline.”

“I need these client profiles now. You’ll work here.” He gestured to a side desk near his own.

I froze. Work in his office? At night? Just the two of us?

His mouth curled into a cold smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Wright. You’re hardly my type.”

The insult stung more than it should have. I clutched the folder tighter, swallowing my retort. He was my boss, after all. My very

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Chapter 67

intimidating, impossible–to–please boss.

I settled at the desk and began cross–referencing the client specifications with our design plans. This was fundamental design coordination work, typically handled by junior designers and then reviewed by project leads before reaching me. I hadn’t had time to

check this particular portfolio that had been compiled late Friday. My oversight, ultimately.

As I worked, I felt a gaze burning into me. Looking up suddenly, I caught Ridley watching me, his expression unguarded for once. When our eyes met, something flickered across his face–embarrassment? That couldn’t be right.

He cleared his throat. “How are the showcase preparations coming along?”

I instinctively straightened my posture, switching to professional mode. “All the major design elements are finalized. Next week, we’ll confirm material selections with key clients. About the featured designer collaboration–I was planning to discuss options with you on

Monday, but since we’re here now…”

I outlined my thoughts on finding a collaborator who could complement our aesthetic vision for the showcase–perhaps a respected furniture artisan or an innovative textile designer whose work would elevate our interior spaces and resonate with Chicago’s design

community.

While I spoke, I noticed his attention wasn’t on my words. His dark eyes were fixed on mine with an intensity that made me nervous.

“Have we met before?” he asked abruptly.

“Excuse me?”

“Before the hotel. Somewhere else.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Sterling.” My voice sounded strained even to my own ears. “Our first meeting was at The Drake, when you… helped

me with that situation.”

“No. Earlier.” His gaze intensified. “Something about you seems familiar.”

The conversation was veering into dangerous territory. I cleared my throat, trying to steer us back to business when suddenly-

“Waaaah!”

A child’s cry echoed from the hallway, slicing through the tension in the room.

“Mr. Sterling, did you hear that? There’s a child crying outside.” I was already half out of my chair, grateful for the interruption.