CHAPTER 2: Three Lines on a Stick
1075 Words
REMI'S POV
I stared at the three pregnancy tests lined up on my bathroom counter like glaring harder would change the result.
It didn't.
All three. Two pink lines. Positive. Pregnant.
I sat down on the bathroom floor — cold tile, slightly gross, because my apartment was a dump — and tried to breathe through the panic spreading through my chest like ink in water.
Two months ago I'd had a boyfriend, a best friend, a place in my pack, and a stable — if low-paying — job waitressing at The Sunrise Diner. Now I had none of those things, plus a baby on the way from a one-night stand with a billionaire who didn't know my last name.
Twenty-four years old. Three months pregnant. Completely alone.
My phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer.
"Hello?"
"Is this Remi Cole?" A woman's voice. Crisp. Professional.
"Yes."
"Margaret Chen from Wolfe Enterprises. Mr. Wolfe is looking for a new executive assistant. Your name came up in our candidate search. Are you available for an interview tomorrow at nine AM?"
I blinked. "I never applied for that position."
"Nevertheless. Mr. Wolfe would like to meet with you. Are you available?"
I looked at the eviction notice on my kitchen counter. My nearly empty bank account on my phone screen. The three positive pregnancy tests.
"Yes," I heard myself say. "I'll be there."
"Nine AM sharp. Mr. Wolfe does not tolerate tardiness." She rattled off an address and hung up before I could ask anything.
I sat on my cold bathroom floor for a long moment.
Dax Wolfe wanted to interview me.
The father of my unborn child, who didn't know I existed beyond a one-night stand two months ago, wanted to hire me as his executive assistant.
"This," I said to the empty apartment, "is going to be a disaster."
The next morning I stood outside Wolfe Tower at 8:45 AM in my only professional outfit — a thrift-store blazer and shoes with a scuff I'd hidden with a Sharpie — and tried to convince myself this was survivable.
Sixty floors of black glass and steel designed specifically to make people feel small. Everyone walking through the revolving doors looked expensive, important, like they belonged in a world of power suits and corporate dominance.
I absolutely did not belong. I was also three months pregnant with the CEO's baby, which seemed like the kind of thing that should disqualify someone from a job interview.
I went in anyway, because I had forty-seven dollars in my checking account and an eviction notice on my door.
The lobby was all marble and modern art. The receptionist checked my name and handed me a visitor badge. "Fifty-eighth floor. Ms. Chen will meet you at the elevator."
The elevator ride felt like ascending to a sentencing hearing.
A woman in her forties was waiting on fifty-eight. Sharp eyes, impeccable suit, the posture of someone accustomed to making decisions. She didn't smile. "Miss Cole. I'm Margaret Chen. Follow me."
We walked through glass offices. Everyone inside worked with the focused tension of people who feared disappointing someone. Every face I passed looked caffeinated and slightly stressed.
"Mr. Wolfe's last three assistants quit without notice," Margaret said without breaking stride. "The position requires resilience, discretion, and a very thick skin."
"What happened to them?"
"He happened to them." She stopped outside massive double doors. "Wait here."
Through the crack in the door, I could hear Dax's voice — rapid Mandarin, sharp-edged, clearly winning whatever argument was happening on the other end of the line.
My hands were sweating. I had a brief, vivid fantasy of just leaving. Walking back to the elevator. Pretending none of this had happened.
The doors opened. Margaret gestured. "He'll see you now."
I stepped into the most intimidating office I'd ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Sleek furniture in blacks and grays. The kind of space that communicated power without saying a single word.
And behind a massive desk, his back to me, still on the phone —
Dax.
He was broader than I remembered. Stiller. He had the contained quality of someone who'd learned to conserve movement because everything he did was watched.
Then he turned. Our eyes met.
His expression went completely neutral. Professionally blank. The recognition was there for exactly half a second — I saw it — and then it was gone.
"I'll call you back," he said into the phone. Hung up without waiting for a response.
Silence.
"Miss Cole," he said. "Sit down."
I made it to the chair across from his desk without tripping. Barely.
"Mr. Wolfe."
"I see you remember me."
"Hard to forget."
No warmth in the acknowledgment. He picked up a folder, flipped it open. All business. "The position pays two hundred thousand a year. Benefits, signing bonus. You'd start Monday."
My jaw dropped before I could stop it. "Two hundred thousand —"
"Is that a problem?"
"That's more money than I've made in my entire life."
"Then accept." He stood and came around the desk — not to comfort, just to close the distance between negotiating parties. Up close, he was even more imposing than I remembered. The warmth I'd glimpsed at The Apex was absent. This was the Forbes version. "Unless you have somewhere better to be."
I thought about my eviction notice. My three positive pregnancy tests still sitting on the bathroom counter because I hadn't been able to bring myself to throw them away.
"No," I said. "I don't."
"Then we have a deal." He extended his hand.
I stared at it. Knowing that the moment I took it, everything would get exponentially more complicated. Knowing I was making a choice I couldn't unmake.
I also knew I had forty-seven dollars and a baby coming in six months.
I took his hand. The handshake was brief, firm, completely professional. The electricity was still there — I felt it shoot up my arm — but his expression didn't change by a fraction.
"Margaret will handle the paperwork. Don't be late Monday."
Dismissed. Completely and efficiently.
I was almost at the door when he spoke again.
"Miss Cole."
I turned.
He was looking at his monitor. "Try not to disappoint me."
No warmth. No nickname. No acknowledgment that we'd ever existed to each other outside this office. Just a directive delivered to a new employee.
I told myself that was a relief. I was almost convinced.
- Writer
