My Accidental Baby With The CEO

--- - I Needed The Job, Not The Boss_ _ "Sir, your 9am interview is here." The receptionist’s voice crackled through the intercom. I was already sweating through my only black dress. The zipper at the back was barely holding on with a safety pin. My heels were borrowed from my neighbor and they pinched so bad my toes were numb. My name is Isabella Peterson. *I’m 26. A single mum.* I have ₦1,200 in my account, a 6-year-old daughter named Jasmine sleeping at my neighbor’s house, and a dad in St. Mary’s Hospital who needs ₦3 million surgery or he’ll die before the end of the week. And a stepmother who changed the locks on our house this morning with all our things inside. I did this for Jasmine. For dad. If I didn’t get this job today, we were finished. The elevator at Moore Global opened with a soft ding. 50th floor. Glass walls. Cold AC that smelled like money and power. The receptionist didn’t even look up from her nails. "Conference Room A. CEO is interviewing personally." CEO? I applied for secretary. Entry level. ₦120k a month would have been a blessing. "Is it Caleb Moore?" I whispered. "Yes. Don’t waste his time. He hates lateness. And he hates single mums with excuses." My stomach dropped. Caleb Moore. Owner of Moore Global. Owner of The Velvet Bar. Half the buildings in Lagos had his name on them. Twitter called him "Cold, rich, and dangerous." i********: called him "unmarriageable." I called him my last hope. The door to Conference Room A was heavy. Dark wood. When I pushed it open, the air inside felt 10 degrees colder. He was sitting at the head of the table. Six feet. Black tailored suit. No tie. Sleeves rolled up to show a watch that probably cost more than my rent for 5 years. No smile. Eyes like ice that cut straight through me. "Miss Peterson?" he asked without looking up from his phone. "Yes sir. I’m here for the secretary position." My voice shook. He finally looked up. And his pen stopped moving. His eyes narrowed. Dark brown. Sharp. Like he was seeing a ghost. For one second, I thought he recognized me. But that was impossible. I was 19 and stupid 7 years ago. "Experience?" "2 years. PA to a law firm in Ikeja. And I’m... a *26 year old single mum*, sir. I’m very desperate." The word slipped out before I could stop it. "Good," he said. "Desperate people work harder. They don’t complain. Especially mothers." He slid a thick contract across the glass table. _Salary: ₦800,000/month_ _Benefits: Health, Housing Allowance_ _Other duties: As assigned_ Other duties?? My heart hammered. ₦800k. That was more than I made in a year. That was dad’s surgery. That was Jasmine’s school fees and rent. "Sign. Start today." My phone buzzed in my bag. Hospital number. I ignored it. If I looked, I’d cry. I picked up the pen with trembling hands and signed my name: _Isabella Peterson._ "Thank you sir. I won’t disappoint you." Caleb stood. He was even taller standing. He walked around the table and stopped right in front of me. I could smell his cologne. Expensive. Clean. Dangerous. "One more thing, Isabella." He said my name slowly, like he was testing it. "Tonight. 10pm. The Velvet Bar. My personal bar." "You’ll work there too." My stomach dropped to my feet. "Work... as what sir?" He tilted his head. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "You’ll see." _Why did Caleb look at me like he knew me... and what job did he mean at the bar?_ _TO BE CONTINUED..._ ---