THE LOST VALENTINE

CHAPTER 2

Olivia's POV

The pregnancy test sat on my bathroom counter like a bomb waiting to explode.

Pregnant.

I was pregnant with a stranger's baby. A stranger whose name I didn't even know. Whose face I could barely remember through the haze of alcohol and heartbreak.

That was a lie. I remembered every detail. The way his hands felt on my skin. The roughness of his voice. The intensity in his dark eyes as he looked at me like I was something precious.

"This can't be happening," I whispered to my reflection.

But the test didn't care about my denial. Two pink lines. Clear as day.

My phone buzzed. Another message from Marcus. He'd been texting non-stop since the engagement party. Apparently, humiliating me publicly wasn't enough. He wanted closure. To make sure I understood why Sienna was better.

I blocked his number and threw my phone on the bed.

My savings account had exactly two thousand three hundred dollars in it. Enough for maybe two months of rent and food. Not nearly enough to raise a baby alone.

I needed a job. Fast.

My laptop was still open to the job search sites I'd been scrolling through for weeks. Nothing. Everything required experience I didn't have or degrees I couldn't afford.

Then I saw it.

Executive Assistant position. Pearson Industries. Salary that made my eyes water. Benefits. Health insurance.

Pearson.

The name triggered something in my memory. The hotel where I'd spent that night. The Pearson Hotel. Was it the same family?

I clicked on the posting before I could talk myself out of it. The requirements were steep. Five years experience preferred. Advanced degree a plus. Discretion absolutely mandatory.

I had none of those things. But I was desperate. And desperate people did desperate things.

I updated my resume, stretching the truth about my responsibilities at my last job. Sent it off before I could overthink it.

The response came thirty minutes later.

Interview scheduled for tomorrow. Nine AM sharp. Pearson Industries headquarters. Ask for Mr. Pearson's office.

My hands shook as I typed back confirmation.

This was insane. I wasn't qualified. I'd never even been inside a building like Pearson Industries. But I needed this job. Needed it more than I'd ever needed anything.

I spent the rest of the day practicing interview questions in the mirror and praying to anyone who'd listen that I wouldn't completely embarrass myself.

---

Pearson Industries occupied a gleaming tower in the financial district. The kind of building that made you feel small just looking at it.

I walked through the marble lobby in my best suit, a navy blue number from three years ago that still fit. Barely. My stomach had started to swell. Just a little. Enough that I had to leave the button undone under my jacket.

Security directed me to the top floor. Private elevator. Key card access only.

The elevator doors opened directly into a reception area that looked like something out of a magazine. Floor to ceiling windows. Modern art. Furniture that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.

A woman sat behind a massive desk, her blonde hair pulled into a perfect bun. She looked me up and down with barely concealed contempt.

"You must be the nine o'clock," she said. Not a question.

"Yes. Olivia Morgan. I'm here to interview for the executive assistant position."

"Have a seat. Mr. Pearson is running behind."

I perched on one of the uncomfortable modern chairs and tried not to fidget. Other candidates came and went. All of them looked more qualified than me. More polished. More everything.

An hour passed. Then two.

I was about to give up when the blonde receptionist's phone buzzed.

"He'll see you now." She pointed to the double doors behind her desk. "Through there. Don't waste his time."

I stood on shaking legs and walked toward those doors. This was it. My one shot.

I knocked. Waited.

"Come in."

That voice.

Deep. Rough. Familiar.

No. It couldn't be.

I pushed open the door and stepped into an office that was bigger than my entire apartment. Bookcases. A sitting area. Windows overlooking the entire city.

And behind a massive desk, the man from the hotel.

He looked up from his computer, and our eyes met.

Recognition flashed across his face. Then something else. Something dark and hungry.

"Close the door," he said quietly.

I did, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he came around the desk. Taller than I remembered. More intimidating in the daylight. Power rolled off him in waves.

"Olivia Morgan," he said, reading from the folder in his hand. My resume. "You applied for the executive assistant position."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. This was him. The stranger. The father of my baby.

"I didn't know," I finally managed. "I didn't know it was you."

"Clearly." He set the folder down and leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "This is unexpected."

"I can go. I shouldn't have come. I didn't realize you worked here. I mean, obviously you work here, it's your company, but I didn't connect the name to the hotel and this is such a mistake and I'm just going to leave now."

I turned toward the door.

"Stop."

The command in his voice froze me in place.

"Turn around."

I did, slowly.

He studied me with those intense dark eyes, and I felt naked under his gaze. Like he could see right through my cheap suit to all my secrets.

"You need this job," he said. Not a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Because I'm pregnant with your baby and I have no money and nowhere else to go.

"Because I'm qualified and I'm a hard worker and I won't let you down."

His mouth curved into something that might have been a smile. "You're a terrible liar."

"I really need this job," I whispered.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. The same scent from that night.

"Do you remember that night?" he asked softly.

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Yes."

"Every detail?"

"Yes."

His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw in a touch so light it might have been my imagination. "So do I."

My breath caught. This was wrong. Inappropriate. He was interviewing me for a job. We couldn't do this.

But my body didn't care about should and shouldn't. It remembered his hands. His mouth. The way he'd made me forget my own name.

"Mr. Pearson," I started.

"Harvey," he corrected. "You should probably know my name since you're going to be working for me."

"I got the job?"

"On one condition."

Of course there was a condition. There was always a condition.

"What?" I asked.

He leaned in, his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his breath. "You tell me the real reason you need this job so desperately."

I closed my eyes. This was it. The moment of truth.

"I'm pregnant," I whispered.

His entire body went still. Then he pulled back, his eyes searching mine.

"How far along?"

"Six weeks."

I watched him do the math. Watched realization dawn across his face.

"It's mine," he said. Not a question.

I nodded, unable to speak.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with implications. This changed everything. The job. Our one night together. The future I'd been desperately trying to figure out.

Harvey's jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Then he did something I never expected.

He smiled.

Not a friendly smile. Something darker. More calculating.

"Well then," he said slowly. "This is perfect."

"Perfect? How is any of this perfect?"

"Because I need a fake fiancée, and you need money and protection." His eyes glittered with something dangerous. "I think we can help each other, Olivia."

Before I could respond, before I could process what he was saying, his office door burst open.

Marcus stood there, his face pale.

"Harvey, I can explain about the Henderson account. I just need more time to fix the numbers and I promise it won't happen again."

Then he saw me. His eyes went wide.

"Olivia? What are you doing here?"

Harvey's arm slid around my waist, pulling me against his side in a gesture that was pure possession.

"Meeting my fiancée," Harvey said smoothly. "You two know each other?"