Ad copy

"I'm not yours." I retorted. "The baby is. That makes you mine by extension." He was dominant. "That's not how this works—" "That's exactly how this works." He leaned closer, and I could smell his cologne. "You're carrying my child. That means you're under my protection. Whether you like it or not." "I don't need protection—" "Especially if you don't need it." He pulled into a long driveway lined with trees. "Welcome to the family estate. Try not to let my grandmother intimidate you." I looked up at the massive mansion ahead of us. "That's going to be difficult." "Yeah." For the first time since I'd told him, he almost smiled. "It usually is." He parked and came around to open my door. When I stepped out, he offered his arm. This was Dax's world. Money. Power. History. And I was a waitress from nowhere, carrying his baby. "This is fine," I told myself. "Everything is fine." But as we walked toward the drawing room, I had the distinct feeling that nothing was going to be fine ever again. ****** *REMI'S POV* The champagne glass in my hand was empty, which was a problem because I needed something to throw at my boyfriend's face. Ex-boyfriend, I corrected mentally. As of approximately thirty seconds ago. "You're like oatmeal, Remi." Flynn's voice carried across the Lunar Gardens where half the Crescent Bay pack had gathered for what was supposed to be our engagement announcement. "Bland. Basic. Nobody's first choice." The laughter that rippled through the crowd felt like glass shards embedding themselves in my skin. I stood there in the silly pink dress I'd bought specifically for this moment—the moment I thought my boyfriend of three years was going to propose—and tried to remember how to breathe. "Flynn, maybe we should talk about this in private," I managed, my voice somehow steady despite the humiliation burning through my veins. "Why?" Bree's voice cut through the awkward silence. My best friend since high school stepped forward, her hand sliding possessively into Flynn's. "Everyone here already knows you two weren't really compatible. I mean, come on, Remi. Did you honestly think Flynn was going to choose you as his mate?" The way she said "you" made it sound like an insult. I looked at Bree—sweet, loyal Bree who'd held my hair back when I had food poisoning last month, who'd helped me pick out this dress, who'd assured me that Flynn was "totally going to propose tonight"—and saw the truth written all over her perfectly made-up face. She wasn't sorry. She was thrilled. "How long?" I asked quietly. Flynn at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. "Rem, it's not like that—" "How. Long." "Six months," Bree said, and her smile was pure venom disguised as pity. "We tried to fight it, we really did. But when you find your true mate, you can't deny the bond." Six months. Six long months while I’d been planning a future with a man who was having fun with my best friend behind my back. "The Moon Goddess works in mysterious ways," Elder Patricia announced from her seat at the head table, like this was some kind of divine intervention instead of basic betrayal. "True mates always find each other." "Exactly," Flynn said, looking relieved that someone was backing him up. "You understand, right, Rem? You're a good person. You'll find someone eventually. Someone more... your speed." Translation: someone as mediocre as he thought I was. The pack members were nodding along like this made perfect sense. Like I was supposed to smile and congratulate the happy couple and fade quietly into the background like a good little rejected wolf. "Remi, honey, don't make this harder than it needs to be," my aunt Carol said from somewhere in the crowd. "You're twenty-four. You have plenty of time to find a nice Beta to settle down with." A nice Beta. Because apparently I wasn't good enough for an Alpha like Flynn. Never mind that Flynn was barely an Alpha. His father ran the pack's accounting firm. The most dangerous thing Flynn had done all year was file taxes late. But he had the title, and in pack hierarchy, titles meant everything. I looked around at the faces of people I'd known my entire life. People who'd watched me grow up, who'd come to my high school graduation, who'd celebrated my birthdays. Not one person was standing up for me. Not one person thought this was wrong. They were all looking at me with pity or secondhand embarrassment or worse—relief that it wasn't happening to them. "You know what?" I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "You're absolutely right, Flynn." His eyebrows shot up. "I am?" "Yeah. I am like oatmeal." I walked toward him slowly, and the crowd parted like I might explode. "Plain. Boring. Forgettable." I stopped right in front of him and Bree, who was clinging to his arm like a barnacle. "But here's the thing about oatmeal," I continued, my voice dropping to something cold and sharp. "Nobody actually wants it. They just settle for it because it's there." I turned to address the whole crowd, these people who thought I was going to crumble. "So congratulations, Bree. You can have him. You can have this whole suffocating pack and everyone in it. I'm done settling." "Remi—" Flynn started, but I wasn't finished. I picked up the champagne bottle from the nearest table—the expensive one his parents had brought for the engagement toast—and very deliberately poured it over his head. The shocked gasps were almost worth the three years I'd wasted on him. "Oops," I said flatly. "How clumsy of me." Then I turned on my heel and walked out of the Lunar Gardens with my head held high, even though my hands were shaking and my eyes were burning with tears I refused to shed in front of these people. I made it exactly three blocks before I had to stop and lean against a brick wall, my breath coming in short gasps. "Don't cry," I told myself firmly. “Don’t you dare cry over that spineless excuse for an Alpha.” My phone buzzed with incoming messages. Probably people from the pack wanting to lecture me about causing a scene or tell me I should apologize for embarrassing Flynn. I turned off my phone and started walking. I didn't have a destination in mind. I just needed to move, to put distance between myself and the life I'd just walked away from. My feet carried me through the city streets until the pack housing gave way to downtown, where gleaming skyscrapers rose into the night sky and humans and werewolves mixed without anyone caring about hierarchy or titles or who was good enough for whom. That's when I saw it: The Apex. An upscale bar I'd walked past a hundred times but never had the money or courage to enter. Tonight, I had neither money nor courage. But I had a credit card with a small limit and absolutely nothing left to lose. The interior was all dark wood and low lighting, the kind of place where drinks cost more than my rent and everyone looked like they belonged there. I definitely didn't belong. My pink dress was too bright, too cheap, too obviously bought off the clearance rack. I didn't care. I slid onto a barstool and caught the bartender's attention. "Tequila. The biggest shot you have." He raised an eyebrow but poured without comment. I threw it back, welcoming the burn. "Rough night?" The voice came from my right—deep, smooth, with an edge of amusement that should have annoyed me but somehow didn't. I turned to find the most attractive man I'd ever seen watching me with dark gray eyes that seemed to see right through my brave face to the mess underneath. He was tall even sitting down, with dark hair that looked like he'd run his hands through it too many times and a jawline that could cut glass. His suit probably cost more than my car, and everything about him screamed power and money and danger. "That depends," I said, proud that my voice came out steady. "Are you going to give me unsolicited advice about how everything happens for a reason?" His lips quirked. "Would you throw that glass at my face if I did?" "Probably." "Then no. No unsolicited advice." He gestured to the bartender. "Another round for her. And put it on my tab." "I don't accept drinks from strangers," I said automatically. "Stranger danger and all that." "Smart. I could be a serial killer." "Are you?" "Only on Tuesdays." Those gray eyes held mine. "Today's Wednesday. You're safe." I shouldn't have laughed. Nothing about tonight was funny. But something about his deadpan delivery cracked through my misery and I found myself actually smiling. "I'm Remi," I said. "Dax." He didn't offer his last name, and I didn't ask. Tonight, I didn't want to be Remi Cole from the Crescent Bay pack who just got publicly humiliated. I wanted to be nobody. Just a girl in a bar having a drink with a stranger. "So, Remi," Dax said, his voice dropping lower. "What brings you to The Apex on a Wednesday night, looking like you want to burn the world down?" I picked up the fresh shot that had appeared in front of me. "My boyfriend rejected me in front of our entire pack. Said I was like oatmeal." "Oatmeal?" "Bland. Basic. Nobody's first choice." I threw back the shot. "Then my best friend announced she's been sleeping with him for six months and they're true mates blessed by the Moon Goddess or whatever." "Ah." Dax was quiet for a moment. "Your ex-boyfriend is an idiot." "Thank you." "And your ex-best friend has terrible taste." "Also true." "And oatmeal is underrated. You can add fruit, honey, chocolate chips. Very versatile." This time I actually laughed, loud enough that a few people looked over. "Are you seriously defending oatmeal right now?" "I'm defending you." His eyes were intense, pinning me in place. "Anyone who thinks you're forgettable is blind." The air between us shifted, charged with something electric. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and woodsy that made my wolf stir for the first time all night. Wait. I focused on him more carefully, reaching out with my senses. Underneath the cologne was something wild. Something powerful. "You're a wolf," I said. "So are you." His smile was sharp. "Alpha?" "Beta. You?" "Alpha." The way he said it made something low in my stomach clench. This wasn't like Flynn's posturing, constantly reminding everyone of his rank. This was quiet, absolute certainty. The kind of power that didn't need to announce itself. "Let me guess," I said, the tequila making me bold. "You're probably a CEO or something. Rich, powerful, used to getting whatever you want." "Something like that." He leaned closer, and my pulse kicked up. "Is that a problem?" "Depends. Are you going to tell me I'm not good enough for you too?" "No." The word was firm, final. "I'm going to buy you another drink, and then I'm going to ask if you want to get out of here." My breath caught. I knew what he was asking. What would happen if I said yes. This was crazy. I didn't do this. I didn't have one-night stands with mysterious strangers in expensive bars. I was responsible, careful, the girl who always thought things through. And where had that gotten me? Publicly humiliated and comparing myself to breakfast food. "Yes," I said. Dax's eyes darkened with something that made my skin feel too tight. He threw some bills on the bar—way too many bills—and stood, offering me his hand. "Come on, oatmeal. Let's get you out of here." I took his hand, and electricity shot up my arm. His fingers tightened on mine as he led me through the bar toward the exit, and I couldn't help noticing how everyone seemed to move out of his way without him saying a word. Outside, a sleek black car was waiting. A driver opened the door, and I slid in before I could second-guess myself. Dax followed, and suddenly the spacious back seat felt very small. "Where are we going?" I asked. "My place." His thumb traced circles on my palm, making it hard to think. "Unless you've changed your mind." I should have. I should have told him to take me home, thanked him for the drinks, forgotten this night ever happened. Instead, I shifted closer. "I haven't changed my mind." The ride to his building was a blur of lights and building tension. He kept touching me—small touches, nothing inappropriate, but each one made my skin burn. His hand on the small of my back as we entered the lobby. His fingers brushing my hip in the elevator. The heat of his body behind me as we walked down a hallway that seemed impossibly long. When we finally reached his door, he paused. "Last chance, oatmeal. Walk away now, no hard feelings." I grabbed his tie and pulled him down to my level. "Stop talking and kiss me already." He did. REMI'S POV Sunlight stabbed through my eyelids like tiny daggers of regret. I groaned and tried to roll over, only to realize two things Simultaneously: one, I was barely covered, and two, these sheets had a thread count higher than my credit score. My eyes snapped open. Floor-to-ceiling windows. City view that belonged on a postcard. Bedroom furniture that probably cost more than my car. And a chandelier hanging over the bed because apparently rich people needed fancy lighting even when they were unconscious. "Oh god," I whispered to the empty room. "What did I do?" Memories from last night came flooding back in vivid, mortifying detail. The bar. The tequila. The insanely hot stranger who'd listened to me complain about being compared to breakfast food. And then... oh god, and then. My face burned hot enough to fry an egg. I sat up, clutching the silk sheets to my chest, and looked around for my clothes. My pink dress was draped over a chair that probably belonged in a museum. My shoes were by the door. My dignity was nowhere to be found. The other side of the massive bed was empty and cold. He'd left already. Of course he had. This was what one-night stands were—one night. Strangers who didn't owe each other morning-afters or explanations or anything beyond what happened between those sheets. Except those sheets had been really, really good. "Stop it," I told myself firmly. "You're not doing this. You're not catching feelings for a guy whose last name you don't even know." A note sat on the nightstand, written in sharp, precise handwriting: *Had early meeting. Coffee's in the kitchen. Help yourself to breakfast. - D* Not even a full sentence. Fantastic. I found my dress and pulled it on, doing the world's most awkward walk of shame through a penthouse that looked like it belonged in an architecture magazine. The living room alone was bigger than my entire apartment, all modern furniture and expensive art and windows that made you feel like you were floating above the city. The kitchen was a shrine to marble and stainless steel. I felt like I should take my shoes off before entering. True to his word, there was a full pot of coffee waiting. I poured myself a cup in a mug that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget and tried not to think about how this was the nicest kitchen I'd ever been in. That's when I saw it. A business card on the counter, black with silver lettering. *Dax Wolfe* *CEO, Wolfe Enterprises* My hand froze halfway to my mouth. Dax Wolfe. DAX WOLFE. "No," I said out loud. "No, no, no." I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and googled him. The first result was a Forbes article: "Dax Wolfe: The Ruthless Alpha Reshaping Corporate America." My stomach dropped. I scrolled through the search results, each one worse than the last. Billionaire CEO. Youngest person to ever run a Fortune 500 company. Known for destroying competitors without mercy. Rumored to have made a rival CEO cry during a board meeting. There were pictures too. Professional headshots where he looked cold and intimidating, candid shots from charity galas where he looked bored and untouchable, and one particularly unflattering paparazzi photo where he was glaring at the camera like he wanted to murder it. "I slept with a billionaire," I said to the empty penthouse. "I hate-fked a BILLIONAIRE." This was bad. This was very bad. I downed the rest of my coffee and grabbed my shoes. I needed to get out of here before— My phone buzzed. A text from Bree: *The pack council wants to talk to you about last night's behavior. You embarrassed everyone. You need to come apologize.* I stared at the message for a long moment. Then I blocked her number. Then I blocked Flynn's number. Then I walked out of Dax Wolfe's penthouse with my head held high, even though I was doing the walk of shame in a wrinkled pink dress and last night's makeup. The elevator ride down felt like descending from heaven back to reality. By the time I hit the lobby, I was firmly back in my regular life where I was unemployed, broke, and had just made the worst/best decision of my entire existence. The doorman didn't even blink as I walked past. Clearly he was used to morning-after departures. Outside, the city was already awake and bustling. I called an Uber with my nearly-maxed-out credit card and tried to figure out what I was going to do with my life now. --- **Two Months Later** I stared at the three pregnancy tests lined up on my bathroom counter like they were going to spontaneously change if I glared hard enough. They didn't. All three showed the same results. Two pink lines. Positive. Pregnant. "This isn't happening," I whispered. "This is not happening." Except it was. The nausea, the exhaustion, the weird craving for pickle juice at 3 AM—it all made horrible, terrible sense. I was pregnant with Dax Wolfe's baby. I sank down onto my bathroom floor, which was cold and slightly gross because my apartment was a dump, and tried to breathe through the panic. Two months ago, I'd had a boyfriend, a best friend, a place in my pack, and a stable (if low-paying) job. Now I had none of those things, plus a baby on the way from a one-night stand with a billionaire who probably didn't even remember my name. My phone rang, making me jump. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer. Unknown numbers were usually debt collectors or spam calls about my car's extended warranty. But something made me pick up. "Hello?" "Is this Remi Cole?" A woman's voice, crisp and professional. "Yes?" "This is Margaret Chen from Wolfe Enterprises. Mr. Wolfe is looking for a new executive assistant. Your name came up in our candidate search. Would you be available for an interview tomorrow at 9 AM?" I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?" "An interview. For the executive assistant position. Are you available tomorrow morning?" My brain stuttered trying to process this. "I... I never applied for that position." "Nevertheless, your name came up. Mr. Wolfe would like to meet with you. Are you available?" I looked at the eviction notice on my counter. Then at my nearly empty bank account on my phone. Then at the pregnancy tests. What choice did I have? "Yes," I heard myself say. "I'll be there." "Excellent. Nine AM sharp. Don't be late. Mr. Wolfe hates tardiness." She rattled off an address and hung up before I could ask any follow-up questions. I sat there on my bathroom floor, surrounded by positive pregnancy tests, holding a phone that had just offered me a job interview I never applied for. With the father of my unborn child. Who had no idea I was pregnant. "Well," I said to the empty apartment. "This is going to be a disaster." --- The next morning, I stood outside Wolfe Tower at 8:45 AM, wearing my only professional outfit and trying to convince myself this was a good idea. The building was sixty floors of glass and steel that seemed designed specifically to make people feel small and insignificant. Everyone walking through the revolving doors looked expensive and important, like they belonged in this world of power suits and corporate dominance. I definitely didn't belong. My blazer was from a thrift store. My shoes had a scuff I'd tried to hide with a Sharpie. And I was pregnant with the CEO's baby, which seemed like the kind of thing that should disqualify you from a job interview. "You can do this," I muttered. "You just have to get through the interview without vomiting or fainting or blurting out that you're carrying his child. Easy." I walked through the revolving doors into a lobby that looked like it cost more than my entire neighborhood. Marble floors, modern art, and a reception desk that could probably run a small country. "I'm here for an interview," I told the receptionist, who looked like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. "With Mr. Wolfe." She checked her computer, her perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keyboard. "Remi Cole?" "That's me." "Fifty-eighth floor. Ms. Chen will meet you at the elevator." She handed me a visitor badge that probably cost more than my rent. "Don't be late." The elevator ride felt like ascending to my doom. My stomach churned—whether from nerves or morning sickness, I couldn't tell. Probably both. When the doors opened on the fifty-eighth floor, a woman in her forties was waiting. She was impeccably dressed, with sharp eyes that seemed to assess and judge me in the span of two seconds. "Miss Cole. I'm Margaret Chen." She didn't offer her hand. "Follow me." We walked through a maze of glass offices where people worked with the focused intensity of those who feared their boss. Everyone looked stressed, caffeinated, and slightly terrified. "Mr. Wolfe's last three assistants quit without notice," Margaret said conversationally. "The position requires someone with resilience, discretion, and a very thick skin." "What happened to them?" "He happened to them." She stopped in front of massive double doors. "Wait here." Through the crack in the door, I could hear a man's voice—Dax's voice—speaking rapidly in what sounded like Mandarin. The conversation seemed heated. My hands were sweating. This was insane. I should leave right now, before he saw me, before this got even more complicated than it already was. The door opened. Margaret gestured for me to enter. "He'll see you now." I stepped into the most intimidating office I'd ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the entire city. Sleek furniture that probably cost more than most people's cars. And behind a massive desk, with his back to me, was Dax. He was on the phone, still speaking rapid Mandarin, and I had a moment to just look at him. Dark hair, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that filled a room even when he wasn't moving. Then he spun around, and our eyes met. Everything stopped. His eyes widened just slightly—the only sign that he recognized me. Then his expression went completely neutral, professional, giving nothing away. "I'll call you back," he said into the phone in English, then hung up without waiting for a response. The silence stretched between us like a chasm. "Miss Cole," he said finally, his voice perfectly controlled. "Please, sit down." I managed to make it to the chair across from his desk without tripping. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it. "Mr. Wolfe," I said, proud that my voice didn't shake. His lips quirked slightly at my formal tone. "I see you remember me." "Kind of hard to forget." "Indeed." He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those intense gray eyes. "Margaret tells me you're here about the assistant position." "I am. Though I'm still not sure how my name came up since I never applied." "I have people who find talented candidates." His expression gave nothing away. "Your name was... familiar." Heat flooded my cheeks. We both knew exactly why my name was familiar. "Mr. Wolfe—" "Dax. We're past formalities, don't you think?" The reminder of just how past formalities we were made my skin burn. "Dax. I appreciate the interview, but I'm not sure this is a good idea." "Why not?" "Because we..." I gestured vaguely between us. "You know." "Had a mutually enjoyable evening two months ago?" He raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how that disqualifies you from employment." "It's unprofessional." "It would be unprofessional if we were currently involved. We're not." His voice was matter-of-fact, business-like. "Unless you're planning to make it an issue?" "No," I said quickly. "No issue." "Good. Then let's discuss your qualifications." He picked up a folder from his desk. "You worked at The Sunrise Diner for three years. Managed schedules, handled difficult customers, trained new employees. That suggests organizational skills and the ability to deal with challenging personalities." I blinked. "How do you know all that?" "I told you. I have people." He set down the folder. "The position pays two hundred thousand a year, plus benefits and a signing bonus. You'd start Monday." My jaw literally dropped. "Two hundred thousand dollars?" "Is that a problem?" "That's more money than I've made in my entire life." "Then I suggest you accept the offer." He stood, coming around the desk to stand in front of me. Up close, he was even more intimidating. "Unless you have somewhere better to be?" I thought about my eviction notice. My empty bank account. The three pregnancy tests in my bathroom trash. "No," I said quietly. "I don't have anywhere better to be." "Then we have a deal." He extended his hand. I stared at it, knowing that the moment I took it, everything would change. I'd be working for the man whose baby I was carrying. The man who had no idea I was pregnant. I should tell him. Right now. Before this got even more complicated. But two hundred thousand dollars. Plus benefits. Plus a signing bonus. That was enough to take care of a baby. To get out of my terrible apartment. To finally, finally get my life together. I took his hand. "Deal." His fingers closed around mine, and I felt that same electric current from two months ago. His eyes darkened slightly, and I knew he felt it too. "Margaret will handle the paperwork," he said, but didn't let go of my hand. "Try not to disappoint me, oatmeal." The nickname made my breath catch. He remembered. REMI'S POV I stood outside Wolfe Tower at exactly 7:45 AM on Monday morning, wearing my only professional outfit and trying to convince myself I wasn't about to make a huge mistake. The building looked even more intimidating in daylight. Sixty floors of black glass and steel piercing the sky, making everything around it look small and insignificant. Which, I supposed, was exactly the point. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. Still flat, but I knew what was growing inside. A tiny person who was half me and half the terrifying billionaire CEO whose office was somewhere high above my head. "You can do this," I muttered to myself. "It's just a job. A really well-paying job with your one-night stand who doesn't know you're pregnant with his baby. Totally normal Monday." A woman in an expensive suit gave me a strange look as she passed. Right. Stop talking to yourself, Remi. I took a deep breath and walked through the revolving doors. The lobby was exactly as intimidating as I remembered. All marble and modern art, with a reception desk that looked like it cost more than my entire life. The receptionist from Friday—the one who'd looked at me like I was lost—now nodded professionally. "Miss Cole. Mr. Wolfe is expecting you. Fifty-eighth floor." She handed me a sleek black badge with my name already printed on it in silver letters. Remi Cole, Executive Assistant. My stomach did a weird flip that had nothing to do with morning sickness. The elevator ride felt endless. I watched the numbers climb—20, 30, 40—and tried not to think about how high up I was going. Or how far I'd have to fall if this all went wrong. When the doors opened on the fifty-eighth floor, Margaret Chen was waiting. She looked even more intimidating than she had on Friday, wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent and an expression that gave nothing away. "Miss Cole. Right on time. Follow me." She turned and walked briskly down a hallway lined with glass-walled offices. I hurried to keep up, my cheap shoes squeaking slightly on the polished floor. "First rule," Margaret said without looking back. "Mr. Wolfe values punctuality above all else. Fifteen minutes early is on time. On time is late. Late is unacceptable." "Got it." "Second rule: discretion. Everything you see, hear, or learn in this office stays in this office. You will sign a non-disclosure agreement so comprehensive that even thinking about our business outside this building is technically a violation." "Understood." "Third rule: Mr. Wolfe doesn't tolerate mistakes, excuses, or emotional reactions. Do your job, do it well, and you'll be fine." She stopped at a door and turned to face me. "Emotional reactions?" "Crying, yelling, fainting, throwing things." She ticked them off on her fingers. "I've seen assistants do all of those. None of them lasted long." "I'm not much of a crier," I lied. I'd cried myself to sleep plenty of times in the past two months. "Good." Margaret opened the door to reveal a medium-sized office with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the city that made my breath catch. A sleek desk sat in the center, already equipped with two computer monitors, a phone system that looked more complicated than a spaceship, and a tablet. "This is your workspace. You'll coordinate Mr. Wolfe's schedule, handle his calls, manage his correspondence, and generally ensure his day runs smoothly." She gestured to the monitors. "Left screen is email, right screen is calendar. The tablet has all the files you'll need. Password is your employee ID." I sat down in the chair—which was more comfortable than any furniture I'd ever owned—and tried not to look as overwhelmed as I felt. "Mr. Wolfe arrives at eight," Margaret continued. "He'll want coffee immediately. Black, no sugar, temperature exactly 180 degrees. The coffee maker is in the break room." She pointed to a door I hadn't noticed. "There's a thermometer." "A thermometer for coffee?" "Mr. Wolfe has very specific preferences." Of course he did. "His first meeting is at eight-thirty with the finance team. You'll find the agenda on the tablet. Make sure you've read it before the meeting so you can take notes. He expects a summary within an hour of any meeting ending." My head was spinning. "Is there anything else?" Margaret's expression softened slightly. "Don't take it personally when he's cold. He's like that with everyone. Well, almost everyone." She paused. "He specifically requested you, which is... unusual. So either you made an impression, or you're about to have a very short career here." Heat flooded my face. I'd definitely made an impression. The kind that resulted in pregnancy. "I'll do my best," I managed. "That's all anyone can do." Margaret checked her watch. "I have ten minutes to show you the office layout. Let's go." The next ten minutes were a whirlwind of information. Break room with the apparently sacred coffee maker. Copy room. Conference rooms (large, medium, and small). Restrooms. Storage closets. The executive gym (just for the 58th floor). Margaret's desk near the elevators. And finally, the massive double doors at the end of the hall. "Mr. Wolfe's office," Margaret said. "You only enter when called. Never interrupt a meeting unless the building is literally on fire." "What if there's an emergency?" "Define emergency." "Like... someone's dying?" "Send a text. He'll see it." Right. No interrupting the terrifying CEO even if someone's having a heart attack. Got it. We returned to my desk just as the elevator dinged. My heart jumped into my throat. Dax Wolfe stepped out, and I forgot how to breathe. He was somehow even more intimidating in person than in my memories. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a navy suit that probably cost more than my car, with dark hair that looked like he'd barely bothered to comb it. But it was his eyes—those steel gray eyes—that made my stomach do flips. He walked past Margaret's desk without acknowledging either of us, heading straight for his office. "Mr. Wolfe, this is—" Margaret started. "I know who she is." His voice was cold, clipped. "Miss Cole, my office. Five minutes." The double doors closed behind him with a definitive click. Margaret looked at me sympathetically. "Welcome to Wolfe Enterprises. Try not to let him make you cry on your first day." --- Five minutes later, clutching a cup of coffee that was hopefully exactly 180 degrees, I knocked on Dax's office door.“Come in.”I pushed through the heavy doors and—Holy wow. The office was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls offering a view that made the entire city look like a toy model. Sleek furniture in blacks and grays. A desk that could comfortably seat six people. And in the corner, actual living trees in planters. Trees. Inside an office. Dax sat behind his desk, typing on his computer, not looking up. I stood there awkwardly, holding his coffee and wondering if I should say something or just wait. He kept typing. After what felt like an eternity but was probably thirty seconds, he glanced up. His eyes landed on the coffee, then traveled up to my face. "Coffee," he said flatly. I crossed the space between us—which felt like a mile—and set the cup on his desk. "180 degrees. Black, no sugar." He picked it up, took a sip, and his expression didn't change. I couldn't tell if that meant it was perfect or terrible. "Sit." I took one of the chairs across from his desk, perching on the edge like I might need to make a quick escape. Dax leaned back in his chair, studying me with those intense gray eyes. The same eyes that had looked at me very differently two months ago in a bar. "We need to establish some ground rules, Miss Cole." Miss Cole. Not Remi. Not oatmeal. The distance in his voice made something in my chest ache. "First, what happened between us before is irrelevant to your employment here. It won't be mentioned or referenced. Understood?" "Understood," I said, even though my hand wanted to press against my still-flat stomach. "Second, I expect complete professionalism at all times. You'll be exposed to confidential information. If I find out you've shared anything—" "I won't," I interrupted, then immediately regretted it when his eyes narrowed. "Sorry. I mean... I understand discretion." "Good." He picked up a tablet from his desk. "Third, your performance will be evaluated weekly. If you're not meeting expectations, you'll be informed immediately. I don't believe in second chances." The coldness in his voice was so different from the man who'd made me laugh at the bar. Who'd called me oatmeal with that slight smile. Who'd touched me like I was something precious. "Any questions?" About a thousand. Like why did you really hire me? And do you remember that night at all? And how am I supposed to work for you while carrying your baby? "No questions," I said instead. "Then let's discuss your first task." He pulled up something on his tablet. "I have a meeting with Sterling Enterprises next week. Their CEO, Jade Sterling, is..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "difficult. I need complete research on their latest quarterly reports, their board members, and any recent press coverage. Can you handle that?" "Yes." "I need it by Friday. Comprehensive but concise. No more than ten pages." That gave me four days. For something that sounded like it would take four weeks. "I'll have it ready," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "Good. You can go." I stood, turned to leave, then stopped. I couldn't help myself. "Mr. Wolfe?" "What?" "Why did you hire me?" The question hung in the air between us. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I saw something flash in his eyes. Something that looked almost like... longing? But then it was gone, replaced by cold professionalism. "Because Margaret is moving to a different position, and I needed a replacement. You were qualified." "I was a waitress." "You managed schedules, handled difficult customers, and trained new employees. That suggests organizational skills and the ability to deal with challenging personalities." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you lied on your résumé?" "No, I just—" "Then I suggest you get started on that research. Friday is four days away, and I expect thoroughness." Dismissed. I walked out of his office, my face burning. What had I expected? That he'd admit he couldn't stop thinking about me? That he'd pull me into his arms and— No. This was business. He'd made that abundantly clear. I needed to keep my job, support my baby, and stop fantasizing about a man who clearly saw me as nothing more than an employee. Even if that man was the father of my child. --- The rest of the morning was a blur of information overload. I learned the phone system (which had more buttons than a spaceship), figured out the email system (three separate accounts for different types of correspondence), and started reading through the existing files on Dax's calendar. He had seventeen meetings scheduled for this week alone. Seventeen. Plus calls with international clients in different time zones, which meant some of his "work days" stretched from 6 AM to 11 PM. No wonder he looked exhausted. Around ten-thirty, a man appeared at my desk. Tall, athletic build, with light brown hair and a friendly smile that felt completely out of place on this floor of intensity. "You must be the new assistant," he said, extending his hand. "Marcus Stone. I'm the COO." I shook his hand, grateful for the friendly face. "Remi Cole." "Surviving your first day?" "Barely." He laughed. “Dax can be… intense. But he’s fair. Do good work, and he’ll notice. Mess up, and he’ll notice faster.” He leaned against my desk casually. “Between you and me, you’re already doing better than the last three.” "How so?" "You're still here. Last assistant quit before lunch on her first day." He lowered his voice. "She brought him coffee at 175 degrees." I couldn't tell if he was joking. "She lasted four hours. The one before that made it two days. The one before that..." He trailed off. "Let's just say Dax has high standards." "That's reassuring," I said dryly. "Hey, I'm rooting for you. We all are. Margaret's great, but she's been trying to move up for years. This is her chance." He glanced at Dax's closed door. "Just don't take his moods personally. He's—" The door opened, and Dax appeared. His eyes immediately went to Marcus, then to me, then back to Marcus. "Marcus. Don't you have a department to run?" "Was just introducing myself to your new assistant." Marcus's smile didn't falter. "She seems much more competent than the last one." "That's not a high bar." Was that supposed to be a compliment? I honestly couldn't tell. Marcus pushed off from my desk. "Lunch at one?" "Fine." Dax's eyes flickered to me. "Miss Cole, I need the finance meeting notes in twenty minutes." "They're almost done." "'Almost' isn't good enough." He went back into his office and closed the door. Marcus gave me a sympathetic look. "See? Intense. But underneath that cold exterior is a slightly less cold interior." REMI'S POV By the end of my first week at Wolfe Enterprises, I'd learned three important things: One: Dax Wolfe was a perfectionist who expected everyone around him to be psychic. Two: I was apparently very good at pretending I wasn't three months pregnant and terrified. Three: My morning sickness had terrible timing. Friday morning, I was in the middle of formatting the Sterling Enterprises report when the nausea hit like a freight train. I'd been doing so well all week, carefully avoiding the break room when someone microwaved fish, keeping crackers in my desk drawer, drinking ginger tea instead of coffee. But apparently, my body had decided that 9:47 AM on Friday was the perfect time to rebel. I stood up so fast my chair rolled backward and hit the wall. The sudden movement made everything worse. My hand flew to my mouth. "Miss Cole?" Margaret looked up from her desk near the elevators. "Are you alright?" I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, and ran for the bathroom. I barely made it to a stall before losing the granola bar I'd managed to eat for breakfast. When the heaving finally stopped, I slumped against the cool tile wall, breathing hard. This was not sustainable. Eventually, someone was going to notice. Eventually, Dax was going to notice. The bathroom door opened. "Remi?" Margaret's voice. Great. "I'm fine," I called out, my voice echoing off the tiles. "Just... food poisoning." "Food poisoning from the granola bar I watched you eat an hour ago?" Wow. She was observant. I flushed, rinsed my mouth at the sink, and emerged from the stall to find Margaret leaning against the counter, arms crossed. Her expression wasn't judgmental, just... knowing. "How far along?" she asked quietly. My heart stopped. "What?" "I've had three kids, Remi. I know morning sickness when I see it." She pulled a pack of mints from her pocket and handed them to me. "So. How far along?" There was no point lying. "Three months." "Does Dax know?" "No." "Planning to tell him?" "Eventually." I took a mint, grateful for something to get rid of the taste in my mouth. "When I figure out how to tell my boss I'm pregnant with his baby without getting fired." Margaret's eyebrows shot up. "His baby?" Oh no. I hadn’t meant to say that part out loud.“I… we… it was before I worked here. One night. Two months before he hired me.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “He doesn’t know. I was going to tell him but then he offered me this job and I really needed it and now I don’t know how to bring it up without it being completely awkward and—”“Breathe,” Margaret said firmly. “Just breathe.”I drew in air, trying to calm down. "Okay," Margaret said slowly. "Okay. This is... complicated." "That's an understatement." "Does he know you're the woman from—" She stopped. "He told me he met someone. Months ago. Said he couldn't stop thinking about her but didn't know how to find her. That was you?" "He was looking for me?" "Until you showed up for that interview." Margaret's expression shifted from surprised to understanding. "That's why he hired you. He found you." My stomach did a weird flip that had nothing to do with morning sickness. "He was looking for me?" "For weeks. He even had Marcus try to track you down, but you'd paid cash at the bar and didn't leave a last name." She shook her head. "When you walked into that interview, he must have thought it was fate." I thought about how cold he'd been all week. How professional and distant. "He has a funny way of showing it." "That's just Dax. He doesn't know how to handle emotions, so he pretends they don't exist." Margaret checked her watch. "You should probably get back. He'll want that Sterling report soon." "Right. The report." I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Pale, but not terrible. "Do I look—" "You look fine. Pale, but he'll assume you're just nervous about the report." She paused at the door. "Remi? You need to tell him. Soon. Before you start showing." "I know." "And for what it's worth? I think he'll surprise you." After she left, I stared at my reflection a moment longer. Tell him. Soon. Before you start showing. But how? "Hey, boss, remember that one-night stand two months ago? Surprise, I'm pregnant!" didn't seem like the right approach. I splashed cold water on my face, popped another mint, and headed back to my desk. The Sterling report wasn't going to finish itself. --- At 11:30, my desk phone rang. Dax's extension. "Miss Cole. My office. Bring the Sterling report." My heart sank. It wasn't quite finished. I'd been planning to polish it over lunch and deliver it at two. But "almost finished" wouldn't cut it with Dax Wolfe. I printed what I had—nine pages of comprehensive research on Sterling Enterprises, their financials, their board members, recent press coverage, and potential weaknesses Dax could exploit in negotiations—and headed for his office. He was on the phone when I entered, speaking rapid Mandarin. He gestured for me to sit without interrupting his conversation. I sat, trying not to fidget, listening to him speak a language I didn't understand with perfect fluency. It was annoyingly attractive. Finally, he ended the call and turned his attention to me. Those gray eyes were unreadable as always. "The Sterling report." I handed it over, my palms slightly sweaty. "It's comprehensive. Nine pages. I covered their Q3 financials, board composition, recent acquisitions, and—" "I said ten pages." "I know, but I managed to condense everything into nine without losing any relevant—" "I said ten pages, Miss Cole. When I give you parameters, I expect you to meet them exactly." Frustration bubbled up. "With all due respect, sir, isn't it better to be concise than to add unnecessary information just to hit a page count?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you arguing with me?" "I'm explaining my reasoning." "I don't need your reasoning. I need you to follow instructions." "Even when those instructions don't make sense?" The words were out before I could stop them. The silence that followed was deafening. Dax stood slowly, coming around his desk to lean against it, arms crossed. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Miss Cole," he said quietly, dangerously. "Do you want to keep this job?" "Yes." "Then I suggest you remember who's in charge here." I stood too, refusing to be intimidated even though my knees were shaking. "I do remember. But I also remember you hired me because I'm competent, not because I'm a yes-woman who'll waste time on busy work to hit arbitrary page counts." His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far. That he was about to fire me right here, right now. Then something unexpected happened. He laughed. It was short, barely more than a huff of air, but it was definitely a laugh. The ice in his expression cracked, just slightly. "You've got spine," he said, and there was something almost like approval in his voice. "I'll give you that." "Is that a compliment?" "Don't push your luck." But the corners of his mouth quirked up. Just barely. "The report is good. Better than good, actually. You found weaknesses in their structure I hadn't considered." "So the nine pages are acceptable?" "The nine pages are excellent." He picked up the report, flipping through it. "Sterling's going to hate this meeting. Which is exactly what I want." Pride bloomed in my chest. "Thank you, sir." "Don't thank me yet. You're coming to the meeting." "What?" "Tuesday. Ten AM. You're taking notes." His eyes met mine. "Jade Sterling is... difficult. She'll try to throw us off balance. I want someone there who can keep up." "I've never sat in on a meeting like that before." "Then you'll learn." He returned to his chair, all business again. "That's all. You can go." I turned to leave, then remembered. "Mr. Wolfe?" "What?" "Thank you. For the opportunity." Something flickered across his face. "You earned it, Miss Cole. Now go get some lunch. You look pale." --- I found Margaret in the break room, eating a salad that looked infinitely more appealing than anything I could stomach right now. "How'd it go?" she asked. "He loved the report. I'm sitting in on the Sterling meeting Tuesday." "That's huge. He never brings assistants to those meetings." She studied my face. "But you still look like you're going to throw up." "Morning sickness doesn't care about my schedule." "Here." She pulled a container from her bag. "Ginger cookies. They helped me when I was pregnant. Take as many as you need." I could have hugged her. "You're a lifesaver." "Just don't eat them all at once. Trust me." She went back to her salad. "So. When are you telling him?" "I don't know. Soon. Maybe after the Sterling meeting? I don't want to distract him before something important." "Remi." Margaret's voice was gentle but firm. "You're three months along. You'll start showing soon. He needs to know." "I know, I just—" A wave of nausea hit. I grabbed a ginger cookie and bit into it. The sharp, sweet flavor helped immediately. "I don't know how he'll react." "There's only one way to find out." Before I could respond, Marcus appeared in the doorway. "There you are. Dax is looking for— are those ginger cookies?" His eyes lit up. "Margaret, you're holding out on me." "They're for Remi. She has an upset stomach." "Food poisoning," I said quickly. Too quickly. Marcus looked between Margaret and me, then his expression shifted. "Oh. OH. Are you—" "No!" I said at the same time Margaret said, "Yes." Marcus's jaw dropped. "Does Dax know?" "No, and you're not telling him," Margaret said firmly. "That's Remi's news to share when she's ready." "But—" Marcus looked genuinely distressed. "He's my best friend. I can't keep something like this from him." "You're keeping it from him until Remi decides to tell him herself," Margaret repeated. "Or do I need to remind you about the time you made me cover for you when you 'worked from home' for a week but were actually in Vegas?" Marcus winced. "That's blackmail." "That's friendship." He looked at me, and I saw the moment he made his decision. "Fine. But Remi? Tell him soon. The longer you wait, the worse it'll be." "I know." "And when you do tell him, make sure I'm far away. Preferably in another building. Maybe another city." Despite his joking tone, there was real concern in his eyes. "He's going to lose his mind." "That's what I'm afraid of." --- The weekend passed in a blur of anxiety and nausea. I stayed holed up in my friend Jade's apartment (not Sterling, thank god—different Jade), eating ginger cookies and trying not to think about Tuesday's meeting. Monday morning, I arrived at the office to find a file folder on my desk with a note in Dax's sharp handwriting: *Background reading for tomorrow. Be prepared.* The folder was three inches thick. I spent the entire day reading about Sterling Enterprises' history, their major deals, their corporate structure. By the time I left that evening, my head was spinning with information. Tuesday morning, I dressed in my nicest suit—a black number I'd found at a thrift store—and arrived at the office thirty minutes early. Dax was already there, of course, reviewing documents in his office. At 9:45, he emerged. "Ready?" he asked. "As I'll ever be." "Remember: observe, take notes, don't speak unless I specifically ask you a question. Jade will try to provoke you. Don't react." "Got it." We headed to Conference Room A—the large one—where Marcus was already waiting with another man I didn't recognize. "Remi, this is David Chen from our legal team," Marcus introduced. "He'll be reviewing any contracts." David nodded politely. "Pleasure." At exactly ten AM, the receptionist called. "Mr. Wolfe? The Sterling team is here." "Send them in." The door opened, and three people entered. Two men in expensive suits, and between them— Jade Sterling was stunning. Tall, with silver-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes that immediately locked onto Dax with an intensity that made my stomach clench uncomfortably. "Dax," she purred, crossing the room to kiss both his cheeks like they were old friends. "It's been too long." "Jade." His voice was professionally neutral. "Shall we begin?" Her eyes finally shifted to me, and I felt evaluated and dismissed in one glance. "Who's this?" she asked, like I wasn't even there. REMI'S POV "Who's this?" Jade Sterling asked, her ice-blue eyes sliding over me like I was a piece of furniture she was considering having removed. "My assistant, Miss Cole," Dax said, his tone flat and professional. He gestured toward me without looking. "She'll be taking notes." "Another assistant." Jade's perfectly glossed lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The last three didn't last long, did they?" There was a story there, and from the way Marcus shifted uncomfortably, it wasn't a good one. "Miss Cole is exceptional," Dax said, still not looking at me. But I heard something in his voice—a note of steel that hadn't been there before. "She stays." Jade's expression flickered. Just for a second. Then that smooth, corporate mask slid back into place. "Of course. Shall we?" Everyone settled around the massive conference table. Dax at the head, Marcus on his right, David Chen next to him. Jade took the seat across from Dax, her two executives flanking her like bodyguards. I sat at the far end, laptop open, trying to be invisible. "Let's get straight to business," Dax said, sliding a document across the table. "The Riverside property. Sterling Enterprises made an offer last week that was, frankly, insulting." "That property's been on the market for six months," one of Jade's executives said. "The sellers are desperate." "The sellers are strategic," Dax countered. "They know what they have. A prime location, walking distance to three major transit lines, zoned for mixed-use development. Your offer of twelve million is at least eight million short of fair market value." "Fair market value according to whom?" Jade leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Your assessment? Or the one that benefits Wolfe Enterprises?" "According to three independent appraisals." Marcus slid papers across the table. "All commissioned before we made our offer." I typed furiously, trying to capture every word while also watching the dynamics. Jade kept looking at Dax like he was the only person in the room. Her executives deferred to her constantly. And Dax... Dax was in his element. This wasn't the man who stress-baked muffins at three in the morning. This was the ruthless CEO who'd built a billion-dollar empire before he turned thirty. Every word was calculated. Every gesture deliberate. It was terrifying. And kind of hot. Focus, Remi. Professional thoughts only. "The appraisals are conservative," Jade argued. "That neighborhood's trending downward. Crime statistics—" "Are being manipulated by your PR team to drive down the price," Dax interrupted smoothly. "I have the real data. Would you like to see it?" Jade's jaw tightened. "You've done your homework." "I always do." The meeting continued like that for the next hour—maneuver and parry attack and defend. Jade would propose something, and Dax would counter with evidence she couldn't refute. Her executives grew increasingly frustrated. David Chen took notes on potential legal issues. And through it all, Jade kept watching Dax with an intensity that made my wolf bristle uncomfortably. Around eleven-fifteen, Dax's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and something shifted in his expression. "Excuse me. I need to take this. Marcus, continue." He stood and left the room, and I felt the temperature drop about ten degrees. Marcus cleared his throat. "So. The Riverside property. I think we can all agree that twenty million is a fair compromise—" "I'm not here to compromise with your Beta," Jade cut him off. Her eyes were on the door Dax had just exited through. "When will he be back?" "I'm not sure. But I'm authorized to—" "I want to speak with Dax. Not his second." Jade's attention finally shifted to Marcus, then to me. "Or his assistant." The dismissal in her tone made my teeth clench. But I kept typing, kept my expression neutral. Marcus handled it better than I would have. "Ms. Sterling, with all due respect, if you want this deal, you're going to have to work with me. Dax trusts my judgment completely." "Does he?" Jade leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Tell me, Marcus. How long has Miss..." She gestured vaguely in my direction. "What was your name again?" "Cole," I said, keeping my voice level. "Remi Cole." "Right. Cole." She studied me like I was a bug under a microscope. "How long have you worked for Dax?" "A week." Her eyebrows rose. "A week. And you're already sitting in on major negotiations?" Her laugh was light, musical, and condescending as can be. "That's... unusual." "Miss Cole is a quick study," Marcus said. "I'm sure she is." Jade's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Tell me, Remi. What's your background? Previous employment?" I knew a trap when I heard one. "Various positions. Administrative work, mostly." "Fascinating." Jade turned to her executives. "Gentlemen, let's take a break. Twenty minutes?" They stood immediately. Jade rose gracefully, smoothing her skirt. "I need to make some calls. Marcus, perhaps we can resume when Dax returns?" "Of course." She swept out of the room, her executives trailing behind her like ducklings. The moment the door closed, Marcus let out a long breath. "Well. That was fun." "She hates me," I said. "She hates everyone Dax shows the slightest interest in." Marcus rubbed his temples. "But yeah, she especially hates you." "Why?" David Chen, who'd been silent this whole time, finally spoke. "Because Dax just told us you're exceptional. In the year I've worked here, I've never heard him say that about anyone." "Not even Jade?" I asked. "Especially not Jade." Marcus gathered his papers. "Those two have... history." "What kind of history?" "The kind that ended badly." Marcus checked his watch. "I need to find Dax. You okay here for a minute?" "I'm fine." After they left, I sat in the empty conference room, staring at my laptop screen. The notes looked professional. Comprehensive. Exactly what Dax would expect. But underneath that professional exterior, my heart was racing. She hates me. She especially hates you. I didn't need supernatural senses to feel Jade Sterling's animosity. It radiated off her like cold fire. And the way she'd looked at Dax... Not your business, I told myself firmly. He's your boss. Nothing more. Except that wasn't true, was it? He was also the father of the baby currently making me nauseous at the most inconvenient times. The door opened. I looked up, expecting Marcus or Dax. It was Jade. Alone. "Miss Cole," she said, closing the door behind her. "I was hoping we could chat. Just us girls." Everything in me screamed danger. "Of course," I said, keeping my voice pleasant. "What can I help you with?" She crossed to the windows, looking out at the city below. "I'm curious about you. Dax doesn't usually hire people without extensive experience. Yet here you are. One week in, already in his inner circle." "I don't know about inner circle—" "Don't be modest." She turned to face me, and her smile was sharp. "A week ago, you were unemployed. Now you're sitting in on negotiations worth millions. That's quite the promotion." How did she know I'd been unemployed? I'd never mentioned that. "I got lucky," I said carefully. "Luck." Jade laughed. "Is that what we're calling it?" She moved closer, perching on the edge of the conference table. "Let me give you some advice, Remi. Woman to woman. Dax Wolfe isn't the kind of man who helps people out of kindness. If he hired you, it's because he wants something." "He wanted a competent assistant." "Is that all?" Her eyes glittered. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like he wants something else entirely." My stomach dropped. "I don't know what you mean." "Don't you?" She stood, smoothing her skirt again. "I've known Dax for years. I know how he operates. And I know when he's interested in someone." "You're mistaken." "Am I?" She moved to the door, then paused. "A word of advice, since you're new here. Dax goes through assistants the way some people go through coffee. Three in the last year alone. They all thought they were special too." She left, and I sat there, shaking. Three assistants in a year. All fired. And I was supposed to be different? You are different, a small voice whispered. You're carrying his baby. But he didn't know that. And when he found out... The door opened again. This time it was Dax, with Marcus behind him. "Emergency's handled," Dax said, settling back into his seat. "Where's Sterling?"