Secret Heir for my CEO

The last thing I needed as a single mother was to get fired. Again.

The fluorescent light above Mr. Denning's desk flickers, and I stare at it instead of his face because his face is red and I already know what's coming.

"I can't stay past six," I say again, keeping my voice steady even though my hands are shaking at my sides. "I told you that when you hired me. I have a son. I have no one to pick him up."

"Everyone on this floor stays late when I ask them to, Ann," he snaps, slapping his palm flat on the desk so the pens rattle. "This isn't a daycare. This is a company."

"I'm not asking for special treatment, I'm asking you to respect what we agreed on," I shoot back, leaning forward. "You knew I was a single mother when you signed my contract."

"And I'm telling you the client meeting doesn't care about your custody schedule," he says, standing now, towering over the desk like that changes anything. "If you can't commit to this job the way it needs, then maybe this job isn't for you."

"So fire me for being a mother," I say, and my voice cracks on the last word even though I hate that it does. "Say it. Say that's what this is."

"You're fired, Ann. Clean out your desk," he says, already turning back to his monitor like I'm no longer worth the air in the room.

I freeze. I didn’t think this through, which was my first mistake.

I don't cry in front of him. I promised myself years ago I'd stop giving people that satisfaction.

I grab my cardigan off the chair, my hands still trembling, and I walk out past the cubicles where everyone suddenly finds their monitors fascinating.

By the time I get home, my chest still aches like something's lodged behind my ribs. Ari is already there, sitting cross-legged on my living room floor building a block tower with Noah, and when she looks up and sees my face, she doesn't even ask.

"Oh no," she says, scrambling up. "What happened?"

"I got fired," I say, dropping my bag by the door. "Again."

"Mama!" Noah shrieks, abandoning the blocks to launch himself at my legs, and I scoop him up even though my arms feel like lead, because that's what you do, you pick your kid up even when you have nothing left to give.

"Hey, baby," I murmur into his hair, and for a second the ache in my chest eases just slightly.

Ari waits until Noah is distracted with his cars again before she pulls me into the kitchen, pouring me a glass of wine I didn't ask for but desperately need.

"Okay, tell me everything," she says, hopping onto the counter. "What did Denning do this time?"

"He wanted me to stay till nine for some client dinner," I say, taking a long sip. "I told him I couldn't, he said everyone stays when he asks, I said that wasn't the deal, and then he fired me on the spot."

"That absolute snake!" Ari hisses, her face twisting with real anger on my behalf. "You've had, what, three jobs in two years fall apart because of stuff like this?"

"Four," I correct her, and the word tastes bitter. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Ari. Rent's due in a week and Noah needs new shoes and I have exactly two hundred dollars in my account."

"Okay, okay, don't spiral," she says, hopping down and grabbing my hands. "Listen, actually — my friend Priya mentioned something last week. There's a huge company hiring, some big industry giant, and apparently they treat their employees really well. Good pay, actual work-life balance, the whole thing."

"Ari, companies like that don't hire people like me," I say, shaking my head. "I don't have some fancy degree."

"They're looking for a coordinator position, not a rocket scientist," she says, squeezing my fingers. "You're smart, you're organized, you've basically run a household and three different jobs at once for years. Just apply."

"It's probably already filled."

"Apparently the interview's tonight, last minute cancellation," she says, and there's something insistent in her eyes now, something that won't let me talk myself out of it. "Ann. You need this. Let me watch Noah. Go."

I don't have the energy to argue with her, not really, and some small stubborn part of me — the part that refuses to fully give up — decides she's right.

By seven, I'm standing in the lobby of a building so tall I have to tilt my head back just to see where it ends, all glass and steel and gold trim that probably costs more than my entire apartment.

A manager in an immaculate suit leads me down a hallway lined with awards and framed magazine covers, and I try not to gawk at the marble floors that click under my worn heels, or the way every employee we pass seems to straighten up out of habit, like the whole building holds its breath around this company.

"The CEO will see you directly for this role," he tells me, gesturing toward heavy double doors. "He prefers to handle final interviews personally."

"Right," I say, smoothing down my blouse, my heart hammering. "Of course."

He opens the door and steps aside, and I walk in with my chin up, rehearsing the polished, confident version of myself I promised Ari I'd bring tonight.

The man behind the desk doesn't look up right away. He's got dark hair, a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, broad shoulders filling out a suit that probably costs a year of my rent. Then he lifts his head.

The glass of water in my hand slips from my fingers and shatters against the floor.

It's him.

The stranger from six years ago. The one night I've never told anyone the full truth about.

The father of my son is sitting three feet away from me, and he has no idea who I am.

Six years ago, I stand in Caden's apartment with a suitcase half packed and my hands still shaking from what I just found on his phone. My own boyfriend is cheating on me.

"Who is she?" I ask, holding the phone out like it's evidence in a trial. "Caden. Who is she?!"

"It's not what it looks like," he says, not even bothering to look guilty, just annoyed, like I'm the inconvenience here. "You're overreacting."

"There are pictures, Caden!" I say, my voice rising even though I promised myself I wouldn't scream. "Pictures of you in her bed. Tell me what that looks like, because from where I'm standing it looks pretty clear!"

"Fine," he says, throwing his hands up like I finally caught him at something small. "We've been seeing each other for a few months. You were always working, always tired, you weren't even fun to be around anymore."

"So you cheated because I was tired from working the job I got through your company?" I ask, my throat tight. "That's your