Chapter 1 A Wrong Floor, A Right Beginning
Darcy POV
The rain came down like it had personal beef with me. Not gentle rain. Not cute, movie rain. No Lagos-style, full-blown, sky-opening, “Darcy, today is not your day," rain?
By the time I sprint across the marble lobby of Ashford Holdings, I look like a wet cat who has lost a fight with a generator wire. My hair is plastered to my cheeks. My blouse cling to my skin. The receptionist desk is empty, the chairs spotless, and everything smell like new money.
I clutch my folder of certificates to my chest and pray it isn’t turning to mush inside. The elevator bell dings. People rush out. I rush in.
Wrong move.
The doors slide shut, and instead of the usual ping to the 12th floor, the HR floor, I am all the way up to where everything become too quiet to be normal.
The elevator doors open, I step into a hallway that look like it belongs in a billionaire’s dream. The air smell like expensive wood and subtle cologne. The carpet is so soft my shoes barely make a sound. This is definitely not HR.
I turn to step back into the elevator, but the doors close instantly like they are tired of me. "Fantastic".
Then I hear it.
A scream.
A baby screams sharp and desperate.
My body move before my brain caught up. I follow the sound down the hallway and stop in front of a glass office door where a man is pacing with a squalling baby in his arms.
The man… dear God.
He looks like someone who don’t belong in real life. Tall, built like he effortlessly lifts companies and gym weights with the same energy, wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than a year’s rent in my apartment. His dark hair is a little messed up, his tie abandoned on the desk, and he is pacing like a malfunctioning robot about to self-destruct.
The baby is screaming at the top of her lungs. Red face. Kicking tiny legs. The whole disaster package.
I don't think. I just act.
I push open the door.
He spins around so fast his eyes nearly cut me. “This is a private….”
But the baby sees me and reach out with those tiny desperate fists like I was her long-lost savior.
I blink.
He blinks.
The baby screams louder.
“Can I—?” I point at her, my voice shaking from the cold and the sheer absurdity of the moment.
He hesitates, clearly out of options. Then he hands her over with the reluctance of someone giving away state secrets.
The moment the baby touches my chest, she stops crying.
Just like that.
Silence.
Perfect, peaceful silence.
Her little fingers curls into my damp blouse, and she let out a soft, contented sigh.
I look up at the man.
He isn't blinking anymore.
He isn’t breathing either.
“Witchcraft,” he whispers.
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No…I mean…sorry. She never stops crying for anyone. Except her nanny. Who quit. Fifteen minutes ago.”
Ah.
That explains the panic written all over his very expensive face.
The baby snuggles deeper into my arms, tiny curls tickling my chin. My heart melts instantly. Babies have that effect on me. Well. Some babies. Not the screaming ones in buses. But this one? This one feels like she has personally picked me.
“I’m… I’m just here for the receptionist interview,” I manage to say, trying not to sound like someone who looks like a drowned broomstick.
He stares at me like I am speaking in tongues. Then his gaze drops to the name tag sticker the lobby guard had slapped on my chest.
DARCY IFE
APPLICANT
12TH FLOOR
His lips parts slightly. “You’re not a staff.”
“No,” I said, rocking the baby gently. “But I can help until…”
“No, I mean….” He rubs his forehead in complete defeat. “You shouldn’t even be on this floor.”
“Well…” I shrug. “The elevator decided my fate.”
The baby cooed. Actually. Like she has found paradise on earth.
He watches us, stunned, thrown off his axis, and probably reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.
My clothes are still dripping, but the baby is warm against me. I bounce her gently the way my aunt taught me when my little cousins were born. The baby's eyes flutters as she starts drifting off.
I didn’t miss the way the billionaire’s entire body relaxed, like someone had lifted a mountain off his back.
He steps closer, slowly, like approaching a delicate, magical creature he didn’t want to spook.
“I’m Adrian Ashford,” he said, voice lower now. Softer. Less CEO, more human. “This is Hazel. My daughter.”
I swallow. “She’s beautiful.”
He nods, but his gaze stay fixed on me. “She likes you.”
Hazel nuzzles into my neck like she could hear him and agreed.
I try to hand her back, but Adrian put his hands up as if I was giving him a ticking bomb.
“No, no. Please. Hold her.”
His desperation is almost funny if it isn’t so sad.
“Is this your office?” I ask, looking around.
“Yes.” He straightens a little, like remembering he was supposed to look powerful, not helpless. “CEO floor.”
“Right,” I murmur, adjusting Hazel. “So I’m very, very in the wrong place.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he slowly walks around his desk and leans against it, arms folded. He studies me with a focus that makes my stomach tighten.
His voice drops, steady and decisive, like he has just made up his mind about something important.
“Who are you,” he said, “and how soon can you start?”
My heart slams into my ribs.
Hazel sighs contentedly against me.
And I soaked, freezing, unemployed, and holding the child of a man who looks like a Greek god with a billionaire’s bank account could only stare back at him.
This is not how my day is supposed to go.
But something in Adrian’s eyes told me nothing about my life would go “supposed to” again.