Page 39 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Maid
"Arrr, matey!" Jenkins's normally crisp British accent had indeed gone full buccaneer. "The young master has quite thetalent for coding, if I do say so meself. Takes after the alpha, he does."
"Just like his daddy," I murmured, reaching down to ruffle Noah's hair. The silk of my designer suit whispered with the movement. It was such a far cry from my old cleaning uniform. "Sweetie, what did we say about hacking Daddy's AI?"
"Only on weekends?" He batted those long lashes at me, yet another trait from Dean. His tiny fingers flew over the tablet he'd "borrowed" from Dean's office.
"Speaking of pirates," Jenkins interrupted, "Miss Savannah appears to be staging a hostile takeover of the break room. She's demanding cookie tributes from your employees. Rather reminiscent of her father's board meeting tactics, I must say."
I couldn't help laughing. Our daughter had inherited Dean's commanding presence and my negotiation skills. It was a terrifying combination in a child. She also had my green eyes, but they could flash gold when excited, just like her father's.
"Tell Monica to hold the princess," I said, standing to admire the view of my empire. "And activate Protocol Tiny Terror."
"Aye aye, cap'n!"
I paused at the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass. Seven years ago, I would have been pressing my cleaning cloth to these same windows, dreaming of something more. Now I stood on the other side of that glass, watching my team of twenty planners coordinate events worth millions.
Sometimes I still had to pinch myself, hardly believing this was real. The girl who'd once counted quarters for bus fare now managed multi-million dollar accounts.
On the wall behind me, magazine covers featured my work.
ELITE DREAMS: HOW NINA NIGHTFANG REVOLUTIONIZED WEDDING PLANNING
FROM CLEANER TO CEO: THE WEDDING INDUSTRY'S RISING STAR
Besides the magazine covers, rows of photos lining the wall told our story. Me adjusting Levi Storm's bowtie at his and Krista's vow renewal ceremony while paparazzi helicopters circled overhead, Dean scowling at security feeds during the Sultan of Brunei's daughter's wedding, our team coordinating three simultaneous celebrations across different time zones.
"Mrs. Nightfang?" My intern's voice crackled over the phone. "George Clooney's people are asking about Christmas availability."
"Tell them we're booked through next spring," I said, catching sight of the thank-you note from last week's royal wedding. The crown letterhead still made me smile. "But we might be able to work something out for summer if they're flexible."
"Incoming," Jenkins warned, just before the door burst open.
"Mommy!" Savannah barreled in, brandishing a stapler like a weapon. "The cookie monsters are coming!"
"Is that my little CEO?" Dean's deep voice followed her, and my heart did that familiar flutter.
He filled the doorway in his usual impeccable fitted black T-shirt, but his hair was slightly mussed, probably from wrangling our daughter. His eyes met mine, washing over me like a soothing hot drink.
"Daddy!" Noah exploded from his fort, launching himself at Dean's legs.
Dean scooped him up effortlessly, raising an eyebrow at the holographic parrots now circling the room. "Teaching Jenkins new tricks again, pup?"
"He needed more pizzazz," Noah declared.
"Pizzazz," Dean repeated solemnly, but I caught his pride through our bond. "And you, princess? Starting labor negotiations already?"
Savannah jutted out her chin. "They want snacks."
"Ah, but did you file the proper requisition forms?" His lips twitched. "We are a legitimate business, after all."
"I made pictures," she announced, producing a crayon masterpiece from her activity table in the corner of my office.
"Very professional," he praised. "Though perhaps we should leave the stapler negotiations for next quarter."
I watched them, my heart so full it ached. My fierce husband, once so solitary and closed off, now tamed by our children's love. Our twins, the perfect blend of his strength and my spirit. This life we'd built together, exceeding every dream I'd ever dared to have when I first stepped into his chaotic penthouse.
Every day I watched him soften a little more, his formerly rigid edges worn away by sticky kisses and bedtime stories. The man who once hid away in his dark dungeon of an office now built blanket forts and let sticky fingers mess up his hair.
"Mrs. Nightfang?" My assistant's voice crackled again. "The princess is still holding."
