Page 5 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

As I drive, the scenery shifts from concrete and steel, to fields and pastures stretching out on either side of the road. Cornstalks, tall and golden, sway gently in the wind, and further out, I can see rows of soybeans, their leaves rustling like whispers.

The landscape is flat and endless, just the way I like it. No skyscrapers, no crowded streets; just open space and the occasional farmstead lit up like a beacon in the distance. It’s a long drive, but I don’t mind. It gives me time to think, to let the day roll off my shoulders.

By the time I pull up to my place, it’s pitch black except for the soft glow of the barn lights.

My sprawling property is quiet, the perfect kind of quiet, and I park the truck next to the old wooden fence where the cows are grazing.

Hopping out, I grab a bucket of feed and make my way to the pasture. The cows lift their heads, lumbering over as I pour the grain out for them, the familiar sounds of snuffling and lowing filling the night. I pet each of them, giving each one my undivided attention to show them I care about them.

People don’t realize it, but cows are very affectionate farm animals. Once they’re fed and penned up in the red barn, I head toward the house, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only noise as I walk across the grassy yard.

My house feels cool and still when I step inside, my boots echoing on the tile floor as I drop my work bag by the door. My stomach rumbles with an insistent growl, but there’s one last thing I need to check on before I can call it a night.

I make my way through the hallway to the back of the house, where the sunroom doubles as a makeshift nursery. The second I push the door open, I’m greeted by a happy, wagging tail and a pair of bright, eager eyes.

Penny, my Australian shepherd, looks up at me from her spot in the corner, and I feel my heart swell at the sight of her. Her ears are pinned back, and her tongue is flicking out in quick, excited licks as I crouch down beside her, my hands melting into her soft, luscious fur.

She’s surrounded by a pile of squirming, tiny pups—six of them total. They’ve got her same speckled coat, all covered with patches of white and gray and flecks of black. They’re all jostling for space, tumbling over each other in their clumsy, wobbly way.

They’re all bundled up in a kiddie pool I’d lined with blankets and towels, a safe haven to keep them corralled until they get big enough to take over the entire sunroom.

Penny looks tired, but proud as she licks a few of her little brood of babies.

“Hey, girl,” I murmur, rubbing her head, and she nudges my hand with her cold nose, grateful for the attention.

I give the pups a quick pat, letting them sniff at my fingers and yawn widely, before I urge Penny to go eat, guiding her toward her food and water bowls. She gently trots over, lapping up water and taking some nibbles of dry kibble before I open the back door to let her out for a bathroom break.

She’s got a doggie door that leads to the fenced-in yard, but I figure she’ll appreciate the chance for a quick run under the bright stars.

After Penny’s had her fill of fresh air, I lead her back inside and watch as she curls up with her babies, licking and sniffing them all one by one.

I head for the kitchen, my stomach reminding me again that I haven’t eaten since lunch. Tacos it is, quick, easy, and just enough to take the edge off of my rumbling stomach.

I pull out the ingredients, laying them on the counter: wheat tortillas, onions, peppers, cheese, ground beef, and taco seasoning. The hiss and sizzle of the pan fills the kitchen as I chop up the onions and peppers, their sharp, tangy scent filling the air.

While the veggies cook down, I grab my phone, scrolling through emails with one hand, while flipping the beef in the pan with the other. Most of it’s the usual: updates from Josh, contractor requests, a couple of proposals I need to review.

But then I see a notification from HR, and my thumb pauses over the screen.

The applications for the new receptionist role.

I tap it open, scrolling through the list of names and resumes that have come in.

I’m halfway through a bland cover letter when one application catches my eye: Tasha Daniels. I open her file, skimming through the details.

She’s young, with a standard resume, mostly customer service. I scroll down to her picture and blink. She’s striking, in a way that makes you stop and take a second look. Light, caramel brown hair, clover-colored eyes, a smile that’s a little shy but bright enough to catch your attention.

I stir the beef and vegetable mixture, dumping a decent amount of seasoning into the pan, followed by a few tablespoonsof water. I’m trying not to think too much about how a receptionist doesn’t typically look like they belong on a magazine cover.

I find myself studying Tasha’s resume longer than I meant to as I’m plating up my tacos.

This girl should be on the cover of Sports Illustrated, not in an office answering phones.

She’s young, sure, but there’s something about the way she’s presented herself that doesn’t just catch my interest, but holds it.

A lot of service industry work, mostly waitressing.

Waitressing is not exactly the kind of experience you’d expect for a receptionist, but then again, there’s something to be said about the skills that the job demands. Handling demanding customers face to face, staying on your feet for long shifts, balancing orders and requests without missing a beat; hell, that’s more multitasking than some of my project managers handle on a good day.

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