Page 1 of Daddy's Accidental Babies

1

SAVANNAH

Five-year-olds don’t care about whether you’re on time to work. They care about getting the wrong cereal for breakfast and if they get to stand at the front of the line for lunch during their preschool screenings. I was harshly reminded of that at seven thirty this morning when I spilled my double chai latte on my navy wrap dress on the way to the parking garage to make sure Thea got them off to the bus on time. I had to rush back to the apartment and change, and when I did, I misplaced one of my shoes.

Now wearing one pointy-toed, black, patent-leather stiletto and one round-toed stiletto, I massaged the bridge of my nose and rode the elevator to the tenth floor, reciting my new title under my breath to corral my anxiety and convince myself this was where I belonged, not at home with my sons.

“Senior brand PR strategist is a huge deal, Savannah. Get it together.” My self-talk ended when the doors slid open and someone else joined me on the climb, but the roiling of my nerves didn’t settle down at all.

My first day back on the job in two years and I was a nervous wreck. I’d finished my degree and focused on my boyswhile Thea and my father paid my bills and gave me time to settle myself and regroup. Now standing on the precipice of what could be a massive thing for my future, I felt like I was in the wrong place entirely. My heart ached to be cuddling Cal and Leo, reading them stories and watching them play.

But it was my turn to bring home the bacon and let Thea finish her degree now. And the boys would be spending four hours every day at preschool, so what would I do with that time? My best friend deserved the chance to start her life after giving so much time to help me get my head back in the game.

Finding out I was pregnant after a one-night stand shocked me, but giving birth to twins was what shifted the playing field. I’d have been down for the count without her, and now it was my chance to pay her back.

The elevator doors slid open and I stepped out. The hallway gleamed with dark wood paneling and sleek wainscoting. Every surface was polished to a high shine, from the marble floors to the glass conference room walls, all of it humming with money and pressure. I adjusted the strap on my tote and kept walking, even though I still felt like I should be home pouring cereal and trying to find a matching pair of shoes for Leo.

Then I saw my name—Savannah Bennett—in gold letters stenciled clean across the large walnut door, professional and understated, but somehow louder than anything else on the floor. I stood there for a second too long, my throat tight. This was my office, my door—a legitimate title on real wood, attached to a future I wasn’t sure I had the nerve to claim yet.

Inside, it was clean and modern. A wide window looked out across downtown Seattle. The desk gleamed under the overhead lights. Built-in shelves lined the wall behind it, empty for now but waiting—like everything else in my life—to be filled with something solid. There was a small sofa under a tall, fake-looking plant and a new leather planner set neatly beside a slim black phone blinking red.

I set my bag down and smoothed the front of my skirt, taking in the empty desk, the blank shelves, the too-clean workspace that didn’t feel like mine yet. No framed photos, no pens, no evidence of a life being lived in here. I hadn’t earned that comfort yet—but I intended to.

I circled around the desk and ran my fingers along the polished edge, grounding myself with the cool, solid surface. The chair gave a soft creak as I settled into it, not quite relaxing, just taking a moment to absorb the space and smile. Then I focused on the blinking red light on the desktop handset and sucked in a breath to bolster my confidence again before picking it up.

“Ms. Bennett?” a woman chirped. “Hi! I’m Justine, your secretary. Welcome aboard. The partners were hoping you could join them upstairs for a strategy discussion about the brand narrative ahead of the merger. I can come down and show you the way if you’d prefer.”

My mind reeled as the grin on my face stretched wider. I had a secretary? An assistant, just for me?

“Thank you, Justine. I’ll head up now,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake too much. Beyond the nerves of taking this new job was the excitement. I had a strong internship with a firm much like this one before I left town for a few years, but I lucked into this job. Or maybe my dad pulled strings. I would never know.

“Great! Twelfth floor. East conference room. I’ll make sure they’ve got coffee.”

The line went dead and I stayed still for a second, fingers hovering near the edge of the desk, absorbing the weight of what she’d just said. First day and I was being pulled into a high-level strategy session. Of course I was—it was my job. That was what Iwas here for, and the people who hired me had every confidence that I could do this job well.

I turned to the window, trying to find my center. This was what I came for. A new beginning. A seat at the table. Then why did it feel like I was walking straight into disaster, like at any time the rug would be pulled out from under me. I’d spent a lot of time being a mom and a student, and very little time doing anything that looked remotely like marketing and PR work. But here I was.

I straightened my posture and grabbed the leather planner, tucking it under my arm as I made my way back out to the hallway and toward the elevator. The twelfth floor wasn’t far, but I used the ride to breathe deeply and replay a few key phrases in my head—global brand alignment, consumer confidence, vertical integration—anything that made me sound like I hadn’t spent the past few years juggling sippy cups and changing Pull-Ups.

The elevator doors opened to a quieter floor. Less bustle, more power. I adjusted the portfolio under my arm and walked steadily past a row of glass offices until I reached the east conference room. The door was open. I stepped inside, offering a professional smile to the assistant waiting by the coffee tray.

And then I saw a name I thought I’d left in my past for good.

Dominic Knight.

Not the man, not at first—but his name. It was written on the whiteboard at the front of the room beneath the merger headline:Knight Holdings Group x Raven & Rhodes - Strategic Brand Integration.

I froze. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel my stomach drop through the floor and my knees go weak.

Raven & Rhodes hadn’t finalized the merger yet. I knew the possibility existed—industry chatter, a few rumors—but I neverimagined it would be with Knight Holdings. And I certainly didn’t think Dominic Knight himself would be in the room.

But then he turned his head and there he was. Seated near the head of the table in a charcoal-gray suit, reviewing something in a folder. Calm. Composed. Exactly the way I remembered him. Exactly the way I’d tried to forget.

He hadn’t seen me yet.

I stood just inside the doorway, the air conditioning suddenly too sharp against my skin, my hand still wrapped around the portfolio I hadn’t even opened. My legs refused to cooperate, every instinct screaming for me to back out and vanish before he looked up. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My heart beat so loudly I was afraid it might actually echo off the glass walls, but still, I stood there, silent and rooted in place, hoping to regain control of the panic tightening in my chest.

Because now I was standing in a conference room with the father of my children—and he had no idea the boys even existed.

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