Page 69 of Stuffed

Later that night, after finally getting James to sleep, I find Zane in our home office, baby monitor in one hand, quarterly reports in the other.

"Multitasking?" I tease.

"Learning from the best." He smirks, pulling me into his lap. "You're the one who closed the Wilson contract while in labor."

"That was different," I protest. "Those numbers weren't going to add themselves up."

He laughs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "God, I love you. Should we go have our nightly date?” he asks, placing the work aside and turning his attention fully to me.

“I would love that,” I say, sliding my hand in his as we make our way down the hall. We pause outside the nursery, James sleeping peacefully in his crib, as Espresso stands guard outside.

Chapter 22

Zane

THE BIRTH OF OUR DAUGHTER…

My daughter, it seems, has inherited her mother's flair for perfect timing.

I'm watching Tessa prepare to cut the ceremonial ribbon at Sugar & Spice's third location when she suddenly grabs my arm, eyes wide.

"Your daughter," she manages between quick breaths, "already has impeccable marketing sense."

The press goes wild—the power couple's baby choosing such a publicity-worthy moment to make her entrance. I couldn't care less about the headlines. All I see is Tessa, beautiful and strong even in labor, still trying to delegate tasks as I guide her to the car.

"The opening—" she starts.

"Ivy's handling it," I assure her, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Focus on our daughter."

Hours later, our baby girl is here.

Four-year-old James watches his sister's tiny face scrunch and change color in his mother’s arms from his perch on Asher's shoulders, his eyes wide with wonder. "She's so tiny," he whispers, and I'm struck by how much he sounds like me.

We name her Charlotte Eleanor Mercer, after my mother, and from day one, she's pure fire. All Tessa's determination and my intensity rolled into one tiny package.

"She's you." I laugh one morning, watching Charlotte methodically organize her stuffed animals by size. The same way I organize my files, my meetings, my entire life.

"Please," Tessa counters from where she's reviewing contracts on our bed. "That's all you. Remember your filing system for Espresso's paperwork?"

I watch my daughter command her domain, already showing signs of the leader she'll become. James sits nearby, gentle soul that he is, reading to the cats and making sure his sister's animals are arranged to her satisfaction.

Late one night, after both kids are finally asleep, I find Tessa in our home office, surrounded by expansion plans and family photos.

"Sometimes I wonder if we're doing too much," she admits, looking at pictures of recent milestones.

I pull her into my lap, both of us exhausted but content. "We're doing it together. That's what matters."

Because this is what we do best—balance the impossible, make it look easy, turn challenges into opportunities.

I watch James inherit my soft spot for strays, already bringing home injured birds and lost kittens. And I watch Charlotte organize the other children at our corporate daycare into elaborate pretend businesses, complete with mock quarterly reports.

"She'll run Mercer Industries someday," I predict proudly, watching her explain market dynamics to her stuffed bears.

"Only if she wants to," Tessa reminds me, and I love her more for it. Because our children will always have what matters most—the freedom to choose their own paths.

The press calls us Chicago's power couple, but they don't see these moments. Don't see James curled up with the cats while I read financial reports or Charlotte falling asleep during board meetings she insists on attending, her tiny briefcase full of crayon drawings clutched to her chest.

They don't see how perfectly our chaos works. How completely our lives have merged. How beautifully our family has grown.

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