Page 7 of Triplet Trouble For My Billionaire Boss

I wonder what that’s like for Robbie, growing up surrounded by empty spaces. He probably doesn’t even realize it yet, but one day he will.

My gaze shifts to the window, where the darkest night is somehow beautiful and serene, but again, empty.

I shake my head, trying to shake off the melancholy. This isn’t my life to judge.

I have my own life to worry about. The reason I even took this job and the one at Silver Screen in the the first place.

I let my thoughts drift to my own life, to the dream I had to put on hold.

Fashion design.

It feels like a lifetime ago now, though it’s only been a couple of years since I dropped out of school. Money was tight, and I just couldn’t make it work. I’d taken a job as a barista to pay the bills, which was barely enough to scrape by.

Landing the receptionist position at Silver Screen Studios had felt like a miracle, even if it wasn’t exactly high-paying.

Still, it was more than what I’d been making before, plus I still worked some shifts as a barista. It gave me hope—hope that maybe, someday, I’d get back to school, back to the dream I’d been chasing since I was a kid.

And tonight? Tonight would make a huge difference. The money Cole offered me for babysitting was three times more than I made in a week, and it would go straight into my savings.

I lean my head back against the chair, letting out a slow breath.

It’s funny, in a way. Cole Wagner, the billionaire CEO, was never more than a distant figure at work. Receptionists don’t generally have much contact with the people in the “C” suite.

Cole is intimidating, sure—tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp green eyes that seem to see right through you—and he’s awfully easy on the eyes.

Okay, that’s an understatement. He’s gorgeous, with dark hair that’s almost black and a jawline that could cut glass. But there’s something almost dangerous about him—his coldness, maybe—which is somewhat off-putting, but which I find simultaneously compelling.

None of that matters, though, because he is also completely out of my league. Men like him don’t even notice women like me.

And yet, tonight, he did notice me, although probably out of desperation. He asked for my help, practically begged me to save him from a last-minute disaster.

I glance at the empty hallway, wondering what he’s like as a father. He clearly loves Robbie, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so desperate when his nanny quit, but he doesn’t seem to be present in the way that counts.

My gaze drifts back to the photos on the bookshelf, and I feel a pang of sympathy. Losing his wife must have been devastating.

I don’t know the details, but I can only imagine how much it would hurt to lose someone like that, someone you’d built a life with. Maybe that’s why he keeps himself out of the photos. Maybe it’s his way of coping.

I let out a sigh, pulling the blanket from the back of the chair and draping it over my legs. The house feels quieter than ever, the silence pressing in around me.

Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being just another employee, a receptionist sitting behind a desk. But tonight? Tonight, I’m a part of this world, even if it’s only for a little while.

Chapter Three

Cole

The aroma of fresh coffee greets me as I step into the kitchen, rubbing the lingering exhaustion from my eyes. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, bathing the space in warm light. The polished counters gleam, every surface as pristine as a showroom thanks to Evelyn’s meticulous care—even when she’s been out late the night before.

Evelyn is already bustling around the kitchen, moving with practiced efficiency as she places a plate of eggs and toast on the island. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek bun, and her crisp white chef’s coat is spotless, as always. She glances up as I enter, offering a quick nod.

“Good morning, Mr. Wagner,” she says briskly, her tone as professional as ever. “Coffee’s fresh. Would you like a cup?”

“Morning. I can grab it myself,” I reply, heading for the coffee pot.

Robbie is already seated at the breakfast table, his small frame almost swallowed by the oversized chair. He’s wearing dinosaur pajamas, the green fabric dotted with cartoon T-Rexes and Triceratops.

His plate holds a stack of pancakes, neatly cut into bite-sized pieces, though his fork is currently untouched as he’s trying to balance two pieces of bacon on the plate.

“Good morning,” I say, sliding into a chair at the table.

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