Page 32 of American Beauty

I lean back in my chair with a groan, ready to give up for the third time this morning—when a soft baby coo drifts in from the hallway, followed by the lilt of a familiar voice and a quiet laugh.

My fingers freeze on the trackpad. I push away from the desk, curiosity piqued, and step into the hall.

Hallie—our sharpest marketing exec who is currently on maternity leave—stands by Courtney’s desk with a baby carrier slung on one hip and a smirk on her face that says she’s enjoying the chaos she’s brought into the office.

“Well, look at you, Sebring. You’ve got that buried-under-spreadsheets-and-bad-coffee-look down to an art.”

“That’s because I am buried. If one more email starts withper my last email,I might combust.”

She laughs, looking down as the baby lets out a soft gurgle. “Thought I’d bring Ruby in for a visit. She’s been dying to see where the magic happens.”

I raise a brow at the pink bundle nestled in the carrier. “Is this the little boss?”

“The one and only,” she says, all pride. “Figured it was time she met the people who’ll be funding her future tuition and expensive daycare.”

I chuckle, stepping closer. “You sure she’s ready for corporate life?”

“She’s already better at delegation than half the team.”

I nod toward the baby with a smirk. “How’s Dean adjusting to dad-life?”

“He’s learning how to do nappies without gagging, so that’s a win.” Her eyes crinkle with affection. “He’s smitten. He carries her around like she’s made of glass and won’t put her down unless I make him.”

I chuckle, glancing down at the baby, who’s blinking up at the ceiling lights. “And you? Are you surviving the newborn chaos?”

“Barely. But I put on real clothes today, so that’s a victory.” She lifts Ruby out of the carrier and holds her out to me. “Want to hold her? She’s in a good mood. No blowouts this morning.”

My phone buzzes in my hand, and instinct kicks in—I check it, heart stuttering for a second, hoping it’s Magnolia. But it’s not. Just a calendar reminder. Disappointment prickles under my skin as I set the phone on the corner of Courtney’s desk.

“Oh why not? I could use a win today.”

Hallie places Ruby into my arms, and everything stills. Her tiny body curls against me, warm and weightless, and something tugs deep inside—a sharp, quiet ache. I won’t let myself think about what it would be like to hold a baby with Magnolia’s hazel eyes.

Hallie watches me for a beat, grinning. “Damn, Alex. You look good holding a baby.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She’ll start knitting booties and planning a christening.”

“Malie may know something you don’t,” she says, winking.

I shake my head, still looking at the baby. She’s so tiny and perfect, yet she possesses the power to make me melt inside.

Ruby makes a soft, sleepy sound as I cradle her, and a ridiculous warmth blooms in my chest.

I tell myself not to go there—not to let my brain fill in the blanks. But the second Ruby shifts in my arms, soft and weightless, my thoughts drift anyway––Magnolia with a baby balanced on her hip, smiling at me like she’s in love with the life we’ve created together.

I want nothing more than a life with that woman.

Hallie eases Ruby from my arms with practiced care, her smile softening as the baby nestles back against her chest. “Better take her back before she gets too cozy. Dean might get jealous if he finds out his daughter spent the morning snuggled up in another man’s arms.”

I chuckle, stepping aside as she slings the diaper bag over her shoulder. “Tell him I promise not to steal his girl.”

Hallie disappears down the hall after a cheerful goodbye. I head back into my office, closing the door behind me. I sink into my chair, glancing at the monitor like it’s my enemy.

Today’s forty-seven unread emails stare back at me like a wall that I don’t have the tools—or the patience—to climb. I scroll through a few subject lines, already feeling the beginnings of a headache pulse behind my eyes.

I hate this part of the job. Words blur together. Sentences tangle. Numbers shift out of order. It’s not new—I’ve dealt with it my whole life—but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. The only thing worse than reading this shit is trying to understand it before I’ve had three coffees.

I click on the text-to-speech software I’ve started relying on more lately. The calm British voice kicks in, and I settle in,listening as it reads a vendor proposal aloud. The voice butchers a few words and I wince.

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