I awoke that morning in a fog, a touch hungover from my wine-fueled pity party of the previous evening. A cry came over the baby monitor, a soft little mewl. Right on schedule; Levi was nothing if not punctual. I sighed, threw on my fuzzy robe that was ratty from overuse, and walked from my room into the living room, where Levi’s crib was stationed.

Who knew why I continued to use the baby monitor? I could hear every tiny peep, down to the faintest gurgle he made through our thin walls.

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” I mumbled, as though he could possibly understand me.

I shuffled out into the living room, and at the sight of me, Levi immediately stopped his incessant keeling, instead affixing his bright blue eyes on my own.

“Yes?” I asked, redoing my ponytail. “Why do you always look so surprised to see me?”

Living alone meant I’d gotten into the habit of talking to Levi constantly. For what it’s worth, experts say this is a great thing in terms of child development; the more words your child hears, the better their language skills develop. So, a win-win for us both, really.

“You’re a good kid, sport,” I chuckled as I lifted him to my chest.

We’d switched from breast to bottle feeding at eight months, by which point my nipples had been sore and cracked. But Levi was still prone to fumbling for my breast, meaning that every morning, we did a dance of him lunging hungrily at my chest, and me deflecting him with a classic duck and weave. It wasn’t elegant, but frankly, not much about motherhood is.

I set him in the high chair and put a bottle in his hands. I could almost see the disappointment on Levi’s face as he looked skeptically at the pastel bottle, as if to say, “This again?”

“Sorry, buddy. It’s this until real food, I’m afraid,” I informed him as I commenced my morning routine.

“Routine” is probably a misleading choice of word; rather, it was more of a frantic race through the apartment, like a video game where the character must collect as many gold coins as possible before time runs out. In my case, it was a dash for makeup, breakfast, and something resembling professional work attire.

More often than not, I was failing the game—going to work with only one eye with mascara on, or a blouse on inside out. Listen, I wasn’t striving for perfection, but decency seemed like a reasonable goal.

Pausing my morning sprint for a moment, I grabbed my cellphone, ready to turn on a soothing podcast. I’d become reliant on the white noise of cohosts chatting, to make things seem even just a little bit less hectic.

The screen lit up—a message from my mother:

Sorry, sweetie, we can’t take Levi today. Your idiot dad decided to hit an overhead shot yesterday on the tennis court, so I’m driving him to physical therapy. Love you!

What?! For one, my dad knew better than to try to overhead with his messed-up rotator cuff, but two, what was I supposed to do now?

I didn’t even take the time to respond to her message; I was in overdrive mode. Any semblance of a routine that had been underway previously was thrown out the window. I began to message the three or four college girls I had in rotation as sitters, praying that somebody could come through at the last minute. Each one replied that it was midterm week, and unfortunately, there was absolutely no chance they could take Levi for the day.

Turning to the baby, I said with a sigh, “All right, kiddo. You’re coming with me, today.”

He thumped his milk bottle on the table of the high chair, which I took as resounding agreement.

My hair was thrown up into a ponytail, and a skirt wiggled onto my hips. Then, it was on to readying Levi, which entailed diaper changing, onesie outfitting, and baby bag assembling. The U.S. Army couldn’t compete with the tactical movements of a working mother, and even though we were out the door a few minutes behind schedule, I thought it was quite the accomplishment.

The upside of being a working mother at Swann Innovations was getting all of their newly rolled-out goodies. I got Levi downstairs using a state-of-the art baby carrier that wrapped around my chest like sturdy silk, and once at the car, buckled him into our best-selling car seat. Though the seat was extremely safe, it took forever to strap in, and by the time I’d managed it, rush-hour traffic was heavy.

When all was said and done, I pulled into the office parking lot a full half an hour later than usual. I tried to remain calm as I grabbed Levi from the backseat, strapped him to my chest, lifted my heaving purse and baby bag, and proceeded towards the elevators.

I tapped my heels anxiously as I waited for the elevator car. I was always timely; all my performance reports consistently showered me with praise for being the first in and the last out. Surely, everyone would understand why I was slipping lately, but still—I had too much pride to walk in late. Not to mention, a high-paying promotion right about now would really help with the seemingly endless pile of bills.

The abominably slow elevator finally arrived, and I rushed in, trying not to jostle Levi too much. Thirty floors later, I stepped out into my office. Or, rather, a section of the company’s offices. In reality, all the land I could lay claim to was a small desk in the midst of a row of other desks. Personally, I would’ve preferred the privacy of a cubicle, but you know tech companies these days—all about the open layout plans.

Jonathon, one of the many young interns who worked on the social media side of the business, strolled past, letting out a long whistle.

“Got the kid today?” he asked blandly as he watched me struggle with my various bags.

“How incredibly perceptive you are,” I returned, my voice dry and scathing. “No, please, don’t offer to help me with my fifty pounds of stuff.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, totally missing the sarcasm. I seethed internally; what was wrong with kids these days? Where were the manners? Being a mother at 25 already made me feel old, but being around people only a few years younger than me—who had the social skills of toddlers—served to amplify my feelings of age acceleration.

And then, as if on cue, Levi decided to start shrieking.

“Levi,” I whispered as I maneuvered past the annoyed eyes of my colleagues and toward my desk. “Be quiet, please, honey.”

His response was to wail harder.

“What, what is it?” I begged, desperate to end his keening. “You can’t be hungry, I just changed your diaper, and it’s not nap time. What are you trying to tell me?”

His little face went red with frustration. Having a child was like constantly being pressed to speak a language for which there was no possible translation. Babies needed to come out of the womb with their own tiny dictionaries.

At last, I arrived at my desk, and threw down my armful of bags. Bethany, who manned the desk directly across from mine, made a face at Levi.

“Is he yours?” she asked, a lightly horrified expression crossing her face.

For people who worked at a baby-tech company, I noted, all of my coworkers seemed to be pretty grossed out by babies.

“No, Bethany,” I replied, sugar-sweet. “I stole him off the street.”

“Oh my God, what?”

I rolled my eyes. Was my sarcasm this hard to detect? “It was a joke,” I clarified.

Levi continued to bawl, and I attempted to bounce him up and down. No dice.

“Is he gonna do that all day?”

“I don’t know; why don’t you ask him?”

I was too tired to conceal my hostility; Bethany and everyone else around me were getting on my last nerve.

“Shh, shh,” I pleaded to Levi. Taking a towel out of the baby bag, I flung it over my shoulder and attempted to burp him, which served only to make him scream louder.

People in the office were beginning to do those exaggerated sighs you recognized as a new mother; the sigh that says, “Can you please shut that baby up right now?” If only I could express how hard I was trying.

I reached into the apparently bottomless bag once more, and pulled out one of Levi’s favorite toys, a Wi-Fi-enabled sphere that changed colors in response to different baby noises. The Swann R&D team had never clarified what exactly this was supposed to do for childhood development, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to question the efficacy of the product.

“Here you go, little man,” I cooed, putting the ball in Levi’s tiny palms.

With unprecedented motor power, Levi hefted the ball and chucked it across the office. I watched in slow motion as the ball bounced on a desk, careened off a wall, and landed with a dull thud on the side of my manager’s head.

“What the hell was that?” he bellowed. The heads of my co-workers swiveled to me like a flock of seagulls. Thanks for the subtlety, guys, I remarked silently.

I found my voice and spoke up. “Sorry about that, David. My son’s turning out to be quite the little pitcher.” I held Levi aloft by way of explanation.

Even beneath David’s thick beard, I saw his mouth contort into a scowl. He stormed over to my desk, his hipster-booted feet slamming into the corporate-gray of the carpet.

“What,” he began, arriving at my station, “is the meaning of this?”

“David, this is Levi, my son. He didn’t mean to throw the ball at you. He’s just developing fine-motor skills.” I bounced Levi in David’s direction, hoping that those big blue eyes would melt my boss.

No such luck. Possibly, the melting quality of said eyes was diminished by the tears streaming out of them.

“Who told you that children were allowed in the office?” David interrogated.

“I mean, I just figured, because it’s a baby company, there wouldn’t be a—”

“A problem? Well, there most certainly is.”

Just as I was about to respond, Levi decided it was the perfect moment to barf all over the front of David’s too-cool flannel shirt. I would have been mortified if I wasn’t so busy marveling at Levi’s comedic timing. Was it too soon to enroll my baby in improv classes?

David’s face went from its normal light pink to a deep, crimson red. Between the flannel, beard, and newly-inflamed face, he looked a bit like a lumberjack—although that image was entirely negated by the spit-up covering his torso.

Barely keeping his rage in check, he hissed, “I want this baby out of here.”

“Listen, David, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a sitter, and—”

“You think I care? This boy is a damn menace.”

“Hey,” I shot back, my hackles rising. “Don’t call my kid names.”

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice across the room asked.

I was too busy staring down David to turn my head in response to the unknown questioner. That is, until I realized that my boss was rapidly swiveling away from our encounter, and the heads of all my coworkers had gone in the opposite direction. Was our confrontation over that quickly?

Obliging the intrigue, I turned my head to follow everyone’s line of sight, and saw—oh, no. Ashton Swann.

My heart pounded so frantically that I worried Levi would be able to feel it through the baby carrier.

What was Ashton doing down here? Shouldn’t he be on a private jet, or in a hotel room with some supermodel? I mean, sure, I’d seen him in the halls from time to time, but always flanked by a posse of assistants who struggled to keep up with his breakneck pace. Now, he stood alone, in a beautiful suit that was far too elegant for the usual San Bravado uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt. I briefly reflected that I liked a man who made an effort. It was…refreshing.

I spoke up first, since everyone else seemed too petrified. I suppose motherhood makes you more confident; you just don’t have enough hours in the day to waste time on indecision.

“Sorry, sir,” I called out across the room. “I couldn’t get a sitter today, so I had to bring my son in, and he’s being a little fussy—”

Levi let out a punctuating scream.

“Is that all?” Ashton replied, and proceeded to walk towards me. “Here, let me take him.”

His tall, muscular form strode across the office, which was so quiet even his carpeted footfalls were audible. I gulped as he grew nearer and nearer, until at last, he was so close that his body towered over mine.

“May I?” he said with a grin, gesturing to the wailing Levi.

Maybe the whites of his teeth blinded me to all common sense, because I nodded mechanically and unwrapped Levi from my chest, passing him over to Mr. Swann.

He took my son with enormous hands that spanned over half the length of my boy’s small body. No sooner had he touched Levi than the baby quieted down.

“How did you do that?” I gasped in wonderment.

My boss sneered, “Maybe he’s just better with children than you are.”

“Watch it, David,” Ashton snapped. “You don’t talk to my employee—or any mother—like that. Understood?”

“Sorry,” David mumbled to me.

“What was that?” Ashton pressed.

David repeated his apology. “Sorry, Harley.”

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at David, choosing to smile demurely instead.

“Fine, that’s settled,” Ashton said. To David, he instructed, “Now, get lost, before I change my mind about your employment status.”

David’s mouth plopped open, and he scuttled off to his corner office.

“Thank you,” I said. “And I am sorry about Levi, he’s usually so well-behaved; I don’t know what got into him.”

Ashton’s caramel eyes were unexpectedly warm, in complete contrast to the fiery, demanding tone he’d just used with David.

“Don’t apologize,” he replied. “In fact, I’m rather pleased you brought him in today.”

“Uh, why?” I asked, my eyebrows quirking with skepticism.

“He’s a beautiful little boy. Just the man we need for the job.”

“What job?”

“We’re doing a shoot today, for the new Kinderholler stroller. Our last baby actor, ah…fell through, so to speak.” He paused, licking his lips, and my eyes were compelled to notice their perfectness. “Would you mind if we used Levi for the shoot?”

I hesitated, unsure of what to say, and more than a little distracted by the fact that Ashton’s cheek bones and jawline were carved like the stone of a mountain.

“Of course, you’d be very generously compensated for your son’s time,” Ashton added. “And the shoot wouldn’t actually recommence until Friday.”

My mouth finally remembered how to form words. “But don’t you usually hire, like, an actor for that? A baby actor, I mean?” God, I sounded stupid. Was I always this rambling?

“Generally, yes. But, um…” Now, it was Ashton’s turn to trail off. “We’ve been having some…difficulties…with the other children.”

“Oh, really?”

Ashton looked around the room, and everyone’s eyes quickly moved from our exchange to their screens.

Without their prying gazes, he continued, “Honestly, the other babies seem to cry whenever I’m around. Levi’s the first one that seems not to despise me.”

Much to my surprise, I saw a pained look flit across his face, but it was gone before I could consider it more deeply.

I wanted to help him, and God knows I could’ve used the money, but a childhood acting career wasn’t exactly the most stable path in life. Besides, if all the other babies had been flipping out at the sight of Ashton, who was to say that they weren’t on to something? The prospect was tempting, but my reservations were numerous.

“Can I think about it?” I asked Ashton.

“Of course,” he replied quickly. “I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you’re not comfortable with.” He took out his phone and tapped something into it. “Here, I’ve just airdropped you my contact info. Just reach out when you’ve made a decision.”

“When do you need to know by?”

He pulled at his neatly hemmed suit cuffs, and replied, “Preferably by tonight.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “I can handle that.”

“I look forward to hearing from you.” Something about his tone of voice convinced me that the sentiment was a real one.

He returned Levi into my arms, and gave me a last once-over, my body sizzling at the feeling of his gaze roaming across every curve. Without further discussion, he turned on a well-shod heel and walked out of the office. I was left alone, with a newly quieted Levi, to mull over the offer.

* * *

The rest of the work day passed uneventfully—though, to be fair, not much would’ve ticked on my radar after the drama of the morning. After his mortifying outburst, and Ashton’s oddly paternal hold, Levi had immediately fallen into a slumber that he went in and out of peacefully for the next seven-odd hours, with a few feeds and diaper changes in between. I tapped away at my keyboard, dealing with sundry tasks; my brain was elsewhere. Or, to be specific, on the breadth of Ashton’s hands.

I was startled when I realized it was five o’clock already. Had I really been distracted for the entirety of the afternoon? I’d last fed Levi around three, I was sure of it, but nothing else seemed to register in my mind. Maybe mommy brain was a real thing.

Levi and I drove home in quiet, picking up takeout from my favorite Mexican place en route. Soon enough, we were back in the comfort of the apartment, and I was giving him his bath, kissing his forehead, and laying him into the crib. When the baby business was sorted, I wolfed down the burrito I’d picked up—somehow, in the day’s haze, I’d definitely missed lunch—then hopped into a steaming hot shower.

After the shower, it was back into the comfort of my robe, and after that, into the even more blissful comfort of my bed. I opened my laptop and turned on a sitcom from my childhood, more for comforting background noise than anything.

Leaning back against the pillows, I considered my options regarding the baby shoot. My penchant for lists reared its Type-A head, and I began to mentally sort the factors into columns.

So, for the pros…

One, the money. A big, big pro. Ashton hadn’t named a figure, but Swann Innovations was a massive company with cash to spare. Plus, they seemed to be in a serious bind, so that might bump the already generous pay.

Two, it would mean I could take Levi to work, and give my parents another day off without having to pay for a sitter. And, this time, David would have to treat Levi politely—after all, he’d be the star for the day.

And, three, could Ashton’s general hotness count as a pro? Especially since we’d definitely be working closely together…

At that last thought, my practical brain swung immediately over to the other side of the list—the cons.

The first was that the commercial would give Levi a lot of exposure, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to have that. Working in tech had convinced me that giving your child too much of an internet presence at too young an age could be a privacy vulnerability. Additionally, Levi would be complicit in accruing even more money for the already ludicrously wealthy Ashton and his board of directors. I get that we live in a capitalism-driven society, but did I really have to make my son a part of that economy?

And then, there was the man himself. Ashton. While his sculpted cheekbones were certainly a big pro, his reputation was an equally big con. What if he was as bad as people said? What if today had been a fluke, and the next time he held Levi, he freaked out? Would Ashton fly into one of his alleged rages?

The pros and cons flipped back and forth in my brain over the soundtrack of the sitcom audience laughing and clapping.

At last, I decided on a workable argument: I could justify the shoot if I promised myself to put the money into Levi’s college fund. I hadn’t been able to set aside a single cent for him ever since Kyle ran out, and the way tuition prices were climbing these days, I was already behind on the savings. Maybe this could help him avoid the student loans that had plagued me for years.

My mind was settled—Levi would take the job.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside nightstand, scrolled through my contacts to find Ashton’s information, and with a deep breath, made the call.

“Hello?” a deep voice answered. I recognized it as Ashton’s.

Wait, had he really given me his private number? A man like him had an army of secretaries to answer various business calls. Why did he want me to call him directly?

But I couldn’t ask him any of that, so instead, I replied, “Hey, it’s Harley. From earlier. The one with the baby.”

“I remember you, Harley With The Baby.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and a shiver ran from my eardrum down the back of my spine, stopping to pluck each vertebra, one by one.

“Um, right,” I mumbled, embarrassed at my total lack of cool. “I just wanted to call to say that, yes, I’ll let you use Levi in the shoot on Friday.”

“You’re a good woman. Thank you. Swann Innovations is in your debt.”

“Not literally though, right?” I joked.

“Of course not. I’ll discuss an appropriate fee with the advertising department, and then, naturally, we’ll pay what reflects your flexibility with the situation.”

“Okay.” I paused, unsure of what else to say. Ashton was so confident, so smooth, that it left me feeling a bit woozy. “See you then.”

“Great. I look forward to it, Harley With The Baby.”

“You can just call me Harley.”

His voice dropped and rumbled in his chest. “Good night, Harley. Sleep well.”

He hung up with a click. Sleep? Not likely. The thought of his voice whispering low into my ear kept me awake well into the night.