I Told My Kids to Stop Hiring Me a Boyfriend, Then My CEO Asked for a Second Interview

POV: Adrian

Adrian Vale did not waste time on nonsense, yet his fingers rested on the keyboard as if he were preparing a hostile takeover bid.

Max stood by the edge of the mahogany desk, his eyes wide. "Mr. Vale, you're not actually..."

Adrian ignored him. He clicked the first text box.

*Question 1: Can you cook breakfast without burning it?*

Adrian typed with crisp, even keystrokes: *Eggs, pancakes, coffee. Precision heat management prevents burning.*

"Sir," Max said, clearing his throat. "I could simply contact IT to wipe the rogue submission link."

"Be quiet, Max." Adrian scrolled to the next prompt.

*Question 2: Do you have a big house with a yard for tag?*

He paused for two seconds, his expression completely blank, before answering: *Yes, though square footage should not serve as an acceptable qualifying metric for parental suitability.*

Max rubbed his temples, staring at his billionaire boss as if eighty-hour work weeks had finally caused a total mental break.

*Question 3: Must never make our mom cry.*

Adrian looked at the short, crooked letters on the screen. His fingers didn't hesitate this time.

*Never.*

*Question 4: What is in your freezer right now?*

Adrian typed: *An industrial soft-serve unit and three flavors of gelato. Premium grade.*

At the bottom of the page, the application asked for a full legal name and contact method. Adrian entered *A. Vale* and linked it directly to his private executive line.

He moved the cursor over the bright green button that said *Submit Application* and clicked.

A small graphic of virtual confetti exploded on the screen, accompanied by a cheery cartoon chime.

"Log out of the system," Adrian said smoothly, leaning back into his leather chair as if he had just closed an eight-figure real estate acquisition. "And prepare the briefing for the ten o'clock department review."

Max stood frozen for three beats. "Right away, sir."

***

Seven miles away, the morning sun slipped through the thin curtains of a small two-bedroom apartment.

Owen sat cross-legged on the floor by the radiator, holding his mother's tablet with both hands while Chloe and Benji hovered over his shoulders.

"Did anyone write back?" Chloe whispered, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Did you check the green box?"

"I'm checking," Owen whispered back.

He dragged his finger down the screen to refresh the inbox. The loading wheel spun once, twice, and then popped open with a single bold notification.

*New Response Received: Applicant No. 1.*

"Look!" Benji gasped, jabbing his finger at the glass. "Someone applied!"

Owen tapped the notification, opening the completed form. "His name is A. Vale."

"What does he say about breakfast?" Chloe asked, bouncing on her heels.

"He said eggs and pancakes," Owen read, sounding out the words carefully. "And he said he has a big house, but it shouldn't matter."

"That's a smart answer," Chloe declared, crossing her small arms with deep satisfaction. "What about the important rule? The one about Mommy?"

Owen scrolled down to the third question. He showed the tablet to Chloe.

Under *Must never make our mom cry*, there was only one word.

*Never.*

"Full points," Chloe said instantly, nodding with utter seriousness. "One hundred percent."

Benji leaned closer, squinting at the bottom of the page. "What about the ice cream? Read the ice cream part, Owen!"

"He says he has an industrial soft-serve unit," Owen said, frowning at the long words. "And three kinds of gelato."

"What's a soft-serve unit?" Benji asked.

"It's a machine," Owen explained, his eyes going round. "Like the big swirl machine at the burger place. He has one in his house."

Benji gasped, clutching his stuffed dinosaur with both hands. "He passes! Put him in the final round right now!"

"Hold on, we have to do an interview first," Owen said, tapping the screen to save the response. "That's what Mommy does."

From the kitchen down the hall, Lena's voice rang out. "Kids! Shoes on, backpacks ready! We have seven minutes before we need to leave!"

Owen slammed the tablet face down on the rug and shoved it into the bottom pocket of his backpack. "Don't say anything to Mommy yet," he warned. "Not until we set up the meeting."

***

At ten o'clock sharp, Lena Bennett walked into the main boardroom on the forty-second floor of the Vale Group tower.

She wore a crisp navy blazer, her dark hair pinned neatly back, holding a slim leather folder against her chest. She had worked at Vale Group for nearly three years in community brand strategy, but she had never presented directly to the chief executive.

Adrian Vale sat at the head of the long glass conference table. He didn't look up immediately as the project leads took their seats; he was reviewing a stack of quarterly projections, his posture rigid and commanding.

"Ms. Bennett," the department director said, gesturing toward the screen. "Whenever you're ready."

Lena stepped up to the podium, cleared her throat, and switched on the monitor. "Good morning. Today I'm presenting our proposal for the citywide Family Experience Initiative. Our goal is to connect working parents with subsidized weekend programs..."

She spoke clearly, moving through the budget charts and operational timelines with steady confidence.

Adrian listened without interrupting, his dark eyes fixed on her.

He didn't focus on the bar charts. His gaze drifted to the nameplate on her file: *Lena Bennett - Community Strategy Lead.*

*Bennett.*

The same last name attached to the employee domain that had pinged his executive intake address at midnight.

Adrian observed her with an intensity he usually reserved for high-stakes negotiations. She looked young, composed, and completely in control of the room. There was no trace of exhaustion on her face, no hint that she was raising three children alone in a modest apartment on the other side of town.

She was known around the executive floor as the strategist who never missed a deadline, never joined the Friday evening networking drinks, and always walked out the front doors at precisely five o'clock.

"...and by partnering with local recreation centers, we reduce overhead costs by fourteen percent," Lena concluded, meeting Adrian's gaze across the room. "If there are no objections, we are prepared to launch the pilot program next month."

The room fell quiet. The other managers looked toward the head of the table, waiting for the CEO's usual string of brutal, dissecting questions.

Adrian closed her dossier with a clean, flat snap of his fingers against the cover.

"The operational budget is realistic," Adrian said, his voice deep, smooth, and measured. "The timeline is efficient. Approved without revisions, Ms. Bennett."

Lena blinked, momentarily startled by the immediate approval. A slight flush touched her cheeks before she recovered her professional mask. "Thank you, Mr. Vale. We'll begin implementation immediately."

Adrian kept his eyes on her as she gathered her papers, watching every movement until the boardroom doors swung shut behind her.

***

Twenty minutes later, Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass in his private office, looking down at the sprawling city grid.

The door clicked open, and Max walked in, holding the company tablet.

"Mr. Vale," Max said carefully. "The preschool inbox just sent a follow-up prompt. It's an automated scheduling notification."

Adrian didn't turn around from the window. "What does it say?"

"It asks if Applicant No. 1 is available for an initial screening interview via encrypted voice chat this afternoon at four-thirty." Max paused, looking up from the screen with visible hesitation. "Should I archive it now, sir?"

"No," Adrian answered, his tone quiet and absolute.

"Sir?"

"Reply to the message, Max." Adrian turned around, his hands resting in the pockets of his tailored trousers, his expression completely resolute. "Use standard business protocol."

Max swallowed hard. "What should the message say?"

Adrian looked at him evenly. "Applicant A. Vale accepts the interview invitation."

***

Across town, inside the quiet corner of the preschool library, Owen pulled the tablet from under a stack of picture books and tapped the glowing screen.

His eyes widened as the notification flashed in bright white text.

Owen grabbed Chloe's sleeve and yanked it hard. "Chloe! Benji! Look!"

The three children crowded over the small glass display, their mouths falling open as they read the words.

*Applicant A. Vale accepts the interview invitation.*

"He said yes," Owen whispered, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We have our first real applicant."