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

POV: Lena

The bright yellow banner for Bright Stars Family Day flapped against the chain-link fence of the preschool playground.

Laughter and the squeak of sneakers on rubber mulch filled the air as parents mingled around paper cups of lukewarm cider. I stood near the sandbox, my stomach twisted into a hard knot.

I had to find Mrs. Gable. I needed to tell her that the confirmation from Vale Group was an administrative error, an embarrassing glitch caused by three five-year-olds who had managed to weaponize a company intake form.

"Mommy, look!" Chloe pointed toward the school's drop-off loop.

A sleek black sedan glided to a halt along the curb.

The rear door opened, and a pair of polished leather shoes hit the pavement.

Adrian Vale stepped out into the crisp morning sunlight.

He looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of plastic jungle gyms and primary-colored soccer cones. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his white shirt crisp without a tie, and his sharp jawline set in its usual composed line.

In his hand, he held the neon-pink adhesive badge the front office required every guest to wear. He had already stuck it squarely over his lapel: *GUEST: ADRIAN*.

My feet felt glued to the ground.

"He came," Owen whispered, his eyes wide.

"Applicant Number One!" Chloe cheered, taking off across the grass before I could catch her sleeve.

"Chloe, wait!" I hissed, lunging forward, but Owen and Benji were already trailing right behind her.

Adrian didn't flinch as three children skidded to a halt in front of his polished shoes. He looked down at them, his dark eyes assessing, before his gaze drifted up to meet mine across the yard.

A cold panic rushed through my veins. I hurried over, desperate to salvage what was left of my career.

"Mr. Vale," I said, struggling to keep my voice even as other parents glanced our way. "What are you doing here? This was a mistake. My children sent that form without my knowledge, and I already deleted it—"

"I received a calendar invite for ten o'clock," Adrian replied smoothly. "Vale Group honors its commitments, Ms. Bennett."

"This is not a corporate commitment," I whispered through clenched teeth. "This is preschool."

Chloe paid no attention to my distress. She had already dragged three miniature yellow plastic chairs beneath the shade of an oak tree, then hauled over a full-sized wooden folding chair.

She dusted the wooden seat with her small palm. "Please have a seat, Mr. Vale."

Adrian looked at the tiny yellow chairs, then at the wooden folding chair. Without a word of complaint, he walked over and sat down. His long legs folded neatly, his suit jacket pulling taut across his broad shoulders as he settled in front of the pint-sized panel.

Chloe, Owen, and Benji promptly dropped into their plastic chairs, forming a semi-circle around him.

Owen reached into his sweater pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper and a stubby green crayon, and smoothed the page flat on his knee.

"Mr. Vale, this is an official screening," Owen announced with absolute seriousness. "We have questions."

"Proceed," Adrian said, resting his forearms on his knees.

I took a step toward them, my face burning. "Owen, put the paper away. Mr. Vale has a multi-billion-dollar enterprise to run. He is leaving right now."

Owen ignored me completely. He adjusted the paper on his knee, stared straight at my boss, and delivered the first prompt.

"Question one," Owen said, his young voice ringing clear. "Do you actually want our mom, or do you just want to win?"

The words hung in the chilly morning air like a dropped weight.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

A dozen excuses rushed to my tongue. I expected Adrian to chuckle, dismiss the absurd question, or glance at me with the polite condescension powerful men reserved for subordinates' children.

He did none of those things.

Adrian looked directly into Owen's eyes. His expression remained steady, thoughtful, and completely devoid of mockery.

"I always play to win," Adrian said, his deep voice carrying a quiet authority that silenced the small circle. "In my work, losing is not an option. But this is not an acquisition."

Benji hugged his stuffed dinosaur a little tighter, leaning forward to listen.

"The truth is," Adrian continued, glancing briefly up at me before returning his focus to the children, "I don't know your mother well enough to claim I have feelings for her. Anyone who tells you they love someone after one brief meeting is lying to you."

My heart gave an unexpected thump against my ribs.

"I don't make promises I cannot keep," Adrian added, his tone measured and direct. "I am here because I respect her work, and I am interested in getting to know who she is outside the office. But I will not pretend to like things I don't, and I will not pretend to care about children just to score points on an application."

The playground chatter around us seemed to fade into a distant hum.

I had been ready to step in, drag my kids away, and offer whatever groveling apology was required to save my job on Monday morning. But the sharp, unvarnished honesty in his answer stopped me cold.

He wasn't treating them like toddlers to be humored. He was answering them with the exact same clarity and respect he gave to board members.

Owen stared at Adrian for three long seconds. Slowly, he pressed the green crayon against the paper and drew a firm checkmark beside the first box.

"Question two," Benji piped up from his tiny chair, swinging his short legs. "Can you make pancakes? The real kind with strawberries, not the weird ones from a box that taste like cardboard."

Adrian didn't hesitate. "Buttermilk batter from scratch. Medium heat on a seasoned griddle. Golden edges, soft in the center. I do not burn breakfast."

Chloe gasped softly, looking over at Owen.

"One second, please," Owen told Adrian.

The three children immediately leaned in, their heads knocking together in a tight huddle. Whispered arguments and frantic nodding ensued for ten intense seconds while Adrian sat quietly, waiting for the verdict.

Finally, the huddle broke. Owen sat back up, his small chin lifted.

"You passed the first stage," Chloe declared, pointing a finger at Adrian. "Second interview is tomorrow morning. The breakfast round."

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Is that the final step?"

"No," Owen said solemnly. "That's just the semifinal."

Adrian stood up from the wooden chair, buttoning his suit jacket with an effortless motion. He turned his attention away from the children and looked directly at me.

My mouth was dry. My hands were balled into tight fists at my sides, every defense mechanism I possessed firing on full alert.

A faint, almost imperceptible twitch touched the corner of Adrian's mouth as his gaze locked onto mine.

"Apparently," Adrian said smoothly, "I made the shortlist."