His Impossible Baby

He was staring at me again.

I kept my eyes on my computer screen, but I could feel it. That weight. That awareness. Holden Pierce didn't look at people casually. When his attention landed on you, you knew it.

And for the past week, he'd been looking at me.

I couldn't figure out why. I was nobody. Just a summer intern who couldn't even speak.

My name is Wren Ashby. I'm twenty-two, I have a 3.8 GPA, and I haven't said a word out loud in fifteen years. Not since my father locked me in a basement when I was seven and I screamed until my voice gave out. Selective mutism, the therapist called it. Trauma response. My vocal cords work fine, apparently. My brain just won't let me use them.

So I use an app. SpeakEasy. Type what I want to say, and a robotic voice does the talking. It's humiliating, but it's better than being completely silent.

I'd almost didn't apply to Pierce Industries. A mute intern at a billion-dollar real estate company? But I needed this. Needed to prove I could do something right.

When I filled out the disability accommodation form, I stared at it for ten minutes before typing: "I use speech-to-text app for communication due to selective mutism. I can hear and understand verbal instruction. I communicate via app, email, and written notes."

I submitted it and waited for the rejection.

Instead, I got accepted.

My supervisor, David Park, barely made eye contact during my first day. The other interns whispered when they thought I couldn't hear. I heard everything. That's the irony—perfect hearing, useless voice.

But then there was Holden Pierce.

CEO. Billionaire. The man whose name was on the building. Thirty-two years old and already worth more than most people would see in ten lifetimes. I'd read about him online. Self-made. Ruthless. A skiing accident four years ago left him with injuries that, according to office gossip, meant he'd never have kids.

People whispered about that too.

He was terrifying. All sharp angles and cold gray eyes, always in perfectly tailored suits. He didn't smile. Didn't make small talk. Just gave orders and expected them followed.

I'd planned to avoid him completely.

But on my third day, I was at my desk when I heard someone say, "A mute intern? Seriously?"

Rebecca from accounting. Loud enough for me to hear, quiet enough to pretend she didn't mean for me to.

My face burned. I kept typing, pretending I hadn't heard.

Then footsteps. Heavy, deliberate.

The entire floor went quiet.

Holden Pierce stopped right outside my cubicle. "Get back to work. I don't pay you to gossip."

His voice was cold, sharp. Footsteps retreated. Chairs scraped. Everyone suddenly very busy.

He didn't look at me. Just kept walking.

But my heart was pounding.

After that, I started noticing him more. Or maybe he started appearing more. He walked past my desk at least three times a day, always with that same unreadable expression. I told myself it didn't mean anything. He probably walked past everyone's desk.

Except I never saw him on any other floor.

On Friday afternoon, I was buried in a market analysis report when his voice made me jump.

"This is yours?"

I looked up. He was holding my report, my name printed at the top.

I nodded.

"It's good work." He flipped through a page, eyes scanning the data. "Better than most of the full-time analysts."

My mouth opened. Closed. I wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck in my throat like they always did. Instead, I grabbed my notepad and scribbled quickly.

Thank you.

I held it up, feeling stupid.

For the first time, Holden Pierce looked directly at me. Really looked. His expression didn't change, but something flickered in those steel-gray eyes. Something I couldn't name.

His mouth curved. Barely. Not quite a smile, but close.

"Keep it up."

He walked away with my report.

I sat there, staring at the notepad, heart racing.

Maybe I could do this. Maybe I actually belonged here.

The week passed in a blur of spreadsheets and data analysis. I kept my head down, did my work, tried not to think about the way Holden Pierce kept appearing in my peripheral vision. Tried not to wonder why he'd taken my report with him.

Friday came with quarter-end chaos. Everyone stayed late, racing to close deals and finish reports. By midnight, the office was still half-full. By one-thirty, it was just me and a few others scattered across the floor.

My eyes burned from staring at screens. I'd been inputting data for six hours straight. I needed a break. Needed to move before my back locked up completely.

The break room was at the end of the hall. I pushed open the door, expecting it to be empty.

It wasn't.

Holden Pierce stood by the coffee maker, one hand braced against the counter. His jacket was off, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked exhausted. Human, for once.

He looked up when I entered.

We stared at each other.

I should have left. Should have mumbled an excuse and walked away. Except I couldn't mumble. Couldn't speak. Could only stand there like an idiot while my phone was still at my desk.

"Can't sleep either?" His voice was quieter than usual. Rough.

I shook my head.

He gestured to the coffee maker. "This shit is terrible, but it's better than nothing."

I managed a small smile.

He poured two cups, added cream to one without asking, and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed.

I froze.

So did he.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

"You should go home, Wren. It's late."

He knew my name.

I clutched the coffee cup, feeling my face heat. I wanted to say something. Anything. But my throat closed up like it always did, and I just stood there, useless.

Holden's eyes darkened. He looked at me like he was trying to solve something. Like I was a puzzle he couldn't figure out.

"Do you ever—" He stopped. Shook his head. "Never mind."

He turned back to the counter.

I should have left then. But I didn't. I stayed, sipping terrible coffee in silence, watching him from the corner of my eye.

At 2 a.m. on a Friday, I found him in the break room.