THE CEO'S LITTLE MATCHMAKERS

"Emma, please put the decorative eucalyptus back in the ceramic vase," Amelia Carter pleaded, squinting at the red figures glaring from her tablet.

"But it looks like a ponytail, Mommy! See?" Three-year-old Emma swung the leafy branch through the air, sending a shower of dried organic debris onto the pristine hardwood floor of the Willow Springs lounge. She was a mini-whirlwind of brown curls and boundless energy, completely oblivious to the fact that her mother's savings were slowly disappearing.

Amelia caught the branch mid-air, gently tossing it onto a nearby counter and smoothing down the lapels of her slightly faded blazer. "Sit right here on the rug and color your T-Rex, sweetie. Mommy has exactly ten minutes to convince the nice investor that we aren't going bankrupt."

Willow Springs had belonged to her mother long before it belonged to Amelia. Every hallway, every garden path, every familiar piece of furniture carried a memory she wasn't ready to lose. Selling it would feel like selling the last piece of her mother she had left.

The meeting had started well enough, but the investor's questions quickly became harder to answer. The investor had spent the last ten minutes questioning their declining bookings, rising maintenance costs, and outdated facilities. Amelia had answers for all of them. What she didn't have was the money to implement them.

Suddenly, Amelia’s internal mom radar went off. The subtle sound of crayons scraping against paper had stopped. She looked down.

The space beside her chair was empty. The T-Rex was missing its tail. Emma was gone.

"Excuse me just one moment," Amelia apologized to the investor, her heart instantly leaping into her throat. She bolted into the main sunlit corridor of the resort, her eyes scanning the plush linen armchairs and potted ferns.

She spotted her near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Emma hadn't wandered far. She was currently sitting cross-legged on a velvet ottoman, animatedly pointing at her drawing for a tiny girl with dark pigtails who looked barely two.

Standing over them was a man trapped in a living, breathing nightmare.

He was strikingly handsome, tall, and wearing a charcoal-grid suit that probably cost more than Amelia’s entire annual marketing budget. But his silk tie was yanked completely loose, his jaw was clenched in panic, and he was holding a sobbing toddler on his hip like she was a ticking explosive device. The little girl in his arms was screaming at the top of her lungs, her face bright red and drenched in tears.

Amelia stepped forward, her maternal instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is everything alright here?"

The man snapped his gaze toward her. His eyes were a piercing, dark espresso—fierce, defensive, and deeply exhausted. "She’s fine. Just a standard tantrum. I have the situation entirely under control."

As if mocking his words, the toddler in his arms let out a glass-shattering shriek, twisted violently out of his grip, and reached her chubby hands directly toward Amelia. "Mama! No! Pretty lady! Up!"

The man froze, his chest heaving under his crisp white shirt. "She... she doesn't usually do that. Lily, no. Stay with Daddy."

"Clearly, you don't have it under control," Amelia said, stepping into his personal space. Up close, he smelled like expensive cedarwood and stress. Everything about him screamed polished corporate executive—the kind of man who was probably accustomed to walking into a room and having everyone fall silent. "May I?"

Ethan looked like he wanted to refuse, his masculine pride visibly warring with his desperation. Reluctantly, he lowered the toddler. The moment the little girl’s feet hit the floor, she stumbled straight into Amelia’s legs, burying her tear-stained face into the fabric of her slacks.

Amelia knelt down, effortlessly scooping the little girl into her arms and rocking her in a slow, rhythmic circle. Within seconds, the frantic, hyperventilating breaths slowed into quiet, hitching sniffles.

Ethan stared at his daughter as if he'd just witnessed a minor miracle. Lily rarely trusted strangers, and she'd never taken to someone this quickly. His brow furrowed as he lowered his arms to his sides. "I suppose you think you're a child-whisperer. I was handling it."

"You were hovering like a corporate warden," Amelia countered smoothly, adjusting the heavy toddler on her hip. "Children sense anxiety, Mr...?"

Before he could answer, Emma piped up from the velvet ottoman, tilting her head with devastating curiosity. "Mister, why don't you have a wife to help you? Mommy says teamwork makes the dream work."

Amelia’s soul nearly left her body. "Emma! We do not ask people personal questions."

Ethan stiffened, a flash of something unreadable—and deeply private—darkening his features before his face hardened back into a professional mask. "I don't need a team, little girl."

Before the awkwardness could deepen, the smartphone in Ethan's breast pocket vibrated. He yanked it out, answering it with a sharp, commanding tone that radiated power.

"Blackwood here," he said, turning his back to her, though his deep voice echoed off the glass windows. "What do you mean the acquisition is stalling? I don't care if the current owner is sentimental about the property. Willow Springs Resort is the crown jewel of our regional expansion. Double the initial valuation if you have to, Marcus, but get me the deed to Willow Springs."

Amelia froze, her arms tightening slightly around his daughter.

Willow Springs.

The name landed like a punch.

She knew that voice now. She knew the expensive suit, the cold confidence, the name she'd seen stamped across the acquisition documents sitting on her desk.

Ethan Blackwood.

The billionaire CEO trying to buy her mother's resort.

The man she'd just helped with his daughter wasn't some wealthy guest passing through.

He was the man trying to take her family's legacy from her.