***
“Mr. Serge Lozar?” the courier asked, quickly scanning the documents in his hand. The papers trembled slightly in his grip, and Serge frowned in disapproval.
“Probably had a drink or two this morning. Though I thought delivery services kept a tight leash on that sort of thing. Still, you never know with some people,” Serge thought irritably.
“Yes, that’s me,” Serge replied, his nerves fraying at the thought of being late for the meeting he’d scheduled himself at nine sharp. He was nearly out the door when the doorbell rang. Serge worked tirelessly, often around the clock, and expected the same dedication from his team. Sometimes, he even tested their punctuality just for the sake of it...
Strange, it’s only eight. Do delivery services start this early?
“I’ve got a package for you,” the courier said, thrusting a slip of paper and a pen into Serge’s hands. “Sign here to confirm receipt.”
Serge grabbed the pen and scribbled his signature next to the checkbox the courier pointed at. The young man yanked the document back with a jerk, a wave of relief washing over his face. He even cracked a small smile. Then, as if catching himself, he quickly stuffed the paper into the depths of his backpack and muttered:
“Thanks! I’ll be off now. You can sort this out,” he said, taking a step toward the stairs.
“Hey! Where’s the package? You forgot to hand it over!” Serge shouted after him.
The courier stopped, turned around, and pointed toward the elevator:
“There it is! That little girl is your package. I mean… uh… your delivery. I’ve brought her to you.”
Near the elevator, with her back to them, stood a girl of about four or five. She wore a white dress, red sandals, and her hair was tied into two pigtails with pink elastic bands curled at the ends.
Serge stared at the courier as if he’d lost his mind.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked, nodding toward the girl.
The girl turned away from inspecting the rather inappropriate graffiti scrawled on the elevator doors, looked at Serge, and said casually:
“Hi. I’m Orissa. My mom says you’re my dad.”
Serge flinched in shock and nearly slammed the door shut, realizing that if he said a single word, he’d be stepping into a world of trouble. He could feel it in his bones. But years of tackling problems that made his hands shake and his heart race took over. He knew issues didn’t vanish with a wave of a magic wand or by simply shutting the door on them.
He glanced at the girl again, then shifted his gaze to the courier, trying to figure out if this was some bizarre mistake or a cruel prank. But the courier’s face betrayed no emotion. The young man was already backing toward the stairs, clearly avoiding the elevator where he might get cornered. On the stairs, at least, he had a chance to bolt.
Serge Lozar, the head of a major corporation, was a man who always knew what he was doing. His life was planned down to the minute, with every meeting, deal, and task meticulously scheduled. No surprises, no emotions, and certainly no children!
This little girl, with her funny pigtails, bright jacket, and pink backpack slung over her shoulder, clearly didn’t fit into his tightly organized day—or his life, for that matter.
“This has to be a mistake,” Serge finally said with conviction, his voice taking on a steely edge. That tone usually sent his subordinates scurrying to their offices like mice into their holes, not daring to emerge for hours. “I didn’t order… uh… this kind of delivery! Take… take the child back!”
“My delivery instructions are clear: 83 Garden Street, Apartment 116, recipient—Serge Lozar. That’s you, right?” the courier replied, stepping onto the first stair. “The girl has some explanation with her, I think, but she wouldn’t give it to me.”
“And I’m not going to! You’re just the courier! Mom said to hand it only to my dad, in person!” Orissa declared, her blue eyes flashing. Serge felt a chill as he realized they were the exact same shade as his own.
“Right. I’m not needed here anymore. I’ve delivered the girl, and you’ve signed for her. Have a good day!” the courier blurted out with evident relief, hopping down to the next step and sprinting down the stairs. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
“Here’s a letter from Mom!” the girl said, stepping closer to the door and holding out a thick yellow envelope to Serge. “There are some papers inside. Mom said you’ll look after me for the whole week!”
“A week?!” Serge’s hair practically stood on end. He couldn’t wrap his head around this. Him—a man who solved every problem, feared by half the city, a top-tier businessman and boss—having a child delivered to his doorstep?
Who dared pull this stunt?!
He clenched the envelope in his hand, fuming, and began to study the girl.
“Well, come on then!” she said cheerfully. “Is this your place?” She started shrugging off her backpack and squeezing past Serge into the hallway of his sprawling five-room apartment. “Do I need to take off my shoes?” he heard from behind as his tiny guest began exploring the corridor.
Serge stood frozen for a moment, trying to regain his composure. Fine, the child was already here. He just needed to figure out what was going on and send her back to her mother—or her legal guardians. Calming himself with that thought, he turned to Orissa and said:
“No, you can keep your shoes on.”
By then, the girl had wandered into the living room, looking around his apartment with wide-eyed curiosity, as if it were some kind of wonderland.
“You don’t really look like a dad,” she suddenly said, tilting her head up to stare at him intently. “You’re too serious and grumpy. I thought my dad would be more fun.”
“I’m not…” Serge faltered. “I’m not your dad!”
“Well, Mom said you are. And moms don’t lie,” Orissa replied confidently, setting her backpack on a chair and walking over to the large aquarium where colorful fish swam lazily. She began watching them with fascination.
“Hold on,” Serge said, suddenly remembering the letter still in his hand. He opened the envelope, pulled out a sheet of paper, and skimmed the neat, rounded handwriting.
“Dear Serge, I know this news might come as a shock, but please hear me out. Orissa is your daughter. I couldn’t tell you before, but circumstances have forced me to leave her with you temporarily. I’m heading abroad for a week, and this is the only option. I hope you can manage…”
There was no signature.
Serge flipped the paper over, but the back was blank.
“A week? My daughter? What kind of nonsense is this, damn it?!” he rasped, finishing the note.
“Yep, a week,” Orissa confirmed without turning away from the aquarium. “That’s not long, right? Don’t worry, I’m a big girl and know everything. I won’t get in your way. And you shouldn’t swear in front of kids—didn’t you know that?”
Serge sank into a chair, trying to figure out his next move.
“Sure, a big girl,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“You’re probably super busy, huh? Mom said you’re a big boss and always have tons of work. But don’t worry, I won’t bother you!” Orissa turned around and suddenly asked, “Do you have any cartoons?”
“What?” Serge still couldn’t focus on the girl.
“Cartoons. All dads are supposed to show their kids cartoons. I love Peppa Pig! Have you seen Peppa Pig?”
“Uh… What’s Peppa Pig? I’m late for a meeting! What am I supposed to do now?!” he blurted out, glancing at the clock and seeing it was already twenty past eight.
“Can we go to the meeting together?!” Orissa suggested brightly.
***
Serge Lozar sped toward the office, trying to organize his thoughts. But every time he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Orissa sitting in the back of his sleek SUV, his mood soured even further. He was seething with frustration! Some woman had the audacity to foist this… this unknown child on him! Was she expecting him to claim someone else’s kid as his own? Was this some new form of blackmail?
Suddenly, a wave of heat washed over him, followed by a cold sweat. What if this was a setup by his competitors? Daniel Kors had been eyeing his branch in Zhytomyr for ages! That branch was a promising venture, with a fresh, creative team—his brainchild, his experiment, into which he’d poured so much effort and money. And that snake Kors was probably trying to snatch this prime asset through dirty tricks! Such underhanded games weren’t new in the business world. What if Kors planned to accuse him, Serge, of kidnapping? False allegations, slander, gossip, social media storms, and news headlines! Maybe paparazzi were snapping photos right now to gather evidence for the police—or hired goons working for his rival?
Serge breathed faster and deeper, trying to calm himself. No, he couldn’t panic! He needed to verify everything first.
Meanwhile, Orissa was taking in every detail of the car. The spacious SUV felt to her like a small room with couches. She’d never ridden in anything like it before.
“Why don’t you have a car seat for kids?” she suddenly asked, catching another of Serge’s grim looks in the rearview mirror.
“Because I don’t drive kids around,” he snapped irritably, glancing at her in the mirror.
“But you’re driving me now! I’m a kid, and I need a car seat!” she retorted, frowning.
Serge stayed silent for a moment, then, struggling to keep his temper in check, grumbled:
“This is just a one-time thing. Why would I buy a car seat for a single trip? We’ll get to my office, I’ll sort this out, and I’ll send you back to your parents. There’s a birth certificate in the envelope. If it’s not a fake, finding your address should be easy…”
As he spoke, he was already mentally mapping out his next steps, the plans that would help him get rid of this child as quickly as possible.
“What parents?” Orissa’s eyes widened, and she seemed a little hurt. “I’m your daughter! So, one of my parents is right here—and that’s you! Mom’s gone, she’s not home! Even if we go to our apartment, no one will be there!”
“That’s still to be determined,” Serge said, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep his frustration in check. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to figure out today. Right now, even!” A sudden idea struck him, and he clung to it like a lifeline.
Amid all this chaos, he’d completely forgotten he could offload some of the work onto his secretary! Yes! His highly competent, serious, and always unflappable Valentina Petrovna! It had taken him ages to find someone like her. All those silicone-enhanced young secretaries in miniskirts, with legs for days, perfect figures, and pouty lips—the kind his business colleagues often hired—made Serge laugh and roll his eyes. They were good for one thing, and everyone knew what that was! But at work, he needed someone reliable.
Back when he was hiring for the position, he’d sifted through countless resumes. His trash bin had overflowed with applications from young women hunting for a wealthy, eligible bachelor like Serge Lozar. In the end, he chose a woman who impressed him with her professional skills, not some crash course in “effective communication.” And he hadn’t regretted it.
Valentina Petrovna, a stern and responsible woman of fifty-five, had been working for Serge for over four years. She was the epitome of the perfect secretary for a businessman! Always impeccably dressed in a dark suit, her hair neatly tied into a bun at the nape of her neck, and wearing minimal jewelry, her appearance mirrored her personality: reserved, serious, and organized. Always precise, punctual, and laser-focused on her work, she had a sharp mind and an exceptional ability to manage her boss’s affairs, keeping every critical matter in the company under control. She handled calls with finesse, coordinated Serge’s schedule even when unexpected issues arose, and spoke to her boss in a tone that matched her demeanor: respectful yet composed, never betraying a hint of emotion. Sometimes, Serge wondered if she was a robot rather than a woman—so perfect was she for him.
Serge grabbed his phone and tapped a few buttons. Waiting for the other end to pick up, he said:
“Valentina Petrovna, good morning,” he began in a businesslike tone. “Are you already at the office?”
“Good morning, Serge Vasilyevich. Yes, I’ve been here since eight,” she confirmed. “Are you on your way to the meeting?” Her voice was as composed as ever.
“Yes, but I have another urgent matter,” Serge said quickly, feeling his patience wearing thin. “I need you to check a birth certificate. A child, five years old, a girl named Orissa Barida. I’ll send a photo of the certificate to your email shortly. But this is strictly confidential!”
There was a long pause on the other end. Valentina Petrovna clearly hadn’t expected such a request from her no-nonsense boss.
“You… uh… a birth certificate?” she asked slowly, unable to hide her surprise. “A child?”
“Yes,” Serge replied curtly. “Check the registry records. If necessary, involve our IT team, but keep it under wraps that this request comes from me!”
“But…” Valentina Petrovna was clearly stunned and at a loss for words.
“I don’t have time for explanations! Just verify the information on the document. The photo will be with you in a few minutes,” he snapped. “One more thing: is the staff break room available? Has anything been moved in or out? Is it in decent condition?”
“The break room?” she echoed. “But… you banned its use and had it locked up a year ago!”
“I know,” Serge cut her off. He remembered giving that order, believing people came to work to work, not to lounge around! He could barely tolerate employees stepping out for a smoke break or, on rare occasions, sipping coffee in the designated corner of the hallway. “Unlock the room! I need to leave this child there during the meeting.”
“Uh… the child is coming with you?” Serge could practically picture the shocked expression on his usually unflappable secretary’s face. “You’re leaving her in the break room?” Her voice seemed to waver—or was that his imagination?
“Yes!” he nearly shouted into the phone. Her repeated questions and hesitations were starting to grate on him. “And one more thing! Find and download a cartoon called Peppa Pig online!” he barked, no doubt sending the poor woman into an even deeper state of shock.
“A cartoon about… about a… p-pig?” she whispered into the phone, clearly floored by this latest request from her boss.
***
Serge Lozar flung open the office doors as usual, inhaling the familiar scent. He’d long noticed that office spaces, much like homes or other buildings where people spent a lot of time, lost their initial construction or renovation smells and took on a unique, personal aroma. For instance, when he returned to his upscale apartment on the fifth floor, he always caught a whiff of cold, frosty air as he crossed the threshold. That’s what his place smelled like to him. It was the same scent that hit you when opening a freezer.
Truth be told, he didn’t much care for what was, technically, his home. He’d done a lavish renovation, installed a state-of-the-art security system, and equipped the apartment with the latest technology, but… it always felt cold to him. Like a refrigerator. And it smelled that way too. Though the building was well-heated, he had no complaints there. Perhaps it wasn’t his body that felt the chill, but his soul.
But Serge didn’t dwell on such lofty matters. Why bother? He had a place to sleep, store old things, and grab new ones—that was enough. Once a week, a hired cleaner came to tidy up. He ordered food from a nearby restaurant. Everything was fine, convenient, but… cold.
His office, on the other hand, always smelled of paperclips. A metallic, slightly bitter scent.
He strode quickly down the hallway. Orissa could barely keep up, trotting behind him, her eyes darting to the abstract art on the walls and the beige checkered carpet underfoot.
Serge walked on, feeling a bit surreal. Today, he hadn’t come to the office alone. Beside him—or rather, trailing behind with her little backpack—was a child. A child who didn’t fit at all into the sleek, chrome-and-glass aesthetic of the office spaces. She was too bright, too out of place…
“Dad, why is everyone here so serious? They’re like statues!” Orissa observed, scrutinizing the employees settling into their workstations.
They, in turn, stared at their boss with wide-eyed astonishment. He wasn’t alone—he’d brought a child! It was so out of character that their jaws practically hit the floor. Serge knew the office gossip mill would be churning out dozens, if not hundreds, of theories about who this child was by the end of the day. Especially since Orissa kept loudly calling him “Dad,” despite his repeated requests in the car—and again as they got out—to stop. But the girl was so uninhibited and candid that she probably forgot his instructions the moment they were given. She just kept firing off unexpected questions, demanding detailed answers…
Serge was already getting used to these questions and merely raised an eyebrow instead of responding. He was furious, angrier than a pack of wolves. He shot menacing glares at his staff, who quickly ducked behind their office doors to gossip in private. And oh, did they have something to talk about! Something big must’ve happened! The boss brought a child to the office! Yes, this day promised to be quite the ordeal for Mr. Lozar!
At the threshold of his office, they were met by Angela Kolos, one of his employees—and, to be more precise, his occasional lover. They slept together now and then, whenever Serge needed to blow off steam or Angela was particularly insistent. It was a casual office fling, no strings attached. Convenient for both of them. At least, that’s what Serge thought.
Angela, as always, looked impeccable, with subtle, almost invisible makeup and a meticulously curated professional look, as if she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine for corporate workers.
But today, her gaze was as sharp as the stilettos on her expensive, elegant heels.
“Hey,” she nodded at Serge, since no subordinates were around. They kept their personal relationship under wraps, though, of course, the entire office knew anyway. “And who’s this little surprise?” Her voice carried a mix of wariness and hostility.
Serge sensed the tension in her words and tried to explain briefly, without going into details:
“This is… Orissa. She’s…”
“I’m his daughter,” the girl interjected, running up to Serge and grabbing the sleeve of his suit jacket. “And who are you? My stepmom?”
Angela froze for a moment, stunned by the question.
“Dau… daughter?” she stammered. “You told me you didn’t have any kids.”
“It’s a misunderstanding! Of course, she’s not my daughter! The kid’s made up some nonsense and now she’s convinced I’m her father!” Serge snapped, having no desire to delve into the specifics.
Orissa, meanwhile, frowned:
“I didn’t make anything up! You’re my dad! And what’s it to you? Who are you anyway?” the girl demanded. “I don’t like her, Dad!”
Serge’s face flushed with anger, and he was about to yell at the girl, but Angela spoke first.
“Listen, little miss,” she hissed coldly, leaning down toward Orissa, “do you even realize where you are right now? This isn’t about liking or not liking someone! Everyone here works! And kids belong in daycare! Or wherever it is they go! Kindergarten! I’m about to call… uh… the police, and they’ll take you to kindergarten! Got it?”
“Of course I get it,” Orissa replied calmly, completely unfazed by the threat of the police. “I’m in an office. My dad works here! We came for a meeting! I’m gonna be a boss too! Uh… a lady boss! Like my dad! And my kindergarten’s under renovation!”
Serge felt like he was about to explode. The last thing he needed was a showdown between Angela and this child, especially as he could already see Angela’s face turning red, ready to snap at Orissa.
Thankfully, Valentina Petrovna appeared in the hallway—his steadfast, always composed secretary.
“Serge Vasilyevich, good morning. We have a problem,” she said sternly, with a hint of alarm, as she approached them, her eyes fixed on Orissa. “The break room is locked with a key… and we can’t find it. No one can open the door, and we didn’t dare break it down without your permission,” she explained.
Serge furrowed his brow. He glanced at the girl, who was now curiously studying the secretary. At least she was quiet for the moment. Small mercies!
“Can I leave her with you during the meeting?” Serge asked his secretary.
“I’m afraid not,” Valentina Petrovna shook her head. “What about the meeting preparations? I’m running the online session with the branch offices. I can’t miss it.”
“Fine,” Serge sighed. “Orissa will come with me. But you have to promise to behave, stay quiet the whole time, and sit still in the corner on a chair!” he directed at the girl.
“Yay!” she shouted loudly, as if she were heading to a carnival instead of a conference room for an important meeting. “I promise! I promise! I’ll draw super quietly!”
Angela shook her head, barely concealing her indignation.
“A child at a meeting?!” she grimaced, trying not to raise her voice.
“I’m not a child!” Orissa shot back. “I’m a person! And are you Miss Trunchbull*?” she suddenly asked Valentina Petrovna…
____________
*Miss Trunchbull — the terrifying headmistress, Miss Agatha Trunchbull, who terrorizes her students with deliberately excessive and cruel punishments. A character from Roald Dahl’s book “Matilda,” considered one of the best children’s books in the world.