Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 10

A loud clatter to the left stops my brain.

I turn, just in time to see little hands reaching onto a table for one of the breakfast pastries I mentioned.

A kid. Stuffing his face like a greedy little chipmunk. And the second he locks eyes with me, he runs, heading for the sofa and spilling crumbs everywhere as the pastry falls apart.

There goes my leather sofa.

Fuck, what a way to start the morning. Who let a kid go wild in here before we have customers?

"Hey, get back over here!" I shout, holding in some other choice words that aren't child friendly.

He stops and looks at me with sharp blue eyes that remind me of my nephew, Colton. Except Colt is well-behaved and he doesn't wedge crumbs in every nook and cranny of a twenty-thousand-dollar sectional.

"I don't know you!" he says.

"Yeah, I know you don't. But you still need to get off the sofa, little man."

Wrong words, apparently.

He scowls at me like that pastry falling apart in his hands is suddenly made of mud. "I'm not little. I'm a big boy."

"Fine. Whatever. I hear big boys don't bomb other people's furniture with crumbs," I tell him, hoping it sinks in.

For a second, I think he'll smear what's left of that thing all over it just to piss me off. Then he just wrinkles his nose and starts making a half-assed attempt to wipe them off.

"There. All better, mister!"

"Not quite. Where's your mother?" I look around, but there's no sign of parents. Who lets their kid raise bedlam in a place like this? "You need to get down."

"No! My mommy says never go anywhere with a stranger."

"Of all the lessons he remembers…" I mutter. "What's your name, kid?" "I'm not supposed to tell strangers. I'm not gonna tell you!" "Just—please, get off the sofa. That's all I'm asking. I'll give you another pastry if you do." Bribery. That's one thing I've learned from watching Archer raise Colt practically alone. It works when you use it just right.

Unfortunately, I don't have my older brother's dad experience.

The boy folds his arms and glares at me. "I wanted hot cocoa but it tastes like crap."

The kid—Arlo—shuffles his feet.

"Sorry, mister," he mumbles, watching me sourly.

"I'm really sorry for my son again," she says, looking back at me. There's a flicker of something in her eyes like she recognizes me too. Or maybe she's just about to die from shame because her tornado of a son just wrecked the brand-new common area. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I stepped away for ten seconds to get some printouts from the back. Holy shit, never again."

I give her son the stink eye.

"You're an employee, then. Unfortunately, we can't have children here, you understand?" I wait for her to nod. "We're just getting up and running. I have important business to attend to, I'm afraid, so I'm going to have to ask you to—"

"I know." Her cheeks are flaming. My eyes drift down to the rest of her.

Neat figure. Supple hips. Curves that would tell any idiot why she has a kid.

She might be a flustered mom, but I have to admit she's rocking the MILF look.

"I didn't have a choice," she continues. "The babysitter skipped out at the last minute. Family emergency. I didn't have anywhere else for him to go, and I know how important it is to be here today. I'm sorry for the mess. Really. Here, let me clean that up." She grabs a wad of napkins and tries mopping up some of the coffee flood without much more success than I had. "Um, he's not usually like this, just so you know. He's a good kid, I promise."