The little girl with curly strawberry blond hair skips happily next to her and climbs up into one of the chairs in front of my desk while Penelope elegantly lowers herself into the other.
“You said a swear word,” she lisps, her eyes wide with amazement. “Grandfather says ladies aren’t supposed to swear.” I blink, not sure if I’m surprised at her comprehension or her conversational skills despite the lisp. Aren’t children mute until they are in school?
“Tori, watch your language,” Penelope scolds with no heat in her tone, and I become suspicious. What does she want now? “Addison is Mario’s grandchild, and he asked me to take care of her today while her nanny is indisposed.” Her nose wrinkles at the words, and when I turn my attention from the freckled faced child to my ex-stepmother, I’m surprised at what I see. Penelope looks tired. She has big circles under her eyes and looks like she may have lost some weight. There are also lines around her mouth and eyes, which indicate she’s not attending her ritual Botox appointments. I watch as she pulls her phone out of herhandbag and hands it to the small child who claps her hands with joy.
“Thanks, Penny. Grandfather never lets me play games.” The words rush out of her mouth with excitement as she takes the phone and focuses her full attention on the screen. My mouth almost falls open in shock as Penelope reaches out and brushes a ringlet back from the child’s face, her eyes softening with what looks like some kind of maternal emotion. I clear my throat to get her attention.
“And he trusted her with you. Let’s be real, you aren’t exactly a maternal candidate of the year.”
She huffs out a breath of annoyance, but her eyes loose the softness and become a little more wary. “When your dad and I got together, you were already old enough not to need or want a mother figure. I thought it would be best if I kept my distance.”
Distance? I scoff. What explains her downright pettiness?
“But Addi is still a baby, and to be honest, that woman who calls herself a nanny is nasty. Look at the bruises on poor Addi’s arm. Someone has been squeezing her too tightly.” Penelope lowers her voice and nods in the direction of the child’s arm, and I see a shadow of bruises on her upper arm that is fully on display in the sleeveless dress she wears.
I feel a rush of anger at the sight but control my expression so Penelope doesn’t suspect I have a soft spot. I study the girl a little closer. The dress she’s wearing is old-fashioned as fuck, paired with a pair of pristine white socks with frilly lace around the top and shiny black leather Mary Janes. She looks like little orphan Annie after Daddy Warbucks had gotten his hooks into her.
“Where are her parents? Does Mario know about the nanny?” I ask, and when Penelope’s eyes sparkle, I realize I’ve fallen into her trap. Showing too much interest in the small human is going to bite me in the ass. I stifle a groan, though, not wanting to let her know she won.
She waves her hand. “Mario is fucking the nanny, so I don’t think he cares.” My eyebrows jump at her breezy response. I thought she was fucking Mario, but she doesn’t seem too concerned. She sees my response and scowls. “Mario is into some shit that I don’t want to do.” She shudders. “And if he’s doing that with the nanny, then I don’t have to,” she snaps, looking at the child to make sure she isn’t paying attention, but the little girl is completely in her own world. From the noises on the phone, I’m assuming she’s playing some kind of game.
I keep my face blank, but I’m gathering all this information against Mario Mancusio just in case I ever need it. Who would have thought Penelope would be an asset? I’m still kind of suspicious of her behavior though. What does she want, and why is she sharing this information so freely? Is she trying her hand at playing both sides, because that shit won’t fly with me.
“As for her parents, well, they aren’t in her life at this stage… or not very often.” Her tone has me looking a little closer at her. She sounds kind of concerned, but before I can make anything of it, she shakes her head and slaps her hands on her knees and stands up. “Anyway, Mario has a thing tonight, and I’m attending with him. I have an appointment in the salon to get my nails done because I can’t possibly go with this.” She raises her hands and shows me what I think looks like a fairly decent manicure. “Mario expects me to present a certain degree of perfection, and these just won’t do. Be a dear and watch Addi for me while I’m gone. It shouldn’t take too long.”
Excuse me, what the actual fuck? I can’t believe her audacity, and I am so stunned that I haven’t replied by the time she extracts her phone from Addison and breezes from the room. My mouth is still wide open when the little girl giggles and points at me.
“You look like a fish.” She opens her mouth and closes it a couple times in what I think is an imitation of a goldfish.
“Fuck.” I lean back in my chair, blowing out a breath as my poor brain tries to catch up.
“That’s another bad word. What’s your name?” I’m Addi,” she says, swinging her legs back and forth while holding onto the armrests. “You’re really pretty.” She looks around my office, her pretty green eyes wide. “Do you have any food? I’m hungry. Also, where’s the bathroom? I have to potty.”
Potty? Fuck, does she wear a diaper? Am I going to have to change it? I stab the intercom with my finger.
“Susan!” I shout. “Susan, get in here.” I can’t hide the panic in my voice, but the door doesn’t burst open, and our secretary doesn’t appear. “Fuck!”
The little girl crosses her legs and winces. “Please, I have to go bad.”
In a panic, I push my chair back and jump to my feet, hurrying over to the door to my bathroom and wrenching it open. She slides off her chair and rushes over to me, her hands clasped between her legs. She hurries to the toilet and pulls her underwear down to the floor before climbing onto the seat. I turn around, giving her my back as she does her business. I don’t turn until it flushes, and when I do, her underwear has been pulled up again, and she’s holding out her hands.
I step back and put my hands up, not wanting her to touch me.
“You have to help me wash them. I can’t reach,” she tells me, staring at me like I’m stupid, and I glance from her to the sink.
“Lift me up,” she orders, waving her arms in front of her. Wrinkling my nose, I go over and bend down, putting my hands under the child’s armpits, then I lift her to the sink. She leans forward and turns on the tap before using the pump soap and rubbing her hands together. She makes bubbles and claps her hands together twice before she washes them under the running water, then she turns her head and looks at me.
“I’m done now,” she explains, and I frown. She looks down at the floor, and I realize I am still holding her. I lower her and step back like my pants are on fire.
She moves over and dries her hands on one of the towels on the rack before looking at me again.
“What?” I ask, and she frowns, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at me like I’m an unruly toddler who could use with a nap.
“You’re grumpy.”
“Well, you’re short,” I retort. Not my finest moment, I admit, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with her now? We’re at a stalemate when I hear my office open, and I say a prayer to those watching over me, hoping it’s Penelope realizing it was a bad idea to leave a child with me.
I hurry out of the bathroom but screech to a halt when I see Bryce standing there, holding a gun.
