Page 33 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

I did take note of PWPhotography, whose comments were at the top of every post. That made sense since Miles followed her, and he followed very few people. She left comments like, “Looks like you’re in need of some grown-up time” or “We miss you, darling.” Out of curiosity, I clicked on her profile. I assumed the edgy yet ethereal creature with short, asymmetrical ebony hair and striking violet eyes was the same PW, short for Penelope Williams, who had given Miles the pictures that hung in the hall. I noted the similarities between the photos she posted on Instagram and the ones that Miles had longingly looked at. She had a gift. I wondered how well she and Miles knew each other. Were they lovers, maybe ex-lovers?

What did I care? I was annoyed with him and all the comments about him being the best uncle. I tried not to let them bother me. Maybe he really was. I’d known him all of a week. And I knew he didn’t ask for this responsibility, but he had accepted it. I kept thinking maybe I should say something. Perhaps I should take him up on his invitation to talk to him one night. He seemed frustrated I was always declining. But how would he take some gentle parenting advice? I wasn’t sure.

But on Sunday, when I should have had the day off and he asked me if I could take Henry anyway, I knew that I needed to say something. First, though, I needed to talk to my mommy.Chapter Twelve“He’s darling,” Mom commented while we watched Dad play with Chloe and Henry in the backyard after Sunday lunch. They were teaching Henry the fine art of American football. He had already mastered tackling. He giggled every time he got Chloe to fall. She was faking it all for him. Dad had even let the kids pile up on him. He was in heaven. My parents were still holding out hope for more grandchildren.

I curled up tighter in the afghan I had brought out to sit on the porch swing. We were in the throes of Autumn. You could smell the crisp earthiness in the air. “He is sweet.”

Mom patted my leg. “You seem a million miles away today. What’s wrong?”

I sighed. “Leland is moving back.” I kept my voice low.

Mom’s penciled-in brows shot up to her graying hairline. “I take it Chloe doesn’t know.” She would have said something to my parents already had she known. She told them everything. Like anytime I swore in front of her, or once, when I accidentally set a hot pad on fire. She even tattled on me when I let her eat ice cream for breakfast. All my finest moments over the years.

“I don’t know how to tell her. He’s not exactly a man of his word.”

Mom’s face pinched enough to highlight all her creases. “Calling him a man is a disservice to his gender,” Mom snarled.

“Agreed, but he’s demanding to see Chloe.”

“Then you demand that he pay you all the child support he owes you.”

“Believe me, I’ll be consulting a lawyer.” Now that I could afford one. “But as far as I can tell from all my online research, I can’t legally prevent him from seeing her.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“What do I do?” I leaned my head on her bony shoulder.

She smoothed my hair. “Tell her the truth. That’s all you can do.”

“What are my other options?” I teased, sort of.

She kissed my head. “That’s a road you don’t want to go down, my love.”

“I know.”

“So, tell me how this new job of yours is going. You’re obviously taken with Henry, and the feeling seems to be mutual.”

I thought back to how Henry sat on my lap during lunch and slathered me with kisses. I watched him and Chloe for a moment. Chloe was gently tossing the ball to him. He kept dropping it, but it didn’t stop him from trying. “He’s pretty much stolen my heart. Chloe’s too.”

“I see that.” I heard the smile in Mom’s voice.

“What about his uncle? Are you getting along?”

I thought about what to say. “When I see him, yes.”

“Don’t you live together?”

“No, Mom. I wouldn’t move Chloe into a strange man’s house.”

“Only right next door.”

“You met some of my neighbors in the apartment building. Miles is a dream compared to them.”

“He’s a dream now, is he?”

I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. “You’re twisting my words.”

“You’re touchy today. I think there is a story there. Speaking of stories, I’ve been reading Silent Stones.”

I told her to start with that one. It was my favorite, after all. “What do you think?”

“It’s very well written.”

Cindy Parker was a tough critic, so that was a major compliment.

“But I do find it interesting that his heroine, Isabella, reminds me an awful lot of someone. It’s almost uncanny how much.”

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