Page 101 of Fiery Romance

As if she needs to protect my own son from me.

As if I wouldn’t die for him.

Take a moment, Clay. Take a breath. You’re not dealing with the enemy here. You’re dealing with my mother.

It’s Anya’s voice.

This, to no one’s surprise, is not the first time Genevieve and I have clashed. Anya was my pseudo-conflict management coach.

You don’t know how scary you look when you’re angry. Now,Iknow you wouldn’t hurt anybody, but they don’t. So tone it down a bit.

I notice the social worker eyeing me suspiciously and try to smooth out my expression. “Abe, why don’t you head outside for a bit and let me talk to your grandmother?”

Abe glances up at his gran for permission.

She nods and pats his back.

My son gives me the stink eye as if he’s already decided that I’m the one in the wrong.

I grit my teeth.

These are women, not soldiers, Clay. Women, not soldiers.

“Have a seat,” I say brusquely.

The social worker eyes all of Regan’s coloring books and pencils. “Do these belong to Regan?”

“Yes.”

“Your daughter stay here often, Mr. Bolton?”

“No, not often.” I frown and sit behind my desk. Liquid drips from my hair and splashes against the wood. “What is this visit about, ma’am?”

“Not ma’am. Please.” She shudders. “That makes me soundold.” The word rolls off her tongue with a hint of distaste.

I wonder what she’ll say when she’s my age. Or older.

“Call me Rosie.”

I nod.

Rosie shifts in her chair. “First, I apologize for showing up without prior notice, but… it has come to our attention that your children might be in harm’s way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Bolton, bringing children to a high-risk workplace like this puts their safety in question. Now, I’m here to assess,” she glances at Genevieve, “whether you have both Regan and Abe in a less than ideal environment.”

I narrow my eyes. “I can assume that this unplanned assessment has nothing to do with the children’s grandmother who has a motive for trying to make me look like an incapable father?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just here to make sure your children are safe, healthy and happy.”

The social worker sounds sincere, but the slight, amused smile that spreads across Genevieve’s face makesherintentions crystal-clear.

My jaw clenches. My tone turns icy. “I said it before, Rosie, and I will say it again. My children are not in any danger and I resent the accusation that I’m not doing my best to care for them.”

“Then explain why Abraham is working here instead of going to school?” Genevieve cries. “And explain why you have Regan—a six-year-old—among all these men, sometimes without supervision. We all know how dangerous that is. Some of these muscleheads might be sensible, but there could be one in the pack who’s a predator and you’re just giving them access to—”

“I would not letanyoneabuse my child in any way,” I say dangerously. “Regan cannot even do sleepovers with playmates because I am so protective of her.” My eyes narrow on Genevieve. “I know there are predators in the world, but blindly accusing my men of that kind of atrocious behavior is unnecessary and uncalled for.”

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