Page 102 of Fiery Romance

The social worker raises a hand. “Miss Gen, I understand you have strong feelings, but remember our agreement. I let you accompany me and you promised you’d remain calm.”

The social worker is making a nice attempt at being objective, but this young pup has no idea who she’s working with.

Genevieve dots at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just feel so scared for my grandchildren.” She makes a show of covering her face and blowing her nose. “Clay’s become so paranoid through the years. He trusts absolutely nobody and parents these kids to the point of suffocating them. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t work in such a dangerous place every day, but you see where we are.”

My left eye starts twitching.

Emotional mind games.

“Here, Miss Gen.” The social worker hands my mother-in-law a tissue. When she turns to me again, there’s a hint of accusation in her eyes.

I guess women have to stick together, don’t they?

“Mr. Bolton, how often are Regan and Abraham at your workplace? And have you ever taken them out while doing your more… dangerous activities?”

My eyes shift to the left before I can control the telling impulse. I remember how horrified I’d been when Regan slipped out of the car during the training drill. The memory and the terror are flowing over me now and I can’t hide it.

The social worker fixes her eyes on me. A vulture with a carcass.

Her tone is hard. Like I’m a war captive and she’s interrogating me in a dark, damp room. “Mr. Bolton.”

“Why would he bring his kids during active missions?” a new voice says.

The air crackles around me when I look up and meet Island’s fiery brown eyes. She stomps into the room, holding Regan at her hip. My daughter is chomping happily on a banana, seemingly unperturbed by the fury in her nanny’s voice.

Island’s hair is still in braids, but it’s pulled back in a long ponytail that swings behind her. She’s wearing a short, flowing dress and knee high combat boots.

Radiant.

Stunning.

She might as well be an angel with wings spanning three buildings.

“Island?” Rosie rises to her feet.

“Abe’s working here because he got in trouble at school and Clay wants him close rather than leaving him in the house, unsupervised and getting into more mischief. Regan’s stuff is in here because Clay is a good father and he doesn’t want her bored when she’s waiting for him to pack up and go home. I don’t know where you got your intel, Rosie, but it’s wrong. This is not where Regan stays after school. For most of the day, she’s either with me or with Clay at home, completely safe and cared for.”

Genevieve’s mouth falls open. Her eyes dart between Rosie, me and our new guests.

Sputtering, she climbs to her feet. “Who are you?”

“Me?” Island tilts her chin up. “I’m Regan’s nanny.” She waves a hand. “Who are you?”

“Nanny?” Genevieve’s expression pales.

“Yes,nanny.” Her eyes narrowing to slits, she faces Rosie. “Is there a problem here?”

Rosie blinks. “I didn’t know you were a nanny.”

“It’s a new development.”

“How do you have time? What about your salons?”

Island extends a long, delicate arm to me. “Mr. Bolton and I have our own agreement. Regan is with me for most of the afternoon until he comes off work. If you’d like to verify, I have videos and witness accounts from my employees as well as my clients. And if you’d like to say that a black hair salon filled with women who are also mothers and upstanding members of the community is an ‘unsafe environment’, I’d like to see you try.”

Island’s eyes are on Rosie, but her words are for Genevieve and she seems to know it.

Genevieve’s cheeks splotch red. “I’d like to confirm that for myself.”

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