Page 61 of Dirty Damage

The little girl bounces to her feet, pink bow askew in her silky hair. Behind her, a man with short blonde hair and an easy smile is shaking his head. A heavily pregnant woman stands next to him, a chubby toddler balanced on her hip.

Four strangers.

Four and a half, counting the baby bump.

“Erm… Artem?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice level despite my irritation.

This is a trick. A trap. Oleg hired adorable child actors to break down my willpower.

“Artem & Co.,” he corrects with an infuriating grin.

“Art,” the woman chides, smacking his arm, “you should have warned her we were all coming. The poor thing looks ready to bolt.”

She’s not wrong. I’m calculating the distance to the fire escape.

If Oleg is going to play this dirty, I don’t stand a chance.

Then the little girl giggles, and something in my chest twinges. Bringing in kids is unfair.

But I’m not giving in that easily.

“Hi there,” I say stiffly. “What’s your name?”

She looks up at me with sheer surprise. She cartwheeled into the penthouse without even registering I was here like she’s done it a dozen times before.

She immediately ducks behind her father, using his leg as a shield. She peeks out at me with big, wide eyes, mumbling something unintelligible.

Artem steps out of the elevator, dragging his tiny human shield with him. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.”

“Dad!” she scolds in a perfect imitation of her mother’s tone. Then she peeks at me again. “I’m Lily.”

I try to maintain my annoyance, but it’s slipping through my fingers like sand. “That’s a pretty name.”

“What’s yours?” she asks.

The toddler has stopped his escape attempts to stare at me with giant eyes.

Great. Now, I have an audience.

“Sutton.”

“Sut-ton?” Lily tests the syllables like she’s tasting something strange.

“That’s a silly name,” the little boy declares with a giggle.

“Noah!” his mother gasps. “I’m so sorry; he’s still learning about filters.”

“At least he’s honest,” I say, and immediately want to bite my tongue.

I’m supposed to be resistant to their charm offensive. But there’s something disarming about brutal toddler honesty.

“It’s nice to meet you, Noah.”

Despite my annoyance thirty seconds ago, I actually mean it.

The boy gives me a bright smile and a floppy wave.

“Well,” I say, “come on in. Make yourselves at home, I think?”

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