Chapter 2 - Inside the Lion’s DenThe second-floor nursery was larger than Avery’s entire former apartment.
It was a chaotic battlefield of high-end toys, overturned chairs, and three very suspicious six-year-old boys who were currently huddled in a whispered council near a massive indoor playhouse.
When Avery walked in, closing the heavy oak door behind her, the whispering stopped.
Leo, the oldest by four minutes, stepped forward with his arms crossed. “The last one cried in the hallway.”
“I’m not the last one,” Avery said, setting her worn leather bag on a wooden bench.
“She smelled like lavender and panic,” Mateo added, narrowing his dark eyes. “You smell like... coffee and cheap laundry detergent.”
“And you smell like a room that hasn't had a window opened in three days,” Avery replied smoothly, walking straight toward the towering wall of windows and unlatching the heavy glass to let the crisp, rainy autumn air sweep through the stale room. “Which is disgusting. Who’s in charge of ventilation here?”
The triplets blinked, completely derailed. They had prepared for tears, bribes, or haughty demands. They had not prepared for an adult who insulted their airflow.
Enzo, the quietest of the three, pointed a small finger at her. “Dad is going to fire you.”
“Your dad agreed to give me forty-eight hours,” Avery said, turning around and leaning back against the windowsill. She crossed her arms, mimicking their postures with eerie accuracy. “Which means, legally and contractually, I’m your problem until Sunday morning. Now, who wants to tell me why we’re throwing porcelain at strangers?”
Silence stretched across the room.
Leo looked down at his sneakers. Mateo scuffed his shoe against the rug. Enzo just stared at her with those hauntingly familiar dark eyes—eyes that looked entirely too tired for a six-year-old.
“She was wearing yellow,” Mateo muttered defensively.
“The lady yesterday?” Avery asked. “What’s wrong with yellow?”
“Yellow is stupid,” Leo snapped. “And she tried to make us eat broccoli puree disguised as dinosaur smoothies. We aren't babies!”
Avery suppressed a smile. “Ah. So the vase was a tactical statement against fraudulent vegetables.”
Mateo’s mouth twitched, though he quickly forced it back into a scowl. “It was a very expensive vase.”
“It was,” Avery agreed. “And since your dad told me it was eighteenth-century porcelain, I’m docking your imaginary allowance for cleaning supplies.”
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“We don't have an allowance,” Enzo piped up quietly from the corner.
“You do now,” Avery said, pushing off the windowsill. “Starting balance: zero dollars and forty-two cents. Exactly what I have in my pocket. We’re going to be great business partners.”
