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I’m not really sure what compels me to do this, but with a rush of adrenaline, I find myself standing outside Lucas’s penthouse. It took me a long walk and a subway ride, but here I am. It’s notcreepy that I know where he lives — I’m in charge of basically his entire life. It is a little bit weird that I’m showing up without announcement, but it also sucks that he’s left everything to me yet again.
I amsotired of this behavior. If he is alive in there, he’s so getting a piece of my mind.
I hesitate at the door. There’s a camera staring out of the metal panel with the buzzers on, and suddenly a shot of doubt hits me. It’s probably not a great idea to ring his doorbell so he can see me and turn me away. But this is also a billionaire’s apartment suite. There’s no way the security is lax enough that I could just waltz in there without announcement.
Then an idea hits me. I press a random button and a man answers. “Hello?” comes the gruff voice.
“I’ve got a delivery here…” Quickly, I glance at the name attached to the buzzer. “For Mr. Daniels?”
All I get is a grunt in response. Then there’s a buzz and a click. I push the door, and to my relief, it gives way. Success! I can’t believe that really worked.
Fortunately, the elevator doesn’t seem to be connected to the buzzer system whatsoever, so I’m free to go wherever I want. I get in, slam the button for the penthouse, and figure out what the hell it is I’m gonna say to Lucas when he opens the door.
CHAPTER 4
LUCAS
Iwake with a pounding headache. I’ve had these children with me for less than twenty-four hours and already I’m dreaming of giving them back. How the hell do people manage to do this? They’re a nightmare.
It’s a good job I have a spare room, and that I could just shut them away in there to look after themselves for a while.
All night they treated my house like a playground. Between jumping on my bed and jumping on the sofa, I just about managed to calm them with some pizza before bed. It ruined my entire evening. I was going to have a nice, quiet night in — and then my stupid brother goes and ruins everything. Just like usual.
Coffee. That’s what I need. Hot, strong, black coffee. Maybe enough caffeine will wake me up from this nightmare.
But any hopes I have of this all being a bad dream are shattered when I drag myself out of bed to the kitchen. The kids are already up, and despite being blessedly docile and somehowhaving figured the TV out, they all stare at me expectantly when I walk in.
The oldest one jumps to her feet, pouting and folding her tiny arms. Yet again, that guilt hits me. Why did I agree to this? I can’t look after kids. I barely know a thing about them, let alone how to make sure they’re all okay.
“Uncle Luke,” starts the girl, and I hold up a finger to interrupt her.
“It’s Lucas, for a start,” I say, then, realizing I can’t just keep calling them “Thing one to three” in my head, I ask, “And what are you all called?”
“You don’t know?” chirps the little boy, looking quite genuinely hurt. I don’t think there’s any way of explaining to a — six-year-old? — that sometimes adult siblings have the kind of falling out that means you barely even knew he had three kids, let alone the names of them. “I’m Noah!” he grins. “N–O–A–H.”
He jumps up from the sofa as he spells, spinning around in a circle of pride with his arms stretched wide, giggling at the last letter as he draws out thechhhhh. The younger girl flops off the sofa with him, waddling in unsteady loops around him, babbling to copy what he’s saying. The oldest shakes her head. “I’m Chloe. That’s Ava. Anyway, we're hungry.”
I hesitate at that. What the hell do I have that I can feed to a child?
With all the haughty contention of a ten-year-old, Chloe sticks out her chin and glares at me. “We already looked through all your cupboards, and you don't have a single thing to eat. What doyouhave for breakfast?”
Again, I hesitate. Is it bad to confess to children that I don't really eat breakfast at all? If I do, I stop at the little patisserie outside the office and get a croissant and some coffee. If anything, I'd forgo food completely in favor of an espresso. I'm really feeling the effects of no caffeine this morning.
Not wanting to be intimidated, I frown to match Chloe’s expression. “Isn’t there some cereal or whatever somewhere?” I know I don’t keep a lot of food in the kitchen but there’s no way I have nothing. I have milk, for one thing. I drink a lot of coffee.
“You have three eggs,” Chloe says with a smugness that I’ve never heard applied to eggs. Even jumped-up little office workers are easier to deal with than this. I take a deep breath.
“Okay. And?”
We have a staring match, the kind that wouldn’t be out of place in a cowboy movie — eyes locked, waiting for the first person to lose their nerve and shoot. Except, obviously this isn’t shooting. This is a little kid who thinks she can get the better of me just because I don’t know what I’m doing.
Lucky for her I didn’t get to where I am now without a few difficulties. I know how to handle agents of chaos. I can handle anything.
Finally, she cracks. “You’re meant to cook them, duh.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to sound too surprised. “I knew that.”
“But you don’t have any bread!” Noah chips in, still spinning around. It’s a shock the kid’s not dizzy by now.
