Chapter 30
Adam's POV:
Monday noon, and the office felt like a fucking tomb.
I spun my chair in a slow circle, feet propped on the desk, staring at the ceiling.
The penthouse was too quiet without Amy.
I grabbed my phone before I could think twice.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Hi, Mr. Sterling!"
Her voice—bright, unbothered, like sunshine breaking through clouds—made something in my chest unclench.
"Hey, kiddo. What are you up to?"
"I'm doing the puzzle you bought me! The one with all the dolphins."
I leaned back, a smile tugging at my mouth. "You brought it to school?"
"Nope. I don't go to school on Mondays."
My smile vanished.
"You're... you're not at school?"
"Uh-uh."
"Where's your aunt?"
"At work."
I sat up so fast my chair squeaked. "Amy. Are you telling me you're home alone?"
"Yeah?"
Jesus Christ.
She was four years old. Four. And Maya had left her alone in that cramped apartment and the fire escape that probably hadn't been inspected since the Clinton administration.
"Amy, listen to me." I was already on my feet, grabbing my keys. "Stay right where you are. I'm coming to get you."
I hung up and took the stairs three at a time.
---
Thirty minutes later, I was standing outside Maya's apartment, knocking on the door that should've been replaced a decade ago.
Amy opened it, grinning up at me with those beautiful eyes.
"You came!"
"Of course I came." I stepped inside, scanning the space instinctively. "You shouldn't open the door without checking who it is first."
"I checked! I looked through the peephole."
"Good girl."
The apartment was small—smaller than my walk-in closet—but clean. The furniture was old, mismatched, probably thrifted. But everything was in its place. No dust on the shelves. Dishes drying in the rack by the sink.
It was... cozy.
"Uncle Adam, we don't have slippers that fit you."
I glanced down at my Italian leather shoes on the worn hardwood. "That's fine. I don't need any."
No men's slippers.
The thought sent a flicker of satisfaction through me that I immediately crushed.
"Why did you come to my house?" Amy tilted her head, puzzle pieces scattered on the coffee table behind her.
"I was worried about you. Why didn't your aunt take you to school today?"
"I didn't want to go."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
She nodded, completely unbothered.
"Well." I crouched down to her level. "Guess what? I didn't want to go to work today either. Looks like we're both taking a day off."
Her eyes went wide. "You can do that?"
"Sometimes." I stood, offering my hand. "Did you eat lunch?"
"Yep! Auntie made me mac and cheese this morning before she left."
"Good. Then let's go."
"Go where?"
I grinned. "Girls need to be strong and tough, right? I'm taking you to my gym. Ever hit a punching bag before?"
Amy's face lit up like the Fourth of July. "A punching bag? Like in the movies?!"
"Exactly like that."
"YES!" She started bouncing on her toes. "Can I punch it really really hard?"
"As hard as you want, kiddo."
She clapped her hands together. "Let's go!"
---
Two hours later, we were sprawled on the mat in my building's private gym, both of us breathing hard.
"That was so fun," she said breathlessly.
"You're a natural."
"Can we do it again tomorrow?"
"We'll see."
My phone buzzed.
Maya Bennett
Incoming Call
I glanced at Amy, who was now trying to do a somersault on the mat, and answered.
"Adam Sterling."
"Where the hell is Amy?"
Her voice was sharp, panicked.
"Why did you just take her without telling me?"
"Maya, if you can't take care of her properly, maybe you should send her back to her parents instead of leaving a four-year-old alone in an apartment."
Silence.
Then, carefully: "Amy can take care of herself. And I have cameras installed. I was watching the whole time."
"Cameras." I laughed, humorless. "Great. So when someone breaks in, you can watch it happen in real time from your desk."
"That's not—"
"It's noon, Maya. I called her at noon. If I'd been a kidnapper, she'd be in a van by now and you'd be getting the footage emailed to you."
More silence.
I could hear her breathing on the other end, could practically feel her scrambling for a response.
"Sending her back isn't an option," she said finally, voice tight.
"Then hire a nanny."
"I can't afford—" She stopped. "We'll discuss this later. I'm coming to pick her up after work."
"Don't bother. I'll bring her home."
"Adam—"
I hung up.
Amy was standing now, hands on her hips. "Was that Auntie?"
"Yeah."
"Is she mad?"
"A little."
---
Maya's POV:
By the time I got home, my jaw hurt from clenching it for two straight hours.
I shoved my key into the lock—jamming it twice because my hands were shaking—and pushed the door open.
The scene inside made me stop short.
Adam was sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, Amy across from him, a pile of colorful blocks between them.
"If you have five blocks," he was saying patiently, "and I give you three more, how many do you have?"
"Eight!"
"Good. Now if you give two back to me—"
"Then I have six left." Amy beamed. "This is easy, Uncle Adam."
"Is it?" He grinned. "Okay, smarty-pants. Let's try multiplication."
"What's that?"
I cleared my throat.
Both of them looked up.
"Auntie!" Amy scrambled to her feet and ran over, throwing her arms around my waist. "Uncle Adam taught me boxing and math!"
I hugged her back, eyes locked on Adam.
He stood slowly, brushing off his pants—gray slacks, white button-down, no tie—looking far too comfortable in my tiny apartment.
"Thank you for bringing her home," I said stiffly. "And for watching her today."
"Just 'thank you'?" He tilted his head, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "That's it?"
I didn't answer.
He waited.
The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
Finally, he said, "I'm hungry."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm hungry," he repeated, slower this time, like I was the one being difficult. "It's not unreasonable to expect dinner after spending the day babysitting, is it?"