Page 22 of Reckless Devotion

“Blue!” Macey bellows, even though she’s right in front of my face.

“The best kind!” I stand, taking her with me and throwing her over my shoulder so she’s dangling down my back shrieking and giggling. “Hey Mia, everything okay?”

I fold her into a hug and she clings on a little tighter than I would expect. “Mia is not here right now, just over-stimulated Mom,” she mumbles into my chest, making me laugh.

“Mommy!” Macey squeals, as if to prove her point.

Letting Mia go, I slide Macey back over my shoulder and set her on her feet. “There’s a candy bar in my desk, but I’m not telling you where.” I wink at her conspiratorially and her eyes go wide before she races over to it.

“Oh good, more sugar.” Mia creases her brow, blowing a strand of dark hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail off her face.

Loud babbling floats up to us from the stroller as rattles and slams of drawers sound behind me, the kind where babies are talking their own special language that isn’tquiteintelligible yet. I crouch down, eyeing up my chubby-faced identical twin nephews. Dark hair and icy blue eyes, just like everyone in my family who’s still breathing, except me. No, my eyes are my father’s. Hopefully that’s all I inherited from him.

“What’s up, my dudes?” One starts to cry in response, and the other one decides it won’t be left out, thank you very much. Mia’s shoulders sag and it’s only then I realize she looks bone tired. “Hey, I got it, you go help Macey. There’s another candy bar in there for you too, somewhere.”

I shoot her a wink, to which she gives me a worn smile, and then I unclip each of the boys and scoop them up, one in each arm, facing outward—like two chunky, loaded guns, but instead of bullet spray it’s just plain old screaming. I stalk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and let them look out at the thousands of glittering glass panes in the surrounding buildings, which shuts them up almost immediately.

“How are you always so good with kids?” Mia scoffs, plonking herself into a chair on the other side of my desk as Macey races up to her with her bounty.

“Easy when you are just a big one yourself.”

She snorts, but a smile tugs up at her lips for the first time since she walked in. This is the role I play: easygoing, cheesy Chase. At your service to lighten the mood and make you laugh, at me or with me.

“That’s true—oh, Maddox!” Mia claps a hand to her head as she looks at us. “He just spit up all over your sleeve.”

Great.

“Don’t worry about it. How do you even tell them apart?” I peer down, trying to pick out any minute differences in what little I can see of their faces.

When I look back up, Mia is nibbling at her lip, looking sheepish while she unwraps the chocolate for Macey. “Honest answer?”

“Always,” I reply instantly as she hands off the candy, a smile starting to grow on my face.

Her cheeks flush pink, she sighs, and then slides her hands over Macey’s ears. “I don’t have a fucking clue, I just guess and hope for the best.”

I tip my head back and laugh, which sets the toddlers off grumbling again. Mia slaps her hand over her mouth as her shoulders shake, laughter spilling through her fingers.

“Tessa!” I holler, still half laughing and fully expecting to get my head bitten off for summoning her this way. Sure enough, when the door opens, she looks stern. I hitch up my shoulders to show her the little hellions occupying my hands and she softens. “Can you ask someone to run down to the crèche and grab some toys please?”

“Oh no, Chase. It’s okay, we shouldn’t take up too much of your day. I’m sure you’re busy.” Mia rushes, starting to stand.

I give her my stern glare, the one I save for the employees that don’t listen. She blinks, looking surprised, and sits back down.

“I’ll get someone to bring them right away.” Tessa nods, shuffling away.

Ten minutes later, the boys are on the plush beige carpet, occupied with colorful keyboards that scream out anything from numbers to farmyard noises when pressed. Macey is sitting in my lap, satisfied to scribble all over a report on my desk with felt-tip pens. She has plain paper, but apparently this wasn’t satisfactory. My suit jacket has been whisked away to the dry cleaners and Mia has her feet propped up on another chair with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand.

“What’s going on, Walker?” I ask, sliding my silver laptop out of the way when a blue felt-tip comes precariously close.

“Oh nothing, it’s just a lot sometimes, yanno?” She yawns, resting a hand over her mouth.

“Well, I mean, I don’t have kids, but—”

“That you know of.” She smirks, taking a sip of her coffee.

Yikes. Now there’s a terrifying thought. But, unless condoms suddenly became ineffective overnight and no one told me, I think I’m good.

“But,”I carry on, ignoring her comment. “You’re trying to do a lot yourself. Run a company, bring up three kids. Four, if you include Mason.” I grin, which causes her to roll her eyes.