The Twentysomething Baby

Ten likes?!

This mother-son pair sure were something else!

Naturally, after reading that ridiculous demand in the chat group, my reply was blunt.

[You can save your likes for money to buy some brain pills for your son.]

[This company doesn't provide childcare services, nor do we accept the mentally disabled.]

I didn't hesitate to block the woman, Gina Wells, from the chat group.

In two seconds, Timmy Cox noticed and was squealing like a gutted pig, leaping out of his cubicle.

"Argh! Bad man! Bully me!" he shrieked. "No Peppa Pig cookies! I'm hungry! I'll cry!"

I could feel my own head throbbing.

While I hadn't lived that long, it was my first time seeing a 25-year-old toddler.

Suffering a headache from the noise, I stepped out of the office and snapped coldly, "Shut up! This is an office—if you want milk, go home! Yell again and you can pack your things!"

Timmy, however, wasn't cowed.

In fact, he was sucking on his thumb while pouting.

"Bad man!" he whimpered. "I'm only 300 months old! Why are you shouting? I'll tell Mommy!"

The veterans nearby were at once gossiping.

"It's true what they say about the young also being reckless. How suicidal is he, laying a finger on Timmy?"

"Exactly. He is protected. Mr. Ludwig has really shot himself in the foot this time…"

Shot myself in the foot?

I didn't turn as I pursed my lips.

This building and the company was built from the ground up with my father's money, and that so-called protection was really nothing!

In fact, I had been specifically told by my father to hide my identity as his sole heir and to work at a branch as part of my training. I'd even stated that employees' parents' chat group was just so that employees could feel a more human side of the company.

However, I didn't expect human resources to bypass me and drop the strangeness that was Timmy into our office.

Since he started work, the chat group was suddenly Gina's territory where she made demands for special privileges, treating the office like her personal nursery.

I bore with it for a week because I wanted the bigger fish behind him, while he infected the branch office with his nonsense.

In fact, once Timmy heard the people around him dissing me, he stopped crying, whipped out his bejeweled phone, and complained, "Mommy! That bad man is bullying me! He's not giving me cookies! Tell Uncle Josh, quick!"

Uncle Josh?

I stood, my arms crossed as I watched coolly and unaffected, even hoping that he would lure in the big fish.

"I don't care who your uncle is," I warned Timmy icily. "Mess around again, and you'll find yourself in a lot of trouble."

Naturally, Timmy completely ignored me as he looked around and saw the limited edition imported chocolates on my desk.

He charged inside, clawing toward it as he snorted, "Hmph! No cookies? I eat these sparkly chocolates!"

Bang!

Before I could stop him, the glass door of my office crashed open as Timmy's pudgy middle-aged mother, Gina, charged inside, pointing at me as she hollered, "You stinking brat! How dare you bully my sweet Timmy!"