5. Pike
Beads of sweat roll down my forehead, but I’m possessed, paint flying from my brush over the canvas as I work furiously. Soft, jazz music pipes out from an antique radio I’ve had from the days I lived in that stinking apartment in Memphis, trying to catch my first break, living like a real starving artist, ignoring the fact that I was, in fact, a trust fund kid.
“Turn that shit off!” I can almost hear Mr. Mulligan howling at me from the balcony next door. “You’re listening to the devil’s music!”
Jazz and blues. The devil’s music, according to Mr. Mulligan and all the other ancient skeletons who occupied the apartments in Riverside. I wonder what they would have thought of Caden’s rock and metal choices.
Abruptly, I stop, the most delicate scent catching my nostrils, and even before my subconscious can notify my conscious, I hear Lily’s chittering voice piping up the pathway through the ravine. I blink, coming to my senses entirely.
Damn. Is it Tuesday? No, it’s Friday. No, it’s…
I set my brush down and wrack my brain furiously, trying to recall the day of the week.
Monday. It’s definitely Monday. What is Lily doing out by the stream today?
I have my answer in seconds, the gorgeous new nanny emerging from the thick of trees, her smile freezing when she sees me standing by my easel, my face as stunned as hers.
“Hi, Papa Pike,” the little girl calls out, breezing past my easel toward the water. “I’m showing Aspen where we have the teddy bear picnic.”
Aspen falters, suddenly unsure of herself as she realizes she’s interrupted my work.
“I’m sorry.” She quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks down. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
A slight grimace crosses my face, and I turn my attention back to the painting that refuses to take shape. My jaw twitches as I consider staying, the urge to use the pair as muses gnawing at me.
Don’t be stupid.
Gathering up my supplies, a gruff, “It’s fine” escapes my lips.
“We’ll find something else to do.”
“I said it’s fine,” I growl, stuffing my paints into my carry box.
Aspen inhales, and I recognize how harsh I sound. I swallow thickly and take a breath of my own, reminding myself that she isn’t the enemy. We need her here. Lily needs her here.
Slowly, I turn back to her. “I often come out here to paint.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promises quickly, sidestepping me to hurry after Lily.
The even swing of her hips captivates me briefly as she leaves. I shake my head as if to rid myself of the temporary spell Aspen has over me and head back through the ravine toward the house.
Ours is the biggest in Cypress Gardens—Flint had seen to that. Part of the reason we lived in separate residences for so long after Alex and Ryker’s deaths was because Flint was negotiating the purchase of the pale-yellow mansion. It had belonged to the couple, our longtime friends, but with their estate tied up and the bureaucratic red tape, it had taken much longer than we had expected to get Lily back into her rightful childhood home, leaving her bouncing from house to house while Ryan and Zoe maintained it.
It boasts its own ravine, and the creek line technically runs through the property, too, but we share it with the others on the cul-de-sac to avoid drama—even though I would have preferred to keep it to ourselves. Too often, neighbors pop by when I’m trying to work.
Ambling up the back pathway, I encounter Ryan by the pool, skimming dead leaves off the surface. He’s a jack of all trades. Driver, maintenance worker, pool boy—the female version of Zoe, who cooks, cleans, and often minds Lily in our absence. Before Aspen, that is.
“Good morning, Pike,” Ryan calls out. I barely grunt a response, but Ryan adds something that makes my blood run cold. “There’s mail for you.”
I pause mid-step and eye him. “Mail?” I repeat. “From whom?” He wouldn’t tell me there was mail if it was simply junk mail.
Ryan flips his head back and shrugs. “I’m not sure. It’s on the front table. Do you want me to get it for you?”
I hurry inside through the back door, my pulse racing.
The Hartleys wouldn’t be writing. They’d come right to the door—assuming they’ve figured out where I moved.
But why would they? After my parents died, my siblings and I parted ways with our trust funds, and that was fine with me.
But Cypress Gardens isn’t a big town. Flint and Caden don’t exactly keep a low profile.
Zoe encounters me as I stalk through the hallway. “You all right, Pike? Need something?”
“No,” I mumble, brushing past the housekeeper, my mind singularly focused.
Like Ryan said, the single letter sits on the elegant mahogany table in the center of the foyer. It’s odd to see mail, every bill and statement sent electronically now. I pick it up, my eyes bulging when I see my name on the handwritten envelope.
Mr. Pike Hartley.
Never had seeing my name instilled so much terror in me, the return address telling me everything I need to know. Without opening it, I stride toward Flint’s office, my mind whirling. I don’t bother knocking, and I barge in.
He’s in the middle of a call, and he frowns deeply when he sees me. “Let me call you back,” he says through his mouthpiece.
I toss the letter at him. The blood drains from his face, but as always, Flint remains perfectly calm. “Another one?”
“Are you going to open it?” I demand, folding my arms over my chest.
He doesn’t reply and instead picks up his phone to fire off a text.
“Flint!”
He drops the phone and looks at me. “Stop freaking out,” he orders me firmly. “They’re just trying to rattle us.”
“They’re doing a damn good job,” I snap. “When is this bullshit going to stop?”
“I’ll have my lawyers send a cease-and-desist order,” Flint says. “Again.”
“A lot of good that did last time,” I bark. “They only doubled down, sending twice as many letters.”
“We’ll threaten them with legal action if they continue.”
The door opens, and Caden flies through in his usual dramatic fashion. “You summoned me, my liege?”
He bows, and Flint’s scowl overtakes his entire face. “Raya Parker is writing again.”
All of Caden’s faux gusto dissipates, and ire colors his eyes. “What is she saying now?”
“I imagine most of the same shit as last time,” Flint sighs, indicating the still sealed letter. “That she and Matthew are Lily’s only living relatives and deserve custody.”
“That dumb bitch!” Caden curses. “Where was she for the first eighteen months of Lily’s life?”
“We’re not rehashing this old hat,” Flint says, and I agree vehemently. We’ve had this conversation many, many times.
“All she wants is to get her hands on Lily’s inheritance,” I concede. “Flint, get your lawyers on it, will you? File a damn lawsuit this time if you have to. They have nothing. They can’t afford trouble. If we drag them into court, they’ll have to back off.”
Flint nods, but I read the reluctance in his eyes. “What?” I demand. “Are you having doubts?”
“I mean, technically, she is a blood relative of Lily’s,” he mutters. “If this goes to court…”
“She doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Alex and Ryker asked us to watch out for Lily and safeguard her inheritance until she comes of age. It’s in the will.”
“I know,” Flint mutters, and his doubts are giving me doubts. “Let me talk to my lawyer, all right?”
“Do it,” I urge, my stomach in knots now. “If she has any spit in this fight, we need to know now! You should have dealt with it when she first started writing.”
“I didn’t think she would keep up with it,” Flint barks back. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I have other things going on. I don’t get the luxury of sitting up in my room, painting all day. Why the hell haven’t you called your lawyers, Pike?”
His accusation is a slap in the face. “You run a multi-billion-dollar empire. You have attorneys on speed dial for stuff like this. If I’d known you were going to drop the ball so badly?—”
“That’s enough. Both of you!” Caden interjects, slapping his hands on Flint’s desk. We stop, and I spin away.
“There’s no way Raya’s getting her hands on Lily,” Caden growls, his hands closing into fists. I place a hand on his shoulder, knowing he’s speaking from a place of deep passion and extreme love for that little girl.
“We’ll sort this out one way or another,” I vow, although I don’t have enough confidence to be sure. My eyes dart toward Flint. I try to keep my voice even. “And if you need me to call lawyers, I’ll do it.”
“You’re damn right we’ll straighten this out,” Flint agrees, reaching for his phone. “I’m on it.”
* * *
It’s been four days since the latest letter from Raya Parker, and during that time, I haven’t slept a wink. Aspen notices this as we’re called to Flint’s office, her innocent face concerned as she studies my expression. I’m sure I look like a bag of shit, even though I didn’t bother to look at myself as I rolled out of my king bed and barely threw on a tracksuit that morning in response to Flint’s summons.
“Is everything all right?” she asks, her voice hoarse as if she’s expecting terrible news. “Did I do something wrong?”
Bad luck, running into her and making our way downstairs. Of everyone in the house, it has to be her. I shouldn’t have to be the one explaining Raya Parker to her. Someone else should have done that.
“No idea,” I lie to her face, sensing full well what this is about.
Flint had already texted me last night to warn me that his lawyer was going to be here this morning.
“Am I getting fired, Pike?” Aspen asks more boldly, stopping in her tracks. “I don’t need an audience if that’s the case.”
I also halt, a small chortle escaping my lips. “Fired?” I repeat. “Why would we fire you? Lily adores you.”
She tries to hide the pleasure overtaking her but fails miserably. I don’t stick around for the Hallmark moment and bound down the west stairs, two at a time.
“Okay, if it’s not about me, then why am I being called to this meeting? Where is Lily?” she calls out.
“With Zoe, probably,” I sigh. “Just wait and find out with the rest of us.”
My steps quicken, and I round the corner, hoping to escape her questions, but I hear her footsteps hurrying to catch up with me.
Thankfully, the office door is wide open, and Flint is already inside with his lawyer. I can’t remember this one’s name, having only met him once or twice before. Not that I pay much attention to most people.
“Where’s Caden?” Flint asks as we enter, one after the other. He dispenses with pleasantries, clearly eager to get rid of his attorney sooner rather than later.
“Here.” Caden’s bright, bouncing tone ricochets through the halls. “I’m coming. I just stopped to say good morning to Lil.”
Through my peripheral vision, I see Aspen’s shoulders visibly sag. “Is she in the kitchen?” the nanny asks.
“Lily is fine,” Flint says impatiently. “Caden, close the door behind you. Sit down. All of you.”
He waves us down, and I swallow a grunt of displeasure, sensing I’m not going to like where this is going. Why is the nanny here?
“You remember Julian Weston?” Flint asks. “He specializes in family law.”
Julian acknowledges us, his eyes lingering on Aspen a moment longer than I would have liked.
“And you’re Ms. Palco?” the attorney asks.
“Great sleuthing,” Caden quips, clearly not enjoying the older man leering at our nanny. “This is what you charge a grand an hour for?”
Julian’s expression grows sour at Caden’s jab, but I almost smile. My friend has his witty moments.
“What is this about?” Aspen asks, crossing her long legs nervously. “I really should get back to Lily.”
Flint sighs and glances at us. “We need to tell her what’s going on. Any objections?”
Tension stiffens my neck, and I wait for Caden to cause a stink, but he doesn’t, much to my surprise. This woman has been here five days in total, and we’re allowing her into our most private affairs.
“Tell me what?” Aspen demands, her dark eyes shadowing. “What is going on?”
“People are coming for Lily,” Flint blurts out when neither of us speaks. “And I think we need your help to keep them from taking her.”