15. Flint
My father’s stormy silver eyes stare at me from the portrait across the room, watching my every move, his mouth pinched in a moue of disapproval.
“I don’t care how long it takes, Ventura, just get it done. That building is already six months behind schedule!” I bark into the earpiece, shifting my gaze away from the portrait that I should have burned ten years earlier. I barely liked the man while he was alive, so I’m not sure why I never took the photograph down.
I disconnect the call and throw the earpiece onto the post-modern desk, which I also hate. In fact, I despise everything about my New York office and everything it stands for.
A knock on the door doesn’t give me a chance to respond before my assistant enters, juggling a pile of folders.
“Case law,” he says, and I groan.
“I want you to find the pertinent cases, not dump them on me,” I grunt. “Don’t you dare pile those on my desk! I’m going home tonight.” He stares at me like a deer in headlights, and I glare at him. “What? You can’t handle that?”
“It’s just… you’re going home? Tonight?”
“I shouldn’t even be here now. It’s ridiculous that this place can’t run without me coming back here every two days. What is my brother doing when I’m not here?”
Again, I’m met with an uncomprehending stare.
“Never mind. Just find what I asked you,” I snap. “And close the door behind you.”
No sooner does he leave than the phone rings again. I’m so tempted to ignore it, to ignore all of it and shut down. This back and forth is killing me now, the split between New York and Cypress Gardens taking about as much out of me as I can stand. I’m missing out on too much of Lily’s life, of her important moments. A sour taste fills my mouth as I realize how much I’m behaving like my father.
My fingers curl around the phone, unable to leave the phone ringing.
“Flint Sterling,” I sigh.
“It’s me. Come to my office,” my younger brother, Allister, gasps in a panic.
Of course. It’s always something.
I head out of my glass-encased corner office, glad to be free of my father’s reproving stare from the only solid wall in the entire room.
“I lost the Wayward account!” Allister screams as soon as I enter his office.
As usual, the place is in shambles, with papers literally on the floor, no semblance of order anywhere as he paces frantically around the massive interior. His incompetence is clear in every crevice of the office space.
“What do you mean, ‘lost’ it?” I demand, stalking toward him and stepping over several pages with my patent leather shoes. “It’s all in the system.”
“NO, FLINT! I LOST IT! They’re not going to work with us!”
I gawp at him, dumbfounded. “What? How? They’ve been investing in our projects for thirty years!” I choke. “We have…” I think for a second. “Twenty-eight projects with them.”
He blinks at my ability to recall the number so adeptly. “They said they only want to work with Dad!”
“Dad is dead,” I bark bluntly. “It’s hard to work with a ghost.”
“I told them it’s only me!” he whines.
The grinding of my teeth can be heard in my head. “Why didn’t you call me?” I hiss. “When you started having issues with them.”
He says nothing and looks away, fueling my anger.
“Shit, Allister, what else have you fucked up?”
He mewls like a kicked puppy, and I cover the rest of the distance between us.
“I don’t have time for this!” I roar at him. “The Central Park deal has me spread totally thin!”
“That’s why I didn’t call you!” Allister mutters sullenly. “You’re too busy and just going to blame me!”
I scoff and throw my hands up, whirling around as I struggle to contain myself. I have no idea what extent of damage my brother has caused, but I can already tell it isn’t good.
Nice, Dad. Great work giving this one half of the company.
I purse my lips and spin back around. “I need a full account of what you’ve fucked up, Al. An honest list of what went wrong, when, and how.”
“I don’t know…”
“DO IT!” I shout, slapping my hands down on the desk, and my brother cowers back, reading the rage on my face. My cell rings again, but I ignore it. “I’ll be in my office, and I expect an email in an hour. Don’t answer any calls, don’t talk to anyone else. Don’t even order a fucking coffee. Just get that report to me. Do you understand?”
He purses his lips, tears watering his eyes. I feel immense pity for him suddenly, and I want to give him a hug. He’s my little brother, after all. He never wanted this stupid company any more than I did.
I inhale and lower my voice. “We’ll figure this out,” I tell him, swallowing my anger. “Okay?”
Allister lifts his head, blinking his tears away rapidly, and I back away before I can succumb to my feelings of protectiveness. I’m still not looking forward to undoing his mess. Again.
As soon as the last echoes of our heated exchange fade, I make a swift decision. I can”t bear another moment in this suffocating city. I stride out of my office, leaving behind the glass confines and my father”s judgmental gaze frozen in a portrait on the wall. Ignoring the chaos of my brother”s office, I snatch my messenger bag, barely acknowledging the bewildered stares of my colleagues.
With determined steps, I alert my driver that I’m heading to the airport immediately. My jet is already waiting because I had already planned to get home that night.
Soon, I”m at the airport, my heart pounding with anticipation as I board the private jet awaiting me on the tarmac.
As the plane soars into the afternoon sky, I find little solace in the quiet solitude of the cabin. My earlier anger simmers beneath the surface, mingling with a sense of unease that refuses to dissipate. Even as the familiar landmarks of New York fade into the distance, I remain ensnared by the turmoil within.
I can’t wait to get home to my small makeshift family.
* * *
When my plane lands, my phone begins to ring incessantly, and my irritation returns in an instant. I answer it.
“Sterling!” I bark rudely, thinking it’s someone from my office that I don’t want to deal with.
“Flint?” The whispery voice stops me in my tracks.
“Hello?” I glance down at the number on display and realize it’s Aspen. “Aspen?”
“Flint?” she asks again.
“It’s me. Why are you whispering? What’s wrong? Is Lily all right?” I fire off the questions one by one, icy terror snaking down my spine.
“Are you coming home soon?” she asks, and I hear Lily chirping in the background, asking Aspen a question I can’t quite make out.
I relax, but only slightly.
“I’ll be home in about thirty minutes,” I reply. “What’s going on?”
“I…” She inhales, and my other line rings.
I look at the display, my brow knitting in a vee. “Hang on. Pike’s calling me.”
Suddenly, I realize something is happening at the house, and I leave Pike calling. “Aspen, what’s happening over there?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” she admits. “Two people showed up at the house.”
Her words are still low and muffled, and I understand she doesn’t want Lily to overhear.
“What people? Who?”
The other line continues to ring in my ear.
“Answer Pike,” she suggests. “He’ll have more answers.”
Grunting, I tell her to wait and disembark the plane while I answer Pike’s call. “Who’s there? What’s happening?” I demand.
Pike sounds alarmed that I’m aware of what’s going on. “How do you know?” he asks.
“Aspen’s on the other line.”
“Tell her to stay upstairs,” Pike growls, and my sense of alarm rises again.
“Why?”
“Raya’s here,” he explains. My blood runs cold. “With her boyfriend or husband or whatever he is.”
“What?! How did she get on the property?”
“I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. She’s asking to meet Lily.”
“Absolutely fucking not!” I roar.
“I know!” Pike barks back. “But she won’t leave.”
“I’m coming home,” I tell him. “Get Caden. Where the hell is he?”
“He’s at work.”
“I’ll keep calling him,” I bark into the phone. “You watch them. I’m on my way.”
“You’re hours away,” Pike tells me flatly.
“I’m not. I just landed. Don’t call the sheriff yet. I want to get some answers from her. But keep her away from Lily!” I yell, rushing toward the waiting Range Rover.
“Obviously I’m not letting her anywhere near Lily,” Pike says, and I chomp down on the insides of my cheeks trying to calm my nerves.
When I get in the car, Ryan is nervous about the activity happening at the house. “It’s very tense, and they refuse to leave.”
“Can you drive faster, please?” I ask Ryan.
We’re home in less than thirty minutes, and I fly into the house, the tension almost knocking me over as I enter.
“GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” Caden chants over and over in a loud, even tone.
“I already told you we’re not leaving until we see Lily,” a honey-toned female voice answers just as flatly. “She’s our kin, like it or not. She ain’t yours, babe!”
I rush into the living room and barrel straight into Pike, who’s pacing about, unsure of what to do. All eyes fall on me.
The hostility in the air makes me regret telling Pike to hold off on calling the sheriff. My need to get answers is gone, and now the only thing I want is to get them as far away from my ward as possible.
“Why are you here, and what were you thinking showing up here without an invitation?” I roar, barely unable to control my rage.
Raya smiles at me charmingly and steps forward. “Ah, the third musketeer, I presume. I’m Raya Parker, and this is?—”
“I know who you are, and that doesn’t change the fact that I will have you both thrown in jail if you don’t leave. Now.”
Her faux smile fades, and she stares at me hatefully. “You can’t keep us away from our family,” she tells me. “One way or another?—”
I cut her off. “Lily has never met you, and Ryker never mentioned you once in all the years we’ve known him.”
Raya”s lips curl into a derisive smirk. “Blood runs thicker than water, after all. And sweet little Lily is family,” she purrs, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
I scoff, the bitterness rising in my throat. ”You”re not family,” I retort sharply. ”Ryker had no relationship with you. And I won”t let you anywhere near Lily—not now, not ever,” I tell them shortly. “You’re trespassing on private property.”
“You have no right—” she begins to retort.
“I’m giving you ten seconds before I call the sheriff,” I interrupt her. “Nine, eight?—”
Her icy verdant eyes pop, and she looks at her companion. “C’mon, Matty. It looks like coming in nice wasn’t the right way after all. You were right. These guys are too big for their britches.”
He flashes a mouthful of rotted teeth at me, but I don’t flinch. “Four, three?—”
Raya rushes toward the door, clearly in no rush to meet Sheriff Lahey or any other law enforcement.
I try to keep my fingers from shaking as I dial out, and the town sheriff answers on the third ring.
“Cypress Gardens Sheriff Department. Sheriff speaking.”
“Mike, this is Flint Sterling at 76 Sunset Terrace.”
“Hey there, stranger! I haven’t seen you since our poker game last month. You still mad I made off with your shirt?” he chortles.
“I need your help, Mike,” I tell him grimly. “But I need you to be discreet.”
Mike’s tone changes as he hears the stress in my voice. “Anything, buddy. What’s going on? Are you all right? Is the little miss?”
“I’m going to send you a photo of two people I caught on my security cameras. They were trespassing on my property, and I suspect they’re up to no good here in town.”
“Sure, Flint,” the sheriff agrees. “Send them along. I’ll send out an APB right away.”
Raya scoffs loudly and gives me the middle finger before bounding toward the road, Matthew in tow. “You haven’t heard the last of us,” she promises as I slam the door.
“Flint? You still there?” Mike demands. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” I inform him, exhaling a breath of relief. “I’m sending you those photos now. Thanks, Mike.”
“Be safe, buddy.”
I whirl around to confront my housemates. Caden falls onto the bottom steps of the west stairs as Pike slumps up against the wall. I wave my head in dismay, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Guys,” I say shakily. “What the hell was that?”