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Shit disturber.
The doorbell rings, and Zoe wipes her hands on a dishtowel.
“You expecting someone?” she asks, confused by the sound.
I frown. “No.”
She heads out, and I close my sketchbook, preparing myself for the upcoming morning, but as I start toward the hallway, I hear Zoe calling out to me. The hint of panic in her voice sends me hurrying.
As I round the corner into the opulent foyer, my gaze falls on two under-dressed strangers at the threshold—a man and a woman. Their holed jeans and plaid shirts are not indicative of new neighbors on the street. The woman’s dirty blonde hair sits high in a tight ponytail, her eyes ice-cold and green. They don’t belong here, and I intuitively dislike them.
The man stands slightly behind her, scruffy faced, as if he had forgotten to shave rather than attempting to grow the patchy beard on his chin and cheeks. His eyes are a duller blue and bored. I guess they’re in their late twenties, but hard living may have aged them both, rendering them older.
“You’re Pike Hartley!” the woman squeaks, her voice surprisingly succulent. “Oh, finally! I wasn’t sure I was writing to the right address!”
Her thick, southern twang sends deep chills down my spine, and I realize who she is even without the introductions.
“Well, come here, silly!” she demands, stepping over the threshold. “I’m Cousin Raya! Gimme a hug!”
I step back as she extends her arms, noting that her pretty smile does not meet her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl, my breath shortening.
Her smile widens. “What do you think, silly? I’m finally here to see my little Lily!”
CHAPTER 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.
