by Rayne, Piper
I giggle and he sips his beer.
Oh, Mr. Thorne, I have a feeling I’d enjoy giving you orders if I was in charge of you. I keep that thought to myself. Obviously.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m just flustered,” he says. “We were shopping for school stuff all day, and Maverick has to go in for some tests tomorrow. I have a lot of balls up in the air right now.”
Do not picture Griffin’s balls. Do. Not. I nod. “No need to apologize. I’m nervous. I mean, I don’t usually order kiddie cocktails. But my brain went right to wondering what you’d think of me if I ordered a beer and the words just kind of fell out of my mouth.”
He laughs. If he has dimples, they’re hidden under his beard, but his eyes portray everything I need to know. He’s not judging me at all. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but please, order a cocktail. You don’t have Maverick tonight.”
Molly returns to the table with my iced tea and a container of sweeteners. Maverick steals one right away.
“I’m sorry, Molly, can I have a beer as well? Whatever is on tap is fine.”
She smiles at me like she knew I was acting differently and walks away.
Maverick opens the sugar packet and pours it in his mouth. Griffin says nothing, and Maverick reaches for another one.
I put my hand over the container. “How about you finish your dinner first before you have another one?”
Griffin’s eyebrows raise as high as Denver’s did earlier. Shit, I overstepped. Maverick’s father is here. I don’t need to dictate what the kid can and cannot do. But I just copied what I’ve seen Harley do with Calista. Then again, Calista is four. Maverick is eight. Maybe he’s allowed to have all the sugar he wants.
But Maverick picks up his spoon and piles the mac and cheese into his mouth.
“I would’ve hired you for that alone,” Griffin says. “Maverick is…” He looks at his son, and I get that he doesn’t want to talk in front of him.
“Have I told you I’m the youngest of nine?”
He brings his beer to his lips again and sips. “No.”
“I am. I have a twin, Sedona. You probably know Denver has a twin, Rome.”
He nods. I’m not surprised he doesn’t know much about our family. Denver’s not big on rehashing our life story. He doesn’t like the pitying looks.
That’s where we’re different. Not that I want to be the kid who was orphaned at eight and whose brother raised her. But it’s my life and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Our mom was a travel writer, so we’re each named after the place we were conceived,” I say.
“Conceived?” Maverick asks.
I bite my lip, shooting an I’m sorry look at Griffin. You’re really blowing this.
“It’s where you started to grow in your mom’s belly,” Griffin tells his son.
When you become a mother or father, can you just word things perfectly for a kid? That was impressive. I was about to say mommy and daddy have sex and…
“Wait then. If there’re twins, how does that work?” Griffin asks.
I laugh. “Denver was the layover to Rome. And they visited both Sedona and Phoenix with me and my sister. Anyway, my entire point of telling you I’m the youngest is that I’m probably the most spoiled.” I look over to find Maverick staring at me as he dips his fry into ketchup. “I’m kind of the brat of my family. The difficult one.”
Griffin’s smile says he thinks I’m lying, that I made this up to tell him I’m similar to his son, but it’s the truth. It’s the reason Denver is going ballistic on me for being his friend’s nanny. If it was Sedona, he would’ve recommended her for the job right away, whereas I had to go behind everyone’s back.
I hold a chip on my shoulder and my family isn’t shy to tell me how annoying it is. But I welcome the chip. It lets people know I’m not a hugger. I’m not a “sit down and let’s talk out your problems” kinda person.
Molly swings by and places my beer on the table.
I thank her then return my attention to Griffin. “So no worries, Mr. Thorne. I can handle this job.”
“Griffin,” he says.
“Okay, Griffin.” I smile, and he smiles back.
His leg stretches out under the table and presses against mine again. I’m not sure if he knows it’s my leg or thinks it’s the pole. Regardless, I’m not moving, because I’m never one to shy away from something that feels good.
Seven
Griffin
It took me until right now to figure out why all my friends looked at me like an alien had abducted my body when I told them I was moving to Alaska. I’m under the sink, and the wrench falls out of my hand and misses my eye by a hair before falling to my shoulder.
“Shit!”
Maybe not having the contractor finish the house completely before we moved in was a bad idea.
How have I forgotten how to use my hands? My dad was a carpenter and taught me to build things, fix things the entire time I was growing up. Something like this would’ve been easy for me fifteen years ago.
The worst thing that can happen to someone is to skyrocket into stardom. Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. When Cammie Sanchez’s album hit platinum and her song sat at the number one spot for half a year, it was one of the best moments of my life. It was definitely the most surreal thing to ever happen to me. I went to bed a man waiting for his big break and woke up with a voicemail box full of people seeking me out.
I let the fame and the money get to my head though. Which brings me to where I am right now. Trying to reclaim some part of myself by installing a sink when I have enough money in the bank to pay a plumber to install it a million times over.
One part of me that never changed is my incessant need to do something when I put my mind to it. Right now, I want to get this damn sink installed by myself without the help of anyone else.
My dad would be pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and watching me fumble my way through this though.
Grabbing the wrench, I wiggle back along the hard wood under the cabinet to get in a better position. This sink will not win.
When I clamp the wrench along the fastener to the pipe, the doorbell rings and I close my eyes.
“Maverick!” I yell and hear his feet on the floor a minute later. “Get the door, bud?”
“I’m in the middle of my game.” He doesn’t move, his feet remaining in my peripheral vision.
“Maverick, go get the door.”
He huffs, but I no longer see his legs. Hopefully, that means he’s on his way to the door. The doorbell rings again.
“Maverick!” My tone holds no patience now.
“I’m getting it!”
Which he must because it’s Phoenix’s voice I hear next. “Hey, Mav.”
“Maverick,” he corrects her.
She giggles and snaps her fingers. “That’s right. I really like Mav though. It has an edge to it.”
I smile as I crank the wrench. One thing she’s bound to find out soon is that Maverick isn’t a cool or trendy kid. He’s a snob and thinks money can buy him out of anything, but he’s not the fashion kid or the sports kid. He’s the gamer kid.
“Maverick is my name.”
“Okay. Okay. I relent.” A short pause. “Is your dad home?”
“Under the sink.”
“I’m in here,” I say right before the elbow of the pipe hits me square in my nose.
Her legs appear a few minutes later, and I see that she’s wearing a pair of workout pants. But the kind that are like a second skin.
I inwardly groan because Phoenix isn’t just attractive. She makes my dick drunk to the point that it doesn’t give a shit why it needs to stay away from her. It wants her, and it lets me know that that desire isn’t going anywhere until it’s deep inside her.
“Do you need any help?” She bends down.
Jesus, her shirt dips and I see directly down the neckline to her bra-covered breasts. As though I needed a visual of her cleavage to give me
more beat-off material.
“No. I’m almost done.” That’s a lie. “You have your stuff?”
The elbow part clinks on the other part and I get to the same spot I was at minutes ago. This time around, I crank and crank. Thankfully it doesn’t hit me again.
“Mind turning on the water?” I ask.
“Sure.” She straightens up. “One. Two. Three.”
The water shoots down the drain and another part of the pipe falls off.
“Damn it!” I scream. “Turn it off.”
She does, but not before I’m completely drenched from the waist up. When I wiggle out, I see that she’s biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“I’ve been on this project since lunch.”
“Why didn’t you get the builder to do it?” she asks.
“Because I’m going to install that sink no matter what.”
“Why?”
She’s not trying to be difficult. One thing I’ve noticed in the little conversations we’ve had since I hired her two weeks ago is that Phoenix isn’t afraid to ask questions.
“Because I came here to…” I let it hang there because I don’t really know Phoenix and I definitely don’t want my reason for coming here to end up in some tabloid. “Griffin Thorne went to Alaska to find himself.” I’d be more of a laughingstock than I am now. “You want to get your stuff?”
She points at my shirt. “Did you want to change first?”
I look down at myself. Stripping it off in front of her would be a bad thing. Unprofessional. “Yeah, I’ll meet you outside.”
“Sounds good.”
After climbing the stairs two at a time and exchanging my wet shirt for a dry one, I head outside to find her bent over the trunk of her car. I might as well get used to having blue balls for the foreseeable future.
She turns around, probably feeling my eyes on her and thinking how creepy her new boss is.
“I’ll show you to your room.” I grab two suitcases, and she follows me with a box.
This time, I’m not the gentleman I should be because I go inside first. I’m going to have to resort to self-preservation techniques so I don’t cross a line and give her brother a reason to kick my ass.
* * *
Later that evening, I’m fixing a dinner that resembles something in a college student’s repertoire—six packets of ramen noodles and a loaf of bread.
I sip my beer as Phoenix rounds the open staircase and walks through the dining room to her right and great room to her left. Maverick is watching YouTube on television. She looks at it for a second before joining me in the kitchen.
“You all settled? Do you need anything?” I crack an egg and add it to the noodles.
“It’s all great. Thank you.”
I look over my shoulder at her and smile. “I made dinner tonight, but feel free to say no. I’m as good of a cook as I am a plumber.” A rush of anger zaps through me when I glance at the sink and see the damn thing in pieces.
“Ramen is good, but what are you doing with the egg?” She rounds the island and peeks into the pot.
“A friend of mine was appalled I allowed Maverick to eat this because of the sodium level and said at least put an egg in it. I did it once and he liked it. It gets some protein into him.”
She nods but says nothing.
I sip my beer and put it down quickly. “I’m a terrible host. Did you want something to drink? I have wine, beer?”
She takes a moment to think it over. I can see she’s uncomfortable.
“Listen.” I turn off the burner for the stove. “I’m a pretty easy boss. I mean, I’m drinking and I’m his father. I’m not opposed to you having a drink as long as it’s not overboard.”
“Okay.”
“So if you want some wine or something feel free.”
“Okay.” She heads to the fridge, opens it, and pulls out a diet soda. “You’ve had live-in nannies before?”
I put the ramen in three bowls and slice the bread. “I have.” Never as hot as you. “But our house was bigger in LA, so they had their own kitchen and living area. Pretty much kept to themselves.”
“Oh. Maybe… would you prefer if I…” She raises from the stool, but I wave her back down.
“No, no.”
“Am I imposing?”
I laugh and look out at the family room. “Yeah, Maverick is a big conversationalist, as you can see.”
She giggles.
“Truth is, I was so busy back in LA that I was barely around. This is new for me. You’re probably more comfortable than me.”
A look crosses her face that suggests I’m wrong, but she sips from her can and says nothing.
“I was thinking after dinner, when Maverick is getting ready for bed, we could talk about the rules and the schedule and stuff.”
“Sure thing.”
“You’re very agreeable.” I raise my eyebrows, and the cutest smile creases her lips.
“Give me about a week.” She winks. It’s more playful than flirtatious.
“Good. I hate overly polite people.”
“Then hiring me was a smart decision.”
Just like that, the uncomfortableness between us drops away, and it only increases my attraction toward her. There’s no pretense with this woman—I get the feeling that what you see is what you get, which is a huge change from the people I’m used to dealing with.
After dinner, Maverick goes up to shower. Once I get him into bed, I return downstairs to find Phoenix in front of the television with a glass of wine.
Grabbing a fresh beer, I join her but sit on the other side of the sectional. “What are you watching?”
“Oh nothing. It’s your house. Here.” She holds out the remote to me, but I wave away the gesture.
“I haven’t watched television in ages unless it was sports. Feel free to watch whatever you want.”
“I can watch TV in my room if you’d rather me go upstairs after Maverick is in bed at night?”
I shake my head. I guess the uncomfortableness between us hasn’t evaporated completely. “No. You’re more than welcome to watch TV here. So let’s lay out the rules, shall we?”
She mutes the television and positions herself to face me.
“I’ll probably be up with you and Maverick in the morning. You can drive him to school, then I’ll leave a list of things I need done each day. Probably just grocery shopping, picking up anything Maverick needs, and cooking dinner. I’ll be in my office for the first couple weeks because I have a lot of loose ends to tie up with leaving my company.”
“Okay.”
Another damn okay.
“I already mentioned drinking. Feel free to add anything to the grocery list and buy whatever food you like. Neither me nor Maverick have any allergies. Do you have any questions for me?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. That all sounds good.”
“I’m sure it’s clear, but Maverick isn’t exactly happy to be here right now. If he gives you a hard time, let me know and I’ll talk to him.”
“I can handle Maverick.”
“You sound so sure of yourself. I love him, he’s my son, but he can be difficult.”
She smiles and shrugs. “We’ll manage just fine. I’m not worried about it.”
Good to know she’s not. I’m worried in two days, she’ll quit. “Okay, but if he—”
She puts up her hands to stop me. “Don’t worry about it. The kid is in the middle of a huge change. I get him. A pretty big change happened to me when I was eight and here I am.”
For some reason, the pain in her eyes tugs on my male ego to try to heal the wound that still lives inside her.
“And Lake Starlight isn’t so bad. My entire family loves it here. Maverick will too.” She winks.
I think about her words. I want my son to love Lake Starlight. To give it a chance to feel like home, but my thoughts are soon preoccupied with what happened to Phoenix at the age of eight to add that dimness to her eyes.
It doesn’t
escape me that she said her family loves Lake Starlight but never said that she does. Now I have to decide if I want to become invested enough to find out why.
Eight
Phoenix
I distract myself with Tyler Vaughn’s new song while I wait in the kiss and ride line to pick up Maverick after school. The YouTube sensation turned certified star courtesy of Griffin. If anything, that should’ve proven to Griffin that he was the best of the best. Tyler’s got a new beat he never had when he only covered other people’s songs. Part of me would love to convince Griffin where he belongs, but I would never put my opinions on someone else since that’s what’s happened to me my entire life.
Phoenix needs to… Phoenix should… why won’t Phoenix listen to us? I love my family, but there isn’t a blueprint of what a Bailey should be. I thought they realized that when Savannah convinced Austin to let me go to LA after college, but ever since I returned, they’ve been trying to shove me into a box I know would suffocate me.
My eyes catch Maverick approaching the car. His shirt is askew with a small rip at the collar, and his perfectly gelled hair is messed up. Did the kid actually play at recess?
After climbing into the back seat, he puts on his seat belt.
I turn down the radio. “How was school?”
He stares out the window. “Fine.”
“Did you play with the kids at recess? Looks like you did.”
The traffic line crawls forward and someone honks behind me. Normally that would mean flipping them off, but I have to be mindful of Maverick and the fact that all my wrongdoings will probably be reported back to his dad.
“No.”
“Well, you look like you had fun.”
“Some kid cornered me in the playground.”
“What?” My foot slams on the brake, and I turn around in my seat to look at him over my seat. Another honk from the car behind me, but I stay turned around and examine his appearance closer. No visible markings, except the tear. “Who was it?”