by Rayne, Piper
Kingston’s jaw clenches and he buries his head in his plate.
“Anything else we need to discuss?” Grandma asks.
Denver’s eyes fall on me. “We could talk about how Phoenix railroaded her way into being a nanny for Griffin Thorne?”
“Babe,” Cleo says, putting her arm around his shoulder. “You need to let this go.”
“Phoenix needed a job. Griffin was hiring. From what I witnessed this afternoon, she’s doing a fantastic job.” Grandma Dori winks at me. “Maybe motherhood is her calling.”
The elation of receiving a compliment gets doused with a large bucket of cold water.
“He’s my friend, and we all know why she’s actually there.” Then it dawns on him and Denver points at Grandma Dori. “That’s why you’re okay with this song. Because it’ll give her a solo for Griffin to hear.”
I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I get to sing, and even if he’s not in the industry, he might feel compelled to reach out to one of his friends. Surely, he doesn’t want talent to die in a small town like Lake Starlight. But singing on the family float is an obligation, so it’s not like I have a choice anyway.
“Not true, Denver,” I say.
“Why do you have such a problem with it?” Austin asks, using the fatherly voice he perfected all those years ago when he was our guardian. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Thank you, Austin.
Denver throws up his hands. “Griffin is my friend who’s now under the belief that she’s a ‘hot commodity’ in Lake Starlight. That he has a qualified nanny working for him. I never said anything to refute that when he told me. Eventually he’ll find out that she’s lying and only wants him for his connections.”
“And his money,” I add.
All my family’s heads turn in my direction and I bury my head into my plate. Bad timing, I guess.
“She’s not pushing her career on him. Otherwise he would’ve fired her already. She’s his nanny and acting as that,” Holly points.
I mouth, “Thank you” to her.
“You guys just don’t understand. He’s done a shit-ton for me over the last year and I’m betraying him by not telling him the truth.”
I should’ve known Denver would feel conflicted. One of his best traits is his loyalty to his friends.
“What are you afraid of?” I drop my napkin. “That I’ll embarrass you? That I’ll screw up? What? Do you think I’m not that talented of a singer? Because I’m done caring what you all think of me.” I stand and tuck in my chair.
“This is getting out of hand,” Grandma Dori says.
“I agree,” Holly says.
“I never said you weren’t good, but we can’t refute that you never made it when you went down to LA,” Denver says.
Anger burns hot in my veins, and if I don’t leave now, I’m going to lose my shit. “I have to get back to my nanny job.” I turn to Kingston. “Let’s practice this weekend.”
He nods in the silence that’s fallen over the table. It’s uncomfortable now that one of our own just stabbed me with a hot poker right in my biggest wound.
“Phoenix.” Denver stands and runs a hand down his neck. “I didn’t mean—”
I put up my hand to stop him. “It doesn’t matter. I better go.”
No one says anything. No one follows me when I leave. No one seeks me out.
Ten minutes later, I’m in the driveway of Griffin’s house, debating if going behind my brother’s back was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. Now when Griffin hears me sing at the parade, the truth will come out.
Maybe there was a reason I couldn’t make it in LA. Maybe I’m not as talented as I think.
Ten
Griffin
The next morning, I’m up at five am because the paperwork for Tyler Vaughn came through last night from my lawyer. I’m still deciding whether or not I want to file suit against him.
I’m in the kitchen getting breakfast going when Phoenix comes in to pack Maverick’s lunch.
“Good morning,” she says. “I could’ve made breakfast.”
“I was up. Hard time sleeping last night.”
She sighs. “I know the Billings family, and if you go to the principal, it’ll only make it worse on Maverick. I think we should allow him to handle it himself and if it gets worse… I say this knowing I’m not his parent and have no right to offer this advice, but—”
I put the spatula down and approach her, putting my finger over her lips. “Relax. Breathe.”
She exhales. I can tell from her rambling that she’s nervous.
“Thank you for your opinion, and I wasn’t up because of Maverick. Believe it or not, I know he can handle himself. He and I had a long talk yesterday about dos and don’ts. I won’t interfere unless it gets worse.”
“Oh.”
I smile and remove my finger. “Always feel free to give your opinion. It’s just work shit that’s got my mind spinning.” Heading back to the stove, I flip the pancakes and see that they’re slightly burned. “I did want to talk to you about a few things though.”
“Oh?” She zips up his lunch bag and slides it into his backpack.
“I have friends coming into town in two weeks.”
“That’s nice. I can stay with family while they’re here.”
I laugh. She’s always drawing conclusions before I can finish. “No need. There’s plenty of room. I just wanted you to be aware that we’d have some guests. If we go out that weekend, I’d need you to watch Maverick, but they’re homebodies like me, so I imagine we’ll be staying in.”
She nods and collects Maverick’s folders from the counter, then puts them in his bag. “Great. I’m sure you miss home.”
“Truth is, I don’t really. I miss my friends, but that’s about all.”
“And Maverick’s mom?” She flushes. “Forget I said that. I’m so sorry. None of my business.” She pours herself a cup of coffee in a to-go mug, adding milk to it.
“Are you nervous around me?” I plate the pancakes for Maverick and take the milk from her once she’s finished to pour him a glass.
Her gaze is on her cup, rather than on me, as she takes a sip. “A little.”
“Why?”
“He should really get down here to eat. Maverick!” she yells up the stairs as she passes me.
I grab her wrist lightly to stop her and she freezes. If I was one of those people who believed in the energy between two people, I’d say we have sizzling electricity. So much so that I retract my touch before I get carried away. “I want us to work together, which means being open and honest.”
A sigh falls from her lips and she faces me. “First of all, you’re my boss. Second, you’re Griffin Thorne.”
“I get the boss thing, but I told you, I’m easy. Second of all, I’m just Griffin Thorne, homeowner in Lake Starlight, Alaska.”
Her shoulders sink. “You’re Griffin Thorne, award-winning music producer from LA.” As if she has to make her point, her eyes veer to the glass case holding my Grammys in the family room.
“Not anymore.” I cross my arms and her gaze dips to my biceps.
“All right. Who are your friends coming in two weeks?” She crosses her arms, mimicking my stance, and my gaze dips down to her breasts. Although Phoenix dresses in a lot of casual clothes, her T-shirts are always a little tight in the breast area, which I love. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“Van Brewton and Trey Galger.”
Her mouth hangs ajar. “Seriously? Your two friends coming here are the founders of Aces High record label and the judges on that singing show on TV?”
I nod. “You’d never guess it when you meet them though.”
She shakes her head. “And you don’t want me to be nervous around you.”
The sound of Maverick coming down the stairs interrupts us, and Phoenix scurries as far away from me as she can, as though we were doing something wrong.
When Van texted me this morning and said they were coming
up, I almost said no. That we’re building a new life and seeing my two best buddies from LA would only bring back everything I hate from that part of my life. But Maverick loves his pseudo uncles, and he needs a pick-me-up from them probably as much as I do.
“Eat up. We need to go.” Phoenix ruffles Maverick’s hair and his hands go to his head to straighten it all back down.
I lean over the counter and whisper to Maverick, “Guess what?”
“What?” he asks, concentrating only on forking the pancakes into his mouth.
“Uncle Van and Uncle Trey are coming to visit in two weeks.”
He looks up and his fork drops to his plate. “Yay!”
I nod. “Yep. Where should we take them while they’re here?”
I finish cleaning up the kitchen, using the small sink in the island since I still haven’t gotten the other one together. I’m aware of Phoenix trying to distance herself from the conversation instead of being a part of it. As if she could ever be invisible.
“What do you think, Phoenix? How do we entertain them?”
She looks up from her phone, her keys already in her hand and purse crosswise over her body. “Um. In two weeks you said?”
“Yeah.”
Maverick looks at her like he did when he met Tyler. Like she’s won him over already. She mumbles something and her face pales.
“What did you say?” I ask, leaning closer as I dry my hands on the dishtowel.
“Um.” She clears her throat. “That’s the weekend of…” She swallows again, staring at her phone. “Founder’s Day.”
“What’s that?” Maverick asks before shoving more pancakes into his mouth.
She looks at him, her skin more pale than usual. “It’s a day to celebrate when my family’s company, Bailey Timber, was founded.”
“Oh.” I look at Maverick, and he actually smiles and nods as though that would interest him. “Perfect. What do they do?”
Her eyes close for a moment, but when they pop back open, she straightens her back. “There’s a carnival. That’s the fun part. Skip the parade though. Just a bunch of fire trucks and boring floats.” She tucks her phone into her purse. “Ready, Mav?”
“Maverick,” he corrects her and stands from the stool.
He grabs his backpack off the counter, and I wait at the hallway opening to give him a hug. “Have a great day.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Remember what we talked about.”
He nods. “I will.”
“Okay, I’ll be back around lunch. I’m going grocery shopping afterward.”
I glance at the unfinished sink. “The sink and I are going for round two.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Have fun. I always root for the underdog, so I’m sending positive vibes your way.”
I watch her walk out the garage door with Maverick in front of her.
Damn, maybe I should’ve put a long sweater in the employment agreement, so I don’t have to stare at that ass all the time. A man can only handle so much.
Eleven
Phoenix
We’re a week away from Founder’s Day. I chop up some vegetables in an attempt to make a meal that Austin gave me the recipe for. He says it’s quick and easy, but so far, I’ve been cutting and chopping ever since Maverick got home from school.
“How is it going with Chad Billings?” I ask.
He puts his pencil to his paper. “Fine.”
“Fine? Like in he’s still bothering you?” The carrot slips off the cutting board and falls to the floor. Ignoring it, I pull another one out of the package and half it like Austin said.
He looks around—for Griffin, I assume, but he ran out to FedEx. Said it was something he had to do on his own.
“Your dad isn’t here.”
“I paid him.”
Another hot burst of anger flows through me. I’m starting to see why Rome is the way he is with his kids. I place the knife on the cutting board. “You paid him?”
Maverick nods. “He said I was a rich kid, so I should prove it.”
“And where did you get the money?”
He looks around again. “My dad has this jar in his closet. He puts loose change and small bills in it.”
Of course a penny jar to the rich would mean putting your twenties in it at the end of the day.
“How much are you paying him?”
“Five a day.” He shrugs.
“Five dollars a day!” I screech.
Maverick rears back from me. “But he leaves me alone now.”
“I know, but you can’t be paying him, Mav.”
“Maverick,” he says.
“Sorry.”
He shrugs because the poor kid has gotten used to me shortening his name. I think I keep calling him Mav because I want him to loosen up a little. Get dirty. Be a kid. Isn’t that why all the Williams of the world were called Billy as kids and the Richards were called Dicks? Actually maybe a bully came up with that one.
I sit on the stool next to him. “We gotta think of something else.”
“No. This is working.”
“Believe me, Chad Billings is going to come up with something else he wants. It’ll never end until you end it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to come up with a new plan. Just give me some time.”
“Okay.” He picks up his pencil and continues working on his homework.
Ten minutes later, I manage to fill what Austin calls a magic pot with the vegetables and a roast beef. I lock on the lid and press the buttons he instructed.
“If my brother’s right, we’ll be eating dinner in an hour.” I hold my hand up to Maverick, and he stares at it. “You’re supposed to slap it.”
He lightly taps his palm to mine.
“No, high-five me.” I keep my palm high in the air.
He smiles and hits his hand to mine again.
“Good job.”
He pushes his papers and pencil to the side. “And I’m done with my homework.”
“Time to celebrate then!” I crank my phone to “Truth” by Lizzo.
Maverick jumps off the stool, and we sing the lyrics as I circle him around the great room. We dance to the beat, and although I’m much louder than him, he’s smiling and laughing. I’ve been blessed with a few smiles these past few weeks, but this is by far the happiest he’s been around me.
We fall on the couch after the song is over, then Maverick sits up. “Can I play a song on your phone?”
“Sure.” I sit up and dig it out of my pocket for him.
He scrolls through it. “You like country?” He positions the phone screen toward me, and the song Kingston and I will be performing is the first song to come up.
“I like a lot of different styles of music. That song is there because…” I look toward the back door to make sure Griffin hasn’t returned. “Well, I have to sing it in the Founder’s Day Parade.”
He presses Play on “What Happens in a Small Town.” The song begins and I sing Brantley’s part. I have the stronger voice, so I’m carrying Kingston through the song.
“What do you mean you’re singing it in the parade?” He leans down and I peek over to find him looking at the lyrics of the song.
“Remember how I told you and your dad that it’s in honor of when my family started the company?”
He nods.
“Well, every year my family gets on a float and sings a song to the town. Kind of like a thank you.”
The back door opens, and I scramble to grab the phone, but between Maverick and me, the phone falls to the floor. The song continues to play, and by the time I’m on all fours between the couch and the coffee table, Griffin is staring at me over the edge of the couch.
“What are you guys doing?” He’s smiling, so that has to be a good sign.
“Phoenix is singing on a float at the parade,” Maverick rambles as if it was a secret we’d been keeping from his dad.
“Really?” He sh
rugs out of his jacket and lays it over the edge of the couch. Rounding the couch, he sits down next to his son. “Is that the song?”
He nods toward my phone, and I clutch it to my chest for dear life because the last thing I can do right now is broach this subject with him.
“Yeah,” Maverick answers.
“Let me hear it? Brantley Gilbert, right?”
Maverick sits up on his knees next to his dad, and Griffin runs his hands through his hair. I wish the ground would open and swallow me. Here is something I want. I could sing for Griffin Thorne and get his opinion on my voice, yet I can’t find the confidence to do it.
I press Play, but instead of my phone playing Brantley Gilbert and Lindsay Ell’s version, it’s the version Kingston, and I recorded two days ago.
“Shit.” I look up, horrified. “Sorry. I mean, that’s the wrong one.”
My phone twists in my hands as if I’m a giant whose hands are too big to handle it. Eventually I press Pause and shut it off.
Griffin looks directly at me but pats his son’s back. “Hey, Maverick, go upstairs and wash up for dinner.”
“Phoenix said we have an hour before dinner,” he whines.
“Okay, then give us a little privacy.”
Maverick groans, but one thing I’ve noticed is that it’s a rare occasion when he outright defies his father. He might give him attitude, but overall, Maverick respects his father. After stomping upstairs, Maverick shuts his bedroom door.
“I should check on dinner.” I stand, but as I pass Griffin, he lightly touches my wrist.
“It can wait.” His voice is serious.
I swallow the dryness coating my throat. I have no idea what he’s about to say and I’m not prepared to hear it. Let him have his professional opinion, but if he doesn’t like my voice, someone else will. Isn’t that how some famous stories go? Michael Jordan got cut from his high school basketball team. J.K. Rowling was on food stamps before she became a successful author.
His thumb runs along the inner side of my wrist and shivers run across my skin. I don’t think he’s even aware that he’s doing it. “Sit.”