“That’s enough,” Mike said. “Remember what happened last time you got Shelby too excited.”
Behind his back, Lily made a face. The incident in question involved Shelby racing through the house with an expensive velvet throw in her mouth, flying out behind her like a flag while Jackson, shouting at full volume, raced after her. At least one imported vase—not to mention the throw—were casualties of the chase. Lily had spent most of the rest of the night terrified that she would spend the rest of her life paying back the cost of the damaged items. Fortunately, Denny had only laughed at Jackson’s delight over the story. “Jackson says it wasn’t your fault, and I believe him,” Denny had said. “But try not to let it happen again.”
Jackson stood. “No chases, I promise,” he said. “What kind of pizza do you want, Lily?”
They had a tradition of ordering pizza whenever she babysat. “How about pepperoni?” she asked. It was Jackson’s favorite. Hers too, as it happened.
Mike took a suit jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and slipped it on. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Don’t forget to set the alarm behind me.”
She followed him to the back door and waited until he was in his car before she pressed the code to arm all the outside doors and windows. She guessed being a billionaire meant you had to be more careful about security, though she had always felt safe here in this beautiful, quiet home.
They ordered pizza, then headed for the den, where Jackson demolished her in a game ofSlime Rancher.
The doorbell rang. “Pizza!” Jackson shouted.
“I’ll get it.” Lily hurried to the door, Shelby trailing behind. She checked the security peep, her hand already on the doorknob, but stopped short. The man on the other side of the door—tall, long-faced, prominent nose, close-cropped dark hair graying at the temples—was not the pizza delivery person. He wore dark slacks and a blazer and carried no delivery bag.
She pressed the intercom. “Can I help you?”
“It’s Preston. I’m here to talk to Mike. Who are you?”
“I don’t know a Preston.”
“I’m a new hire for Endicott Industries. Look, here’s my ID.” He held up a card with the Endicott Industries logo and his photo. He was identified asPreston Smith, Data Specialist. She scrutinized it, then opened the door, leaving the chain on. “Mike isn’t here,” she said.
“Who are you?” he asked.
His demanding tone annoyed her. “I’m the babysitter.”
Jackson moved in beside her. “Hello, Jackson,” Preston said. “Would you please tell the babysitter I really do work for your dad?”
Jackson scowled. “He works for Dad,” he said.
“Do you want to leave a message for Mike or Mr. Endicott?” Lily said.
“Why don’t you let me in, and I’ll write a note to leave.”
She shook her head. “Not going to happen. I don’t care if you are an employee, I don’t know you and Mike isn’t here.”
He frowned and pocketed his ID card once more. “How long have you been babysitting for Mr. Endicott?” he asked.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Where did Mike go?”
“He said he had a meeting.”
“Who was he meeting with?”
“I don’t know. I think you’d better leave now.” She didn’t like this man or his attitude. She started to close the door but saw headlights sweep up the driveway. A battered compact car with a lighted sign for the pizza restaurant on the roof stopped in the driveway, behind a black pickup she assumed belonged to Preston Smith.
Smith turned to watch the young man with the pizza head up the driveway. He stepped to one side. “Good night,” he said, and headed for his truck.
The pizza guy looked from the truck to her. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Just stay here until he’s gone,” she said. She punched in the code to disarm the security system, then lifted the chain and opened the door all the way.
“Sure.” He handed over the pizza, and they waited silently until the truck was out of sight.
