What the hell?

Sinking into the kitchen chair, I stare at the piece of paper in my hand. Charles Martin, my best and oldest friend is dead. He passed away last week after a long illness and I just got the news now. Why didn’t he tell me he was sick? Goddammit. I remember seeing something on the news about him, but never noticed the details. And with the success Charles had achieved it wasn’t unusual to see him on television. Last I knew, he was dating some supermodel.

A hundred images of us raising hell together from the earliest ages all the way through college assails me. He always had a permanent smile on his face and some prank up his sleeve. How can someone so full of life be gone?

Charles was the ringleader of our duo. He led, I followed and usually it ended with both of us being grounded by our parents.

In college, I found my own footing and began to have my own ideas about what kind of trouble we could get into. Usually, it involved a cheerleader or two and too much alcohol or weed. I’m sure our college apartment reeked of, and was covered in a permanent haze from all the weed we smoked. We threw some killer parties and we charged an admission fee big enough to support our love for all things herbal. It didn’t hurt that we went to the University of New Hampshire; a well-known party school. I smile. Those were the days.

It’s difficult to believe I’ll never see him again. My smile fades and I run my hand down my face. I haven’t seen Charles in ten years. We lost touch for the most part, only exchanging a brief phone call or sporadic email. Life got in the way and work became a priority for both of us.

He remained in New Hampshire after college and the technology based company he started from the ground up, took off. He was focused on making his first million, then a second and third until he became a billionaire at age thirty-four.

I moved to Florida after I graduated from UNH and immediately entered the police academy for a local police department. Now, I’ve been on the force for thirteen years and through hard work and dedication I’ve been promoted to detective.

Remorse sinks in. I should’ve made time for our friendship. Fuck.

Glancing down at the letter still clutched in my hand, I flatten it out on the kitchen table and take in the contents once more. Unfortunately, the words are the same as when I read through it the first time.

Brock Marshall, you are now the sole guardian of Ivy Colt, Charles Martin’s only child. She’s currently at a boarding school finishing up the year and will be arriving at your house the first week of June. Please schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience to come in the office and sign all the necessary documentation.

I didn’t even know Charles had a daughter. Why the hell did he make me her guardian? I don’t know anything about kids and I don’t want to learn now at the age of thirty-five.

Bracing my elbows on the table, my head falls into my hands. What am I going to do?

Two days later I find myself at Hoffman and Sons, the attorneys who are handling this whole guardianship business. Sitting in the chair across from Attorney Hoffman I nervously click the pen and bounce my knee. Why do I feel like I’m about to sign my life away? Probably because I am. I’m about to become responsible for another person and their well being. If I wanted that I would’ve had kids of my own.

“What happens to Ivy if I don’t agree to take her in?” The pen clicks some more while I study Attorney Hoffman as he types on his computer.

Glancing up from the screen, his expression is flat. “There’s no one else to take her in. He had no other surviving relatives. Charles stipulated in his will that she can’t inherit any money unless she comes to live with you. For whatever reason, he wanted you to get to know her. If you refuse, the trust fund will go to charity and she’ll lose all claim to the money.”

Fuck. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. If I don’t sign the papers she may not be starving on the streets, but she’ll lose the chance to gain her rightful inheritance. I can’t deal with that hanging over my conscience. I exhale a big sigh and add my signature on the dotted line, signing my life away as I know it.

* * *

Today is the big day. I’ve spent the past month getting Ivy’s room ready. My buddy Chris, a contractor, sent over a painting crew. I had him choose a shade of pink that any little girl would be happy with. I bought curtains and a comforter for her bed with the help of a sexy sales girl. She was more than happy to assist me and I left the store with not only what I went for, but her phone number too. Not that I’ll be using it any time soon. I have a feeling this guardianship thing is going to be a lot more work than I originally anticipated.

I’ve been learning all I can about what little girls need and it’s like an alien world to me. I don’t know the first thing about braiding hair or periods.

How am I going to do this?

I have moments of panic about it every single day, but it’s going to happen whether I’m ready or not. All I can do is my best.

My stomach is unsettled. She’s set to arrive at any moment now.

Attorney Hoffman coordinated everything for us. Her plane was scheduled to arrive over an hour ago, and he arranged for her to ride in a limo from the airport to my house. He thought it would be better for her to meet me here, privately than at the airport surrounded by strangers. She is the only child of Charles Martin and although she’s been well hidden until now, sooner or later the details of his estate will leak out and everyone will be clamoring for a glimpse of her.

The barking of my next door neighbor’s dog alerts me to the car’s arrival. My palms are sweaty with nerves.

What if she hates me?

I wipe my hands on my pants before opening the front door, stepping outside into the humidity living in Florida can provide in June. Not even the brief afternoon shower we had earlier helped. As I move forward toward the white limousine my heart pounds with each step I take.

The driver opens the door blocking my view of Ivy as she gets out. I stop walking and wait for him to step aside so I can get a peek at my new ward. I wonder if she’ll have blonde hair like Charles. I smile, imaging her with sandy blonde hair and a big pink bow holding her ponytail in place.

The smile falls from my lips as I catch sight of Ivy. Little Ivy isn’t little at all. She’s a full grown adult, definitely not underage for the x rated activities her body’s inspiring my mind to think of. Fuck.

My eyes slowly sweep over her from head to toe. My dick goes semi hard at the sight of her nipples poking out against the thin fabric of her white tank top. I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. I swallow; my mouth is suddenly dry. Her jean skirt is so short it barely covers her pussy. Is she wearing panties under there? Fuck. I hope she’s wearing panties. My dick grows at the thought. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and try to hide the obvious bulge.

She sways toward me placing one foot in front of the other. Her eyes greedily move up and down my six foot two frame. Her tongue curls to slowly lick along her upper lip and her sultry eyes tell me she likes what she sees. Oh fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. She’s Charles's daughter.

She tosses her long dark brown hair over her shoulder, stopping in front of me with her tits thrust forward. She’s even sexier up close. Her full lips are painted a bright shiny pink that calls attention to them. Her eyes are a deep chocolate brown. She pouts her lips and locks eyes with me.

“Are you my new daddy?”