Fourteen

ANDREW

My hands are busy shaping the facial features of a new sculpture when the music streaming into my ears is replaced with the notes of my obnoxious ringtone.

I’m not answering that shit. Everyone who knows me knows that I don’t like being bothered. Especially when I’m trying to create. I don’t have time for the outside world right now.

Hidden away in my basement, I have no desire to interact with humans at the moment. Unless that human is Lilah Tucker.

I haven’t heard from her since she hightailed it out of here two nights ago.

I continue molding the sculpture in front of me and the music eventually stops playing again.

Agitated, I glance at the phone face up on the work table beside me. Foolishly, I hope to see Lilah’s name but the California area code catches my eye instead.

The contact isn’t saved but I know exactly who it is right away.

What the hell does he want?

Dropping the sculpting knife, I listen to it clank against the metal surface of the table as I contemplate whether or not to answer.

Fuck it.

“Hello?” I answer, smearing clay all over the screen as I drag my finger across it.

“Andrew,” comes my brother’s clipped greeting.

My free hand forms into a fist involuntarily just from the sound of his monotonous drawl.

“What do you want?” I ask, breaking the lengthy silence. I know he didn’t call me just to breathe on my line.

It doesn’t take him long to find his footing though.

“Just called to check in and see if anything’s changed since we last spoke.”

Always so damn formal. My lips quirk at the seriousness in his tone. Everything is a damn business transaction with this kid.

He wants me to join him in the family and I won’t budge.

“Still not interested in selling my soul to the devil, Teddy.”

I know he hates his childhood nickname.

I grin triumphantly when he huffs heavily over the line. Mission fucking accomplished.

“You’re such a fucking waste, Andrew. You never cared about the family legacy and you don’t respect where you came from. Dad was right when he left me to make all the major decisions. You don’t deserve a penny of your inheritance,” he spits out.

But it doesn’t faze me. In truth, our father hadn’t left it all to him. But it went to him by default when I refused to have any parts of continuing the Knight legacy. It’d never been important to me.

“You flatter me, big brother,” I taunt back, and I can almost see the steam coming from his ears through the phone.

His silence lets me know that he’s pissed and that’s what he fucking gets.

“I’ll let you enjoy your soulless work of accumulating money while I enjoy my life. Some of us have more important things to do like creating art and fucking beautiful women. You do know what a woman is, don’t you?” I ask offhandedly as I pick up my sculpting knife to continue.

“Shithead, one day you’re going to regret every snide remark you’ve made.”

Doubt it.

My brother is a fucking thorn in my side. Every time he calls, it’s for the sole purpose of “putting me in my place” and I’m fucking tired of it. I’ll never regret telling him exactly what’s on my mind.

You’d think he was a decade older than me with the way he carries himself. In actuality, I’m only fourteen months younger than his twenty-nine years.

I haven’t heard from him in over a year. For all I know he’s living it up in California after transferring our father’s company to the west coast to get in on the tech boom.

He really doesn’t occupy too many of my thoughts. We’re as different as night and day. And when it comes down to sibling bonds, ours is nonexistent. Not that I can blame him much.

Our father Andrew Knight III played a pretty big role in that. We were constantly pitted against each other and by the time we were grown and on our own, neither of us bothered to take the time to mend what would have been our relationship.

I can honestly count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen my brother in person since our mother’s funeral four years ago. My father had passed two years prior due to kidney failure and my brother disappeared like a ghost until a member of staff hunted him down to tell him of our mother’s pending funeral arrangements.

“Go to hell,” he grits out between his teeth. I can see him unbuttoning the jacket of his suit as he paces back and forth in his office hurling insults at me.

The mere visual is pretty damn comical if I do say so myself.

“I’ll see you there,” I promise darkly, then I hang up.

My concentration shot, I throw my tools back on the table and stare at the piece in front of me.

Lilah Tucker.

Why can’t I stop thinking about her? No matter how hard I try, she’s right there in the peripheral of every thought I have.

I must have taken about ten cold showers in the last two days alone. Every time I recall her, my dick aches in protest.

The sexual frustration is to be expected. She’s a walking wet dream if I’ve seen one.

But why do I miss her feistiness and that sharp tongue as she tries to deflect attention away from the intensity of our chemistry. Why do I miss the fire raging in her beautiful eyes?

My fist balls up again on its own accord, a clear indication that I need to get a grip.

How the fuck do I miss someone I barely know? What kind of spell did she put on me?

The tension radiating from me is so strong that I push away from my workstation. If I try to continue sculpting, I might just ruin it.

Tired of these frustrating thoughts, I snatch up my phone with one goal in mind.

Spurred on by my recent conversation, I find Lilah’s number intent on making my first sizable investment.

Even if I were to never touch my trust fund, I know that my inheritance will take care of me until the grave. However, I suddenly feel like I have something to prove and Lilah’s going to help me.

And I’ll be killing two birds with one stone. Because if I don’t see her soon, I’m going to combust.