“Mom’s losing it over the squirrels.” Brian sips his beer, catching me up on his family.

When he ordered a bottle of Bud at this private club, the waitress barely contained her scorn. In deference to me, Silicon Valley royalty, one of the founding partners of the hottest tech company to just go public, she managed to smile politely. Then she explained to my childhood friend visiting from Ohio that they only have craft brews on tap. And they serve it in glasses.

“Make sure she doesn’t climb up on the roof,” I advise. One year when we were teenagers, Mrs. Gallagher fell off and her wrist was in a splint for a month.

“I know. I try to stop her.” Brian shakes his head with affection over the woman who was more a mother to me growing up than my own. Until she made it clear that she wanted me to have nothing to do with her family ever again.

I listen to more stories, placid, even as frustration builds in me like a steady drumbeat. It’s not about the squirrels. Brian, as usual, has no idea.

Finally, he gives me some news. “Lily graduated in June.” My jaw tightens at the sound of her name. There’s so much I want to ask. But I’ve had years of training in not doing what I want when it comes to Brian’s little sister.

“She’s in debt up to her ears. The bastards took away her scholarship after the first year. We told her to transfer to state, but she wanted to stick it out.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I growl. “Is she all right?” I must have let too much intensity slip into my questions. Brian studies my face for a moment before answering.

“Sure, she’ll be fine.” He explains she’s back living with their parents, in the house next door to where I grew up. I can picture her there. I know which bedroom’s hers. Four years ago she opened her window and called down to me in a hushed whisper in the middle of the night.

Brian goes on to tell me about other people from town, ones I don’t remember and don’t care about. It’s Lily on my mind as I sip my drink. I’m a dirty bastard, sitting here with her older brother thinking about her like I am. But that’s me, a cleaned-up exterior and fixed features hiding the monster within.

I remember the swish of the dress she wore that night.

The press of her breasts against my chest.

The softness of her full lips, and the gasp she made when I first kissed her.

“Hey, Gray.” A woman approaches us, her low top and short skirt showing off her model’s figure. I’ve met her before, but she does not appeal to me. I give my head a shake of dismissal and return my attention to Brian.

He nearly spits out his beer. “Dude, she’s hot!” His gaze follows her haughty retreat. “Does that happen to you all the time? Shit, I bet it does.”

I let the fact stand. I’m one of the valley’s newly-minted billionaires. Women know it and make themselves available. I don’t take it personally. It’s not about me.

Even before my net worth gained two—never mind three—commas, women came to me. I’m big and strong and women like that. It’s a simple equation. Unfortunately, I’m not a simple guy.

I don’t work out to attract women. It serves that purpose, but there’s another reason I lift weights and run stairs like the devil is at my back. The devil actually was at my back for years, in the form of my father.

I can never erase what happened when I was a kid. But I can claim power now that I’m a man. I’m 27 and I will never be pushed around in any way, shape or form ever again.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” I nod my head in the direction where Brian’s still staring.

He brings his attention back, clinking my drink with his glass. “I came down here to see you.”

“I won’t be offended.”

“No, you wouldn’t be, would you?” He gives me a lopsided smile. It’s because he knows me well. Emotions are not generally my thing. Until they are, and then they’re a tsunami, crushing everything in their path. So I don’t let them out much.

“How about you, man?” He gives my shoulder a playful shove. “Becoming a father for the summer!”

“No, I’m not.” I shove him back, like we’re a couple of kids instead of men. “I’m just helping out Sandi for a couple months.”

“Taking care of your nephew.”

I nod. It’s true. I told him about it over the phone.

“Sandi’s not doing so good, huh?”

Sandi’s Not Doing So Good. That could be the title of my sister’s biography. The newest chapter in her storyline does not deviate from the main theme.

I fill Brian in on the latest details. Last week she’d nearly died from a fire in her own kitchen. She’d lain on the couch, passed out with heroin thick in her veins as a pot burned on the stove. Someone had smelled smoke and called 911. She’d been rushed to the hospital and revived.

“Thank god for the fire. Sounds like it saved her.”

Not for the first time, I marvel at Brian’s optimism, always looking on the bright side, always finding the silver lining. He’s a true Gallagher, one of the happy, tumbling crew next door who seemed like mythical creatures to my sister and me when we were kids.

For Sandi and I? Not so much happy tumbling. She and I have had different outcomes in life so far, but we’ve got a lot in common. For example, we both have a bunch of scars in the perfectly circular shape of cigars.

For me, though, no matter how bad things got at home, I always had my mind to retreat into. I’d find something new to take apart and reconstruct, and the passage of time became irrelevant. Plus I could always go next door to Brian’s and sleep on the couch in his basement, no questions asked.

But Sandi? She made friends with drugs, lots of them, in great quantities.

“How’s Gus?”

“Fine. He was with a neighbor.” My nephew’s all right, thanks to Sandi upholding the family tradition of pawning children off on more functional parents with the misfortune of living too close.

I should have done more before now, maybe should have used the legal system to intervene, but I’ve been busy. Coding. Launching. Being on the cover of Time Magazine.

But after this? Sandi’s headed for 60 days of rehab. No excuses, no empty promises. The only reason she’s not going to jail is my absurdly expensive and fierce legal team. And the only reason Gus isn’t headed for foster care is I’ve agreed to take temporary custody for the duration of her rehab program.

“It’s cool of you, seriously. I didn’t think—” Brian pauses, and I can tell he’s censoring himself. I can also tell what he was going to say.

“You didn’t think I had the heart to do something like that?”

He laughs, but agrees. I’ve done it again, being blunt in a way most people aren’t. Brian’s used to it.

Other people let me get away with it now, too. Money does strange things to people. My quirks are now considered genius.

He sips his beer. “You sure you’re up for taking care of a little kid? I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I’ll hire someone.” I realize I need to do that, ASAP. Gus is coming to live with me on Monday. I’m used to running my own company, not making childcare arrangements.

“You don’t have anyone lined up?”

“It won’t be a problem.” When you have money, problems go away quickly. Except Sandi. I brush away the thought, compartmentalizing as I’m so good at doing.

I’ll have my assistant post on a couple job networking sites. She’ll do interviews over the weekend, and by Monday morning I’ll have ten over-qualified applicants from which I can make the final selection. It’s supply and demand: when you offer triple the average salary, people will claw at each other for the opportunity.

“Hey, you know what? You should ask Lily!” Brian smacks the table with his palm like he’s a genius. As if he’s had a brilliant idea, offering up his innocent, succulent little sister to a wolf like me. “She’s desperate for money. She hasn’t been able to find a job since graduation.”

My fingers tighten into a fist under the table. I don’t like hearing that she’s in need. Someone could take advantage of her. She deserves protection.

“Not sure your parents would like that idea,” I grit out.

“Of course they would! Why wouldn’t they?” Brian’s the ultimate golden retriever, upbeat, unfailingly friendly, believing the best in everyone. He has no idea his parents banned me from their house nine years ago. He knows I left town and never looked back, but only in the context of the rags-to-riches story told to the press. There’s so much he doesn’t know.

“Seriously, dude, you should ask her. She’s good with kids. Plus, she’s like family already, my annoying little sister.”

I look away, my face a mask as always. Lily was never like that to me. Little sister, maybe, when she was 9 or 10 and I was 14 or 15. But she was never annoying, with those large, observant eyes that took in so much, her detailed sketches in her notepad and insight far beyond her years.

And then there was that night five years ago. And the weekend I was back for my mother’s funeral four years ago. No, I don’t think of Lily as an annoying little sister at all.

We finish our drinks, interrupted too frequently. I picked a private club, but it’s not private enough. No place is. Silicon Valley is as small as a thumbtack when your company has just gone public in a wildly successful debut. Everyone knows your face, your story, your new net worth.

“This place is crazy.” Brian shrugs into his jacket. It’s too heavy for Palo Alto, but it’s late October and in Ohio that means it’s starting to get cold. Brian’s programmed to dress for it, even though he’s out in the Bay Area on a business trip. “So are you really a billionaire now?”

“One point O-five.” I could go on with several more numbers, but I’ve learned that too much detail puts people off. I know the exact figure of my net worth not because I care tremendously about it. In fact, the wealth seems strange to me, like an appendage I’m not sure what to do with. I know the amount because after I see a number, I not only recall the exact figure, but within seconds I can calculate its worth in three decades at multiple interest rates. It’s one of many parlor tricks that I’ve turned into the wealth of sultans.

At the curb, Brian hugs me. I don’t make physical contact often, and I stiffen at his intimacy. But I accept it, because it’s Brian, the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have.

“Good to see you.” He smiles warmly.

“Glad you tracked me down.” I’m not good at keeping in touch. It’s not in my nature. And it’s easier to avoid temptation. If I don’t hear about Lily, I don’t think about Lily.

I tell myself that, but it’s a lie. I think about Lily whether I see her or I don’t, whether I hear about her or not. I think about Lily when I’m with other women. When I’m alone, I think about Lily.

“Get in touch with Lily!” he urges me as he climbs into his Uber. “She should come look after Gus for you.”

Away he goes. I’m left on the sidewalk, dumbstruck. I’m the man people think has everything he wants. I don’t. But Brian’s just shown me how I can get it.

He’s handed me the ultimate excuse. I can lure Lily to me. I can even wrap it in a pretty package, like I’m helping her out. She’s in financial distress, between jobs. I can take care of that. Hell, not only can I pay off all her debt, I can introduce her to anyone she wants, set her up with any career path she desires.

But that’s not what keeps me up for hours.

I get home, answer emails, send a request to my assistant Karen to create a job description for a nanny. She sends one back in 20 minutes. It’s why I pay her what I do.

Then I climb into bed and lie there.

Lily. The one I’ve told myself to forget. The one I’ve never forgotten.

Now I have a perfectly acceptable reason to invite her to come to live with me for the next two months.

But a man like me shouldn’t be around a woman like her. And it’s not just me who thinks that way. I have it from her parents.

Lily’s soft, delicate and innocent. I’m strange and always have been. Normal seven year olds don’t disappear into a basement and come up a day later having built a computer.

And I’ve seen too much. I’m hardened and cold. Ruthless doesn’t begin to describe the kind of intense determination and focus that consumes me when I lock on something I want.

Sweet Lily. The things I’d do to her. It isn’t right.

All the nights her family took me in, treating me like one of their own. How do I want to repay them? By luring their daughter into my dark lair where I can do with her what I please.

I have so many things I want to do to her.

I lie awake in my 5,000 square-foot, $17 million-dollar house I share with no one. My sister may be the one who takes drugs, but I can feel my addiction. My obsession holds a seductive power over me.

Lily could be in a bedroom under this same roof.

One room away from me.

I could stop myself from touching her. I have an iron will. I know how to deny myself what I want.

But what about her? Would she touch herself at night? Would she make herself come on her pretty little fingers? Would I catch a soft moan as she bit her lip, tossing her head to the side, feeling guilty in the night?

I shouldn’t extend the offer to Lily.

Because if she says yes, I might never let her go.