Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
There’s a short pause as I back out of my parking spot, then I hear my father’s voice. “Asher, call me. I think you’re making a mistake on the Tyndall property. There’s no way you’ll get investors to bite at it. It’s going to fall flat, and you’ll look bad. If you look bad, Knight Investment Group looks bad. So call me.”
Rolling my eyes, I press the button on my steering wheel to delete the voicemail. I make my way back toward the nicer part of town to my apartment. As I drive, I consider what to say to my dad when I call him back, and have no doubt, I will call him back. No one disregards a summons from Carlton Knight.
My dad and I have always had a strangely unusual relationship. He’s arrogant, self-centered, and ruthless when it comes to business. I’ve been told by many that I’m just like him, but perhaps a tad more ruthless.
We get along fine because our worlds are centered around making insane amounts of money. When my father passed on the mantle of CEO of Knight Investment Group to me, it didn’t mean he was going to keep his opinions to himself. It means nothing to him that I’ve doubled our wealth and holdings since I’ve taken over. He’s still going to give me advice whether I want it or not.
He’s lucky I usually want it, because I respect his entrepreneurial acumen. It doesn’t mean I’ll always follow it. Regarding the Tyndall property, I’m absolutely going with my gut instinct on this. It’s the one significant difference between us. I’m willing to take risks he never would have in business, and it’s hard for him to understand that about me.
Regardless, I respect the man greatly, which means he still has tremendous influence over me.
But I choose not to call him back tonight. I don’t feel like butting heads with him. It will totally ruin my surprisingly good mood after spending just moments in Hannah’s company.
Instead, I call someone who is usually a pleasure to talk to.
My twin sister Christina.
She answers on the third ring with an affectionately irreverent greeting. “What’s up Ash-hole?”
“You know, after twenty years, that nickname is a bit overused,” I reply drolly.
Christina’s laugh is husky and mischievous, and it sounds just like our mother’s laugh, which causes my chest to ache. While I’m everything like my father, Christina took after our late mother. She’s kind to everyone and focuses all her free time on philanthropy.
Like me, she’s ivy-league educated—I went to Penn, and she went to Yale—but she disappointed Father and forever endeared herself to Mother when she decided to become a public-school teacher.
“Are you back in town?” she asks as she munches on something crunchy, which crackles loudly over the phone connection.
“Just flew in a bit ago. Headed home now. Just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m good,” she replies with more crunching in the phone. She does it to annoy me as only a good little sister—younger by almost three minutes—can do. “Met with the venue manager this morning, and everything is a go.”
I smile. “That’s good. Need me to do anything?”
“Got it covered,” she replies, which makes my smile wider. She’s like Dorothy Knight incarnate, able to put on a charity gala that will cater to the Vegas wealthy elite, yet be relaxed enough to crunch on whatever the hell she’s eating while she talks about it.
And this is no small affair. It’s been renamed in honor of our late mother—the Dorothy Knight Charity Extravaganza for the Benefit of Children’s Hospital. There will be over one hundred in attendance for a dinner that costs one-thousand-dollars a plate to raise money for the hospital. It was a project my mother was passionate about, which my sister took over without any hesitation.
“Listen,” she says after swallowing her food loudly—also to annoy me. “I’ve got someone who would be perfect for you to take to the gala. She’s a new teacher at my school, and she’s—”
“Forget it, Christina,” I say curtly before she can get another word out. “I’m not interested.”
“But she’s so sweet and really pretty. I think if you—”
“I said forget it,” I say with a little more bite than I’d intended. Christina is the person I love most in this world. I don’t like to hurt her, but I also don’t want her overstepping her bounds. She can get a little crazy with her notions of wanting me to find love again.
“Asher,” she says quietly, a slightly chiding tone to her voice. “It’s time to move on.”
Ignoring her, I wrap our conversation up. “Listen… call me if you need any help and I’ll be glad to step in.”
She sighs into the phone, sad I won’t talk to her about the most terrible and horrific thing to ever happen to me. My sister wants me to move on, but how can I get over the fact that my wife killed herself and it’s all my fault for not stopping her?