Song: enemies to lovers playlist by Ivoryyy

"Kingsley Hugo Carmichael, if I die here I will haunt you for the rest of your life." Lilah hissed. The young woman sighed, a little peeved yet still endeared as her brother's laughter boomed in her ear. "I'm serious, Kiki. This place looks like it's falling apart."

Lilah's dark brown eyes swept over the dilapidated shop. The paint (which was probably pure white once but now was a miserable gray) wasn't just peeling. It was practically falling off in strips, revealing old, chipped bricks underneath. She sniffed, puffy almond eyes sweeping over the messy parking lot inside. There were cracks and potholes galore.

"I'll have you know that Ambrose's Auto Repair shop has one of the best mechanics in the world," Kiki replied teasingly. "Seriously though, I know the shop looks bad but the owner's a great guy. Runs a good business. Doesn't rip people off which, since you know nothing about cars besides how to turn a key, is really nice of him."

Lilah huffed and she didn't rise to take the bait. She fidgeted with her clothes, making sure she was presentable as her nerves got the better of her.

She tuned out her brother's chattering and smoothed out the fabric of her beige cashmere and wool coat. It covered her silk button down blouse which was a soft blue and tailored. The long coat hid her high waisted jeans, tailored of course, and the vintage belt she wore.

The string of pearls Granny gave her when she turned eighteen sat snugly against her neck. The emerald ring she inherited from her mom when she graduated from Yale gleamed in the sunlight. As was expected of a woman from her status, the makeup she wore was minimal. Natural and barely there with only a smidge of soft pink covering her pale brown lips.

"Lilah, you look fine. Now, stop loitering on the sidewalk and go get my shit. Please?"

Lilah almost jumped out of her skin, startled at having been caught. "You can't even see me."

"Oh, please. I can hear the high pitched whining of your insecurities through the phone." he said in exasperation. "You're beautiful—"

"You literally haven't seen me all day."

"—and I need my tennis gear before we go to the country club or I'll get roped into playing golf again."

"Golf is a decent sport."

"Golf is for old men and people that like watching paint dry. Do I look like an old man? No, because Asians don't raisin. Now, go get my shit pretty please with a maraschino cherry on top."

"Kiki—"

"I'm pulling the older sibling card."

"You're literally only seven months older than me," she deadpanned.

"Exactly. That's seven months of life experience that you don't have." Kiki sighed dramatically and Lilah already knew he was rolling his eyes like a drama queen. "Kids these days really don't know how to respect their elders."

"Oh, shut up," Lilah chuckled, her laugh was light and airy.

She buried the urge to tell him to go kick rocks and marched onwards like Kiki knew she would. Her dark brown leather boots scuffed against the dirty ground. The laces were too tight and cutting into her circulation but she didn't mind. Sylvie always taught her to tie her shoelaces tightly so that her shoes wouldn't go flying off her feet.

"What I don't understand is what you were even doing here." Lilah frowned as she walked past a hill of ants swarming a wad of discarded food. There was a glob of spit clinging to it and she shuddered, the stream of ants made her skin crawl. "What, the family mechanic isn't cutting it anymore? I'm gonna tell Julio that you're cheating on him."

"Haha, very funny," he laughed hollowly. "He's a friend, ok? So be a good little sister and get my tennis gear. If it isn't at the front then it's probably out back with the guys. Thanks! Love you so much!"

Lilah sighed, her brother's kissy sounds died out once the call ended. She entered the dimly lit shop, gaze trailing over the dirty linoleum floor. White. Or, at least, it used to be.

She walked past the empty chairs, rickety and worn out from continuous strain. There was no one at the desk. It was quiet. She rang the silver call bell and waited. Nothing. She rang it again, a little annoyed as the sharp sound rang out and no one appeared to see her.

"What kind of shitty repair shop doesn't have anyone to greet customers?"

"One that's struggling to make ends meet and has workers doing multiple jobs at a time."

Lilah yelped, lurching forward so that the edge of the counter dug into her stomach. The owner of the harsh voice sounded gruff and harsh. She gulped and turned around slowly.

Her gaze landed on a big, broad chest. It was bulky and pushing the dark blue jumpsuit the man wore to the very seams. There was a sliver of black fabric peeking out from underneath. Lilah's wide eyes trailed upwards, absorbing his tan skin and clean shaven diamond face with a slack jaw.

It was embarrassing, really, the way she sucked in an audible breath as her gaze met his stormy eyes. They were blue. Not like a clear sky but like the raging ocean. Dark and swirling with cold and brutal waves. Hooded. Thick lashes. Guarded and yet, so alluring that Lilah couldn't help being anything but stunned.

"Jesus."

A rancid scent invaded her senses as the beautiful man snapped his fingers in front of her dazed face. She wrinkled her nose. He took off a pair of black gloves, dragging grease over his large hands. The man raised a thick, dark brow. His hard eyes slipped over her body like silk. Lilah's mouth fell open wider as she gaped at how brazenly he gave her a once over.

"No, not Jesus," he replied, unimpressed. "Just Ambrose Montgomery."

The air was knocked out of her lungs. Cotton filled her ears. Lilah was beyond mortified to learn the owner caught her badmouthing his shop.

Ambrose towered over the gobsmacked woman, frowning. An invisible, dark cloud hovered over him. He was already in a terrible mood after having to let one of his workers go for stealing. Then he had to deal with an asshole that thought he knew more about cars than he did. Which, y'know, wasn't true considering he brought his car to Ambrose's shop to be repaired. And to top it all off, he'd had another conference with his brother's teacher because he was mouthing off in class.

Again.

When she didn't say anything Ambrose finally snapped under the weight of a shitty day. "Are you gonna say something or do you wanna get the fuck out of my shop? Time is money and I can't afford to waste it here with you."

Lilah flinched, not used to being spoken to in such a harsh and cold manner. Her dark eyes fell to stare at his shoes. Steel toe cap boots. Sturdy. If she had to guess, they were black Doc Martens. Durable and good working shoes that would last for years. A wise investment.

Clearing her mind of all old money teachings, she met Ambrose's heavy stare even though it scared her now. "I'm here to get Kiki's tennis gear," she said quietly.

"What?" Ambrose narrowed his eyes. His features sharpened as annoyance settled further into the tired lines of his face. "Who the fuck is Kiki?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat she forced out a meek, "Kingsley Carmichael."

A light of recognition flickered inside his eyes. Ambrose wiped his grease stained hands on his jumpsuit, looking her up and down again. "What are you, Kingsley's secretary?"

Ambrose brushed past her and started moving things around underneath the desk. Lilah huffed, glaring at the top of his head. Under normal circumstances she could see herself waxing poetry about his stupid hair. How it was black like ink and she'd wonder if the shiny locks were as soft as they looked.

But now, his mean spirit had soured her cheerful mood and she cursed his dumb undercut instead.

"I'm not."

"Not what?" he asked, tossing her a dull stare.

"I'm not his secretary," she said. "I'm his sister."

"You're his sister," he repeated slowly. Ambrose cocked his head to the side, taking a break from looking to stare at her. Lilah felt an uneasy sinking in the pit of her stomach. She already knew what he was thinking. Kiki was Korean and she, well, clearly wasn't. "You're Kingsley's sister."

Lilah took a deep breath and willed herself not to pick at the brown skin that she hated so much. Her fingers twitched, aching to mess up her half up and half down hairdo to quell her uneasiness. She smiled a smile that was smaller than her usual cheery smile and forced a calm facade.

"My name is Delilah Carmichael but everyone calls me Lilah," she said, holding her dainty hand out for him to shake. "It's nice to meet you. My brother's said a lot of good things about you."

Lilah was pleased to note that her voice remained firm even as her chest tightened with anxiety.

Ambrose's unreadable stare shifted to her hand then back to her face. He analyzed her round face. She looked soft in a naive and innocent type of way. Previous discussions with her brother let him know that she was only a year younger than him, 25. Yet the chubby cheeked woman looked so much younger. So carefree and unscathed by the perils of life that it shocked him.

It'd been a long time since he'd seen a woman his age that didn't have a resting bitch face.

Ambrose stood, towering over the short woman once more. Her head tipped backwards to hold his gaze. He walked past her. Lilah dropped her hand, ashamed when he didn't even spare her outstretched hand a second glance.

"Um, can I help you look?"

"No." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her mouth opening again and groaned. "How about you do me a favor and take a seat," he said, pointing a greasy finger at one of the old chairs. "I don't need you messing up my shop more than it already is."

Lilah's smile fell and with it the last of her good spirits. She perched herself at the edge of the hard chair. Fiddling with the ends of her chestnut hair, she frowned at the natural highlights she hated so much. It'd been on her mind recently, to simply dye her medium length hair one solid brown shade and be done with it. Her sister, Lonnie, always managed to talk her out of it every time.

"Thanks, Princess," his deep voice rumbled.

Her head snapped up and she gaped at him, cheeks flaming with a raging fire. Ambrose's words were cold and snarky. More detached than usual and, even for him, he was aware he was being a colossal ass. And to his friend's (well, acquaintance, really) little sister no less.

Yet he continued to pretend he was oblivious as he searched high and low for the missing tennis gear. Lilah drowned in her own humility.

Naturally, that's right around the time when things took a turn for the worst. For both of them.

"Stay here," Ambrose snapped, not giving her a chance to reply as he bolted out the door. He swore under his breath as he ran towards the apartment building across the street. His big boots pounded against the stairs as he raced up the first level. "I tell him not to touch it. I tell him not to play with it. And what does he do? Probably what I told him not to."

Ambrose wished he could give his little brother the benefit of the doubt but that ship had long sailed by now. Cameron was a good kid, he really was. Ambrose had raised him to be one. But he was acting out and it wasn't just little kid tantrums. Cameron wanted attention and Ambrose couldn't give it to him.

He wasn't the person Cameron was acting out for.

No, he was just the one that had to clean up all his messes once Cameron's storm passed.

The door to their apartment flung open and Ambrose's heart fell six feet under. Cameron's chubby face was as white as a sheet. At his small feet (it would be cute in any other circumstance since he was wearing only one fuzzy sock) was the open bag.

The $500 custom made tennis racket was broken.

Ambrose couldn't breathe.

Lilah's aimless thoughts ceased to wander as her phone cut through the silence of the empty shop. "Hello?"

"Lilah."

"Kiki!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "Your friend is an ass! I didn't even do anything and he's being a jerk for no damn reason."

"Lilah—"

"And he doesn't even know where your tennis gear is! At this rate you should call Caius so he can let Mom know that we'll be late because—"

"Delilah!" Lilah froze, hand clutching her phone impossibly tight. Kiki never called her by her full name. "Forget the gear. You need to go to the hospital. Now. I'll text you."

Lilah couldn't breathe.

"Is it Grandpa? Is he finally—"

"No." The sound of Kiki running and opening the car door echoed in her buzzing ears. "It's Lonnie. She's been hurt."

It wasn't his words, but his tone of voice, that was the cause of the pure fear flooding her system. She'd only ever heard him speak that way once. Just once. When they were ten and he was trying to comfort her the best a kid could do given the circumstances.

Their sister, the one they didn't talk about anymore, had died that day.

Ambrose shut the door, heart hammering in his chest as he descended with a fog settling in his mind. His deflated stare lifted and he saw Lilah running out of his shop with a blank face. The words to stop her were caught in his throat. For some reason, as she drove off in an old, black Tahoe, all he could think about were two things.

He now owed $500 that he didn't have.

Delilah Carmichael wore a big white bow at the back of her head, surrounded by a mixture of wavy and straight hair.

Only one of these things was important.

Ambrose sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired. Defeated. Money, money, money. The bane of his existence and the cursed thing that made the world turn.

With his shoulders hunched over, he marched towards his shop and worked ten times harder. He rotated tires, changed oil, replaced filters, and declined flirting with the cougars. He worked on repairs even as his boys left for the day. His hands ached and there was a knot in his back that he couldn't reach. If it was up to him, he'd work through the night to make room for new customers.

But he had to make sure Cameron took a shower. He had to make Cameron dinner. He had to check his homework. He had to give Cameron yet another scolding regarding his attitude and now the broken racket. He had to tuck him in by 8 o'clock and read the next chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis.

Money, money, money.

He hated rich people (his new acquaintance was somewhat of an exception) about as much as he envied them.

Money, money, money.

How nice it must be to live a life of luxury and trust funds. Never knowing, not once, what it meant to kill yourself working for what you own. And, in the end, still knowing that it would never be enough.

💎

Vote and/or Comment if you enjoyed this part!

💎

QOTD: What are your initial thoughts on Ambrose and Lilah's characters?