Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Cool!” Annika gushes. “A performance at the house?”
“In a tent on the lawn,” Dad says, sipping his drink. “There weren’t chairs, though. It was more like a rave where a dozen or so of the guests were contortionists, jugglers, and acrobats. I hired a DJ who really understood the vibe. And our guests wore only red and blue, like the performers. It was an experience just being there.”
I know he’s not lying. The photos are epic. I feel tired just thinking about it. How the hell am I going to come up with something unique? And now the pressure is twofold. Not only do I need to out-party-plan Luke Bailey, but I need to top my father’s circus wonderland.
And I have only two weeks to achieve this.
Fucking hell.
I chug the rest of my water, wishing the waiter would hurry up and bring me the mimosa I caved in and ordered. Unlike Annika, I am twenty-one—and boy do I need a drink right now.
Dad’s phone buzzes, and he peers down to read the incoming text. “Sorry. You know I don’t typically condone phones at the table, but the docs at Columbia are giving me hourly updates on the trial.”
“What trial is that?” Annika inquires.
“We have a Phase III trial going on right now for a diabetes medication. It works by tricking your metabolism into speeding up while you sleep.”
She leans in. “That sounds fascinating.”
“Really?” Dad laughs. “Well, I’m hiring. Keaton can’t be bothered to take much interest in the family business. Maybe you can carry the flag instead.”
And there it is—that little charge of hostility that’s always between us. And even though I know better, I leap into the fray. “I never said I wasn’t interested. I said I wanted to work for someone else first.”
But he’s actually right. I’m not interested. I’m getting the degree in biology that he wanted me to get. But I don’t want to push pharmaceuticals into the world. I just don’t. I want to get a graduate degree and do research, preferably in the marine biology field. Pure science is much more interesting to me than trying to push meds to baby boomers.
So I’m stalling. And we argue about it. A lot.
“Good,” he says, oblivious to my pain. “I’m lining up a summer internship for you in the finance department. You’d be reporting to Bo, so there you go—you’ll be working for someone else.”
That’s the biggest case of bullshit semantics I’ve ever heard. Bo works for Dad. Therefore, I’d be working for Dad, only I’ll be in the— Wait. “The… What?” I demand. Did he just say finance?
“You heard me,” he says. “I know you like science more. And there will be plenty of time for that. But to understand big pharma you have to see how the money end of things works, too.”
“But...there will be other internships I’m applying for,” I grumble.
“Such as…?” Dad asks.
Christ. I’m not ready to discuss the research expedition I’m applying for until I have a meeting with the grad student who’s in charge. And it’s only November. Who has his summer figured out in November?
“I didn’t think so,” Dad says at my silence. “We’ll talk about it more later. Oh—HR needs your résumé, okay? That’s part of the standard application. Send me one before the holidays.”
“Sure,” I grunt. But I’m not at all sure. There are only two ways this could end, either by me caving, or by me making him really angry when I sidestep his internship for the one I really want.
That’s our relationship in a nutshell: me disappointing him, and then feeling bad about it. I’m a football player—it’s his favorite sport. But the team’s had two losing seasons since I started at Darby, and it’s doubtful we’ll see a championship this year. So I was only halfway successful in his eyes. He wanted me to be a scientist, so I majored in bio. But not biochemistry, which would have been his top pick.
A future job at his company might be our final showdown. And I really don’t know who’s going to win.
Your Manly Lobster Trunks
Keaton
I don’t fully relax until that evening when I’m finally home alone.
Now that my study-group meeting is over, I should be working on my campaign speech and brainstorming Dance-off ideas, but I’m not in the mood to think about planning a party. Dad killed all my joy.
So I pick up my phone and open up the app that’s been calling my name since I downloaded it. I have messages from a handful of guys. It’s the usual ‘sup and hey, but I don’t even bother with them. I go straight to SinnerThree’s page.
He hasn’t reached out to me again. Is it weird that I’m disappointed?
Pushing that thought aside, I tap out a greeting. Hey man. Sunday night. I should be doing work but I was thinking about what you asked me.