Chapter One
Amy
I’ll show him.
That’s the motto that hauls me out of bed at the crack of dawn on a Friday so I can be at work before eight. It’s also the motto that keeps me going when I’ve been sleeping four hours a night for close to three months now.
Some might say, “Why don’t you say something to your boss?”
I’d rather jump off a plane.
I’m probably going to
regret this…
Those muttered words came out of my boss’s mouth before he said that I was hired. He most likely doesn’t know I heard him. Or maybe he did and was hoping I’d turn down the offer and go elsewhere out of pride.
But I accepted the job. If he wanted me to turn it down, he shouldn’t have offered such a high signing salary and bonus, both of which I desperately need to pay off my student loan.
But those words linger. Every time I feel like slowing down or taking a break, they float up like some kind of psychic cattle prod and I work even harder.
I’m not a quitter. Dad didn’t raise some shrinking violet who wilts at every criticism or doubt. I fight for what I want, and I will leave my critics and doubters choking in my dust.
I will show my incomparable bosshole Emmett Lasker that hiring me was the best damn thing he’s ever done before my two years at the firm are up. And he will beg me to stay when I turn in my resignation.
I might even consider staying—for a split second—if he offers to pay off my student loan. My college degree and MBA together cost me almost half a million dollars, and since my family isn’t swimming in money, most of it was paid for with loans. Dad offered to take some out in his name, but I turned him down. He’s done so much already.
Anyway, even if I get that kind of an offer from Emmett, I’m probably going to say no. He’ll have to do better. Maybe promise to get me that lovely beachfront cottage in Florida where Dad wants to retire. I mean, I plan to buy my father his dream home. I ran the numbers and can afford it, if everything goes according to plan. But having Emmett buy it would be so much better.
What if he begs on his knees?
Now that’s an image! In reality, that egomaniac wouldn’t get on his knees for anyone. But the idea has a hot sexual undertone. All because the man is ridiculously good-looking. It’s like God ran out of decent personality, felt bad about it, and overcompensated by giving him a gorgeous face.
But still. Face or no face, without some unimaginable offer, my answer will remain a big, fat no.
By seven forty-five a.m. I’m in the lobby, waiting for an elevator to take me to my office. The bosshole wants the finalized updates to the financial model that we need for Monday by two, and I have three hours of work left on Excel.
Assuming I can work through the fog in my head. The caffeine jolt from my morning coffee is dissipating like a thimble of salt in the Pacific. I already need another boost.
Once I turn in the model, I’m going to have an exciting—and secret—lunch meeting. Given that I’ve been prepping for it for five days, I’m hoping it will go well. I’m even wearing my power outfit, including some slinky new power underwear.
Once the model and interview are out of the way, I won’t have anything urgent to do—a true miracle. And if the day continues in such miraculous fashion, I plan to go home by five and catch up on sleep. I would literally kill for a solid eight hours.
–Dad: Happy Friday, princess!
I smile at the cheery text. Dad sends me one three mornings a week. Sometimes more, if he feels like it.
A selfie pops up. He takes one every time he texts me because he hates using face emojis to show how we’re doing.
“What do those yellow cartoon faces show? Nothing! They’re impersonal and soulless. Phones come with front-facing cameras for a reason.”
And he’s right. I love getting his morning selfies. They let me know he’s doing fine out in Vegas. I look at the screen again. No sign that his back is bugging him. No sign that the new apprentice he took in at the shop is driving him crazy. Just a wide grin and twinkling blue eyes that curve slightly every time he smiles. His face shows lots of laugh lines, evidence of a life well lived.
He could’ve become bitter and selfish after Mom dumped me in his lap and split after a hookup that resulted in an accidental baby. She said she couldn’t deal with a baby that wouldn’t quit crying and a man who couldn’t do more to give her the “good” life she deserved. I don’t know what more she expected of an infant barely two months old, or an enlisted marine in his late twenties who was doing his best to provide for an unplanned family.
But dump me and split she did. And he did everything he could to raise me—including giving up his career in the military—and show me how much he loves me.
Sending him morning selfies a few times a week? A small, small repayment for all that he’s done and sacrificed for me.
–Me: Looking fantastic, Dad! Here’s me this morning!
I take a quick shot, making sure to smile happily so he knows I’m doing well. Thankfully, the lighting’s good and my makeup hides the dark circles from sleep deprivation. Concealing those circles was just about the first thing I mastered when I started working in finance.
As a bonus, the sleek GrantEm Capital logo is in the background. That should make Dad extra happy. He’s proud of the fact that his little girl, without any tutoring or standardized test prep courses, got a perfect SAT score and became the first in the family to go to college. And not just any college, but Harvard.
My big mountain of a father, whom I never saw shed a tear until then, bawled over my acceptance letter and at my graduation. He threw a party when I started working at Goldman Sachs, then wept some more when I got an MBA from Wharton. And he bounced around with joy when I said I’d be working for Emmett Lasker at GrantEm Capital in Los Angeles. Not because he knows what a big deal Emmett Lasker is—he doesn’t—but because he was thrilled I’d be closer to home.
I send the photo.
–Dad: Already at work? It’s barely eight.
I’m here to prove Emmett Lasker wrong. Plus he’s hell to work for. But I don’t text that. Instead, I opt for a non-worrying response.
–Me: Got here early to beat the traffic. The L.A. morning rush is a killer.
–Dad: So does this mean you get to leave early too? To beat the rush hour?
Hahaha. He’s so adorable for asking. Although he was happy when I started my career in finance at Goldman, he was upset when he realized how many hours I would be working. He thought I should quit and go someplace where people valued me more.