Taken (Franklin West University)
Jaime
JAIME
Thirty-eight million. That’s how many search results appear when you google me. Even after twenty-one years of staying out of the limelight, or more specifically, my father’s shadow. You’d think a name as generic as Smith would make it easier, but I can guarantee that the majority of those thirty-eight million articles are about me and my family. It’s a big-ass shadow, and things don’t grow in the shade.
Keeping my back straight, a slight smile on my face, it takes a lot of effort not to tap my foot against the polished floor of the waiting area. My newly manicured mauve fingernails dig into the portfolio on my lap, and I admire for the tenth time since I sat down how the color compliments the golden brown of my skin.
Of the four local news stations I applied for internships at over the summer, I’ve only heard back from this one. Drawing in a subtle breath, my heart speeds beneath my navy blazer. I don’t just want this internship, I need it.
Ever since freshman year, I’ve been top of my media and communications class at Franklin West. I’ve worked my ass off every goddamn day for this opportunity—something I’ve earned entirely by myself—and I’ll be damned if I’m going to mess it up. This is for me. This is a future I’m choosing for myself.
Everyone’s moving back to campus this week, and as much as I’m excited for what comes after college, I can’t quite believe it’s the last time I’ll be coming back to FWU.
This year, as vice president of the Beta Epsilon Deltas, I get one of the two rooms at the top of the house. Not only the biggest, but the only ones with ensuite. Sasha, one of my two best friends, and this year’s president, had already moved into hers when I arrived yesterday. I haven’t seen Abi, our other bestie, yet, but she messaged our group chat to say she’ll be back tomorrow. I’m looking forward to having my girls together again. Summer is always weird without them. Although, I suppose I’m going to have to get used to that.
Trying not to stare at the oversized clock above the secretary’s desk, I mentally run through everything I’ve researched about the station. It’s the smallest of the four offering internships, having only been established fifteen years ago, but it has an excellent reputation and a steadily growing viewership.
The general manager, Kendall Marks, is one of the youngest women in the country to hold the position and is total goals. It’s one of the reasons I wanted a position here above the other stations. Not only is the general manager a woman, but so is the news director, and both anchors, too.
“Ms. Marks will see you now, Miss Smith.”
My head snaps toward where the secretary is tapping away at a keyboard, her head down, and I wonder whether I imagined it.
“Miss Smith?”
I stand, at the very definite sound of my name, to find Kendall Marks herself standing at the door to her office peering over the top of her glasses at me. She’s shorter than me, with a blunt black bob, and a slash of red lipstick, which compliments her dark tailored suit perfectly. Not to mention her shiny scarlet pumps, which I recognize from Louboutin’s fall collection.
“Sorry,” I bluster, already hating how worked up I am as I cross the small waiting area toward her.
Reaching out, I shake her hand, surprised when my firm handshake meets her barely-there limp grip. Determined not to let it throw me, I hold my head high and walk confidently behind her into the office.
“Please, take a seat, Miss Smith.”
My heart hammers in time to the click of my heels as I cross to one of the gray leather chairs opposite a sleek black vinyl desk. Sitting down, my back straight and my eyes forward, I try not to get distracted by the large prints and framed awards behind her. All my attention is on her—the woman with the power to hand me the keys to my future.
“So, Miss Smith.” Kendall sits down behind her desk, leaning back and crossing her legs. “Tell me why you want to slum it here at KPDU.”
My mouth opens to reply before her words fully sink in, and I falter for the second time in as many minutes. Maybe I misheard.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I answer carefully. “I’d be honored to gain the internship position here at KPDU. I’ve been following the station’s growth and successes over the last couple of years and would love nothing more than to be a part of that journey.”
Kendall continues to stare at me over the top of her glasses, so after a few awkward seconds, I continue.
“I brought my portfolio with me if you’d like to take a look. I’ve worked on several projects which showcase what I’m capable of, and—”
“Do I really have to sit through this pretense?” She uncrosses her legs and leans forward on the desk. “I googled you, Miss Smith. Just as I would any candidate. So, can we just skip to the part where you give me the check from your father?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on.” She sighs and tilts her head, looking me up and down. “We both know you’ll never have to work a day in your life. If I hire you, all you’re going to do is trot around the station distracting people and probably making my life more difficult than it’s worth. So, I’m going to cut to the chase and assume there’s a check in that pretty little Marc Jacobs purse.”
My face burns, and I’m not sure how much is embarrassment and how much is the anger churning my blood into froth beneath my skin.
“There is no check,” I grit out, trying not to let the full force of my annoyance show. “I want this internship and I’ll work harder than anyone else who applies. I can assure you; I might come from money but I’m not afraid of hard work. If anything, I’ll work harder than anyone else you interview because I have more to prove. Let me prove myself, Ms. Marks.”
Kendall does all but laugh in my face as she leans back and crosses her legs again. “Why? Daddy doesn’t have enough money for you?”
“Because this is what I want. I want to be you, Ms. Marks, and I’m willing to work my way from the ground up.” It’s only part of the truth. Becoming general manager is only a stepping stone on the way to my dream of owning an entire network.
“Can’t Daddy just buy you a news station to play with?”
My fingers grip the portfolio on my lap so hard it bends. Trying to calm my frantic heart, I remind myself that I deserve this just as much as anyone else. My dad didn’t buy my 4.15 GPA or grades at FWU. Everything on my application I achieved all by myself. Forcing myself to meet her stare, I lift my chin. I will not break.
“I would appreciate it if you took the chance to judge me on my merits and not whatever Google has to say about me,” I say through gritted teeth. “At least do me the courtesy of reviewing my credentials before you dismiss me.”
Kendall has the fucking audacity to roll her eyes as she holds out her hand. “Fine. Let me see your sad little portfolio.”
I hand it over, watching her eyes skim over the carefully curated collection of research projects, papers and assignments, proving I have what it takes to nail this job.
It’s almost laughable. People assume that when you’re rich, you don’t have to worry about doors being slammed in your face. What they don’t realize is you have to pay for some doors to be opened. And even though I could—I mean, I’m fairly certain my family could buy this station and everyone in it if they wanted to—I don’t want to. I want this internship on my own merit.
Maybe I should have applied under a fake name.
“This is all very impressive,” Kendall says, her voice flat as she slides the folder back across her desk. “I’ll be in touch.”
My heart sinks. She won’t be in touch.
Forcing a smile, I stand and follow her to the door. “Thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Marks. I look forward to hearing from you.”
Her tight smile tells me everything I need to know.
My head remains high all the way to my car—my baby. The white Bentley Continental GT Convertible was my eighteenth birthday present and is, without doubt, the love of my life. So much so that, when I climb inside, I refrain from smashing my fists against the steering wheel, no matter how much I want to.
Even though I want to scream until my throat hurts at how unfair it is, I swallow it all down. I’m acutely aware how lucky I am to never have to worry about money, but it doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating as hell to be judged for it. I purposely didn’t tell my parents about the internship. Honestly, I’m not even sure they know what my major is. In hindsight, perhaps that should worry me more than it does. But Dad has never suggested that he wants me to take over his business in the future. No. He decided a long time ago what role I’ll fulfill.
Slumping my head back against the soft Italian leather headrest, I exhale heavily. Even when I purposely try to leave them out, my family still manages to keep a fist wrapped tightly around the throat of my future. It doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to find a way to escape their grip.