Chapter 8 #2
I chew on the inside of my lip, not sure how to explain Fitz, or rather, my reaction to Fitz. I know it’s irrational. I don’t understand the basis for it.
“He’s the new grad student in my lab,” I say, starting with what Madison already knows.
“Uh huh, and?”
“And he joined Sawyer’s gym.”
“Yes, I’ve got that much already. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He’s new to the city and Sawyer’s showing him around.”
Madison pins me with a threatening glare. “Pres.”
I slump down into the back seat. “I don’t like him,” I say in a small voice.
When I don’t continue, Madison heaves a sigh. “How come? Did he say something? Do something?”
“No…” I peek sideways at Madison when she makes a frustrated noise. “Yes?”
“Which one is it?” she practically growls.
“Both?” It’s not anything he’s said or done, it’s everything he says and does. It’s all of him, everything.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I don’t know, okay? I just don’t like him!” I cross my arms and glue my chin to my chest. I’m not proud of how I feel about Fitz, but my resentment runs deep and I get a perverse satisfaction from stewing in it.
He’s too damn happy, too smiley. He’s smart, athletic, and charming. He’s got everything. He’s so perfect, how could I not find him annoying? The better question is, why doesn’t anyone else find him irritating?
“Pres?” Madison reaches across the back seat and places a gentle hand on my elbow. “Do you think you might be jealous?”
Jealous? I let the word roll around in my amygdala, testing it against my emotions. I’ve never been jealous before, at least not consciously. I don’t know what it feels like. Is that what these feelings are? Am I jealous of Fitz?
But how? I don’t want to be Fitz. I don’t want to be all smiley and happy all the time. I don’t care about getting along with other people. I’ve got my research. I’ve got Madison and Sawyer. That’s all I’ve ever needed.
“I don’t know,” I finally concede. “Maybe.”
I sulk the rest of the way to the airport and keep sulking when we board the plane my parents chartered for us. As soon as the small jet takes off, Madison disappears to get ready, leaving me to pout by myself.
I really wish I brought my tablet now, I could distract myself with work. Instead, I’m running the code by memory while trying not to get sidetracked by thoughts of Fitz and Sawyer in our apartment, by the possibility that I could be jealous of Fitz.
“You better be smiling by the time we get to dinner,” Madison warns as the plane touches down on the tarmac in Boston and taxis toward the terminal. “I’m not answering to your mom if she complains about how much you’re scowling.”
“I’m not scowling,” I object with a scowl.
“Uh huh, sure.”
The ride to the event venue is thankfully short and by the time we pull up in front of the hotel, I’ve managed to school my face into a more neutral expression.
Madison examines me while waiting for the valet to open her door. “It’s not a delightful grin, but it’ll have to do.” She pats my shoulder. “Come on. The sooner we get in there and show our faces, the sooner we can leave.”
Mom spots us the second we step inside. “Madison! Preston!”
With her hand in the crook of my elbow, Madison directs me farther into the ballroom.
“Mrs. Boyer!” Madison leans in to give Mom a couple air kisses. “You look stunning!”
“Oh, please, no need to flatter an old woman,” Mom says as she pats her hair and smooths her hand down the front of her dress. “You look spectacular as well. Love the hair and the dress. You two make a lovely couple. You always have.”
Beside me, Madison stiffens and her grip on my elbow tightens.
She hates it when our parents bring up our old relationship.
It’s an open secret that our parents still want us to get married and unite the two families.
It was the only reason we dated in high school at all.
Back then, we were too young—and in my case, too oblivious—to have our own opinions on the matter.
But then we grew up, and Madison had enough of their meddling and my weirdness.
Neither of us was very brokenhearted after she broke up with me, but that hasn’t stopped our parents from trying to get us back together.
Madison makes a laughing sound, measured and polite. “Preston will always be my childhood sweetheart. Won’t you, Pres? But we all have to grow up someday.”
“Yes, well,” Mom looks at me. “Some more than others, I suppose.”
“Is that Preston?” A booming voice carries over the din of conversation in the ballroom and I fight the urge to duck and run.
Madison gives my elbow an encouraging squeeze and Mom cocks an eyebrow, telling me to behave. She moves behind me, putting a hand in the middle of my back and I straighten my posture at her unspoken instructions.
“Preston!” Dad, tall and intimidating, marches across the room toward me. The crowd of people milling about part to let him through like he’s got an invisible bow breaking the water in front of him. Behind him, a slew of men in dark suits follow in his wake.
“My boy!” He claps me on the shoulder hard enough that I can’t help but flinch. I try to wrest myself out of his grasp, but his grip is iron-clad. “How’s school, son? On track to defend your dissertation in the spring?”
“Actually, not really—”
Dad turns away from me to address the entourage forming a semi-circle behind him. “Preston’s doing his PhD in neuroscience. Really cutting-edge stuff with artificial intelligence and brain mapping. It’s going to revolutionize how we treat brain-related trauma.”
“No, my research isn’t about—” I don’t know why I bother. He doesn’t hear me—no one does. Dad plows on with his business associates while I stand next to him like the puppet he wants me to be.
“Preston’s all set to head up our new AI research division. He’s going to be a great asset to Boyer Pharmaceuticals.”
He pushes me in front of him and starts rattling off names. All I can do is shake hands and try to smile while chewing on my inner lip.
I don’t want to join Boyer Pharmaceuticals. My research has nothing to do with the treatment of traumatic brain injuries. I don’t know how to head up divisions or be an asset, and I have no interest in either.
But none of that matters to Dad. He inherited the company from Grandpa, so I have to inherit it from him. In his mind, that’s the only option, and he’s determined to see it through.