Chapter 4
Two Months Later
“Congratulations, Flynn,” Mom says, lifting her flute of champagne. “We’re so proud of you.”
“He hasn’t passed yet, Philippa,” Dad comments, ignoring the champagne and going straight for his bourbon instead. “And he most likely won’t.”
Julian Parks’s favorite hobbies are belittling my few accomplishments, golf, and discussing the stock market. In that order.
“Lots of attorneys fail the bar,” I state, although I’m ninety percent certain I did, in fact, pass.
“All attorneys pass the bar exam, Flynn,” my father states. “That’s what makes them lawyers.”
“You’d know, right?” I, too, skip the bubbly in favor of a stronger drink.
My dad dropped out of college. He grew up with limited resources, with two working parents and five older siblings.
Logically, I’m aware that his relentless, projected ambition is fueled by a desire for me to achieve more than he did.
In our actual, dysfunctional dynamic, it feels as though he’s punishing me for having the opportunities he didn’t.
That I can’t enjoy being rich because I didn’t earn it the way that he had.
“Watch your mouth.”
I swallow more bourbon.
So does Julian.
The waitress who was flirting with me earlier skips our table in favor of the next. Likely sensing the suffocating tension, so thick that I could choke on it.
Mom clears her throat delicately. “We’re going to visit the Waylands this weekend. They just bought a property on Nantucket.”
Daniel Wayland is the reason my father dropped out of college. Dad invested the money he’d saved for tuition in Dan’s tech start-up, becoming a major shareholder in a company currently valued at several billion dollars.
“Fun,” I state flatly.
“You’re welcome to join us. Dan and Lorraine would be thrilled to see you.”
“I’m busy this weekend.”
“Busy with what?” Dad pesters.
“Partying, of course. What else would I possibly do with my time, Dad?”
I haven’t bothered to correct my father’s assessment that I’m indolent and inept in years. It’s a lot easier to float in a lazy river than try to swim against the current. And constant disappointment becomes less cutting with frequent exposure.
What I do in my limited free time is, frankly, none of my father’s business. I went to law school, like he’d wanted. And I’d never ever admit it to him, but I like being an attorney. Also, I’m good at it. I graduated with honors and received a job offer from one of the top firms in the city.
“I called Adrian earlier.”
That comment gains my father’s immediate attention. He cares about his money, so mentioning his financial adviser is a reliable way to get him to listen.
“Why?” he barks.
“I still haven’t gotten access to my trust.”
“I’m paying your bills,” Dad states.
“That’s not the same thing.” To move ahead with plans for the foundation, I need to invest. Sign a lease for office space.
Hire employees and be able to pay their salaries.
Execute a launch event. I can’t charge any of that to the account my father funds.
If I did, he’d probably have the transactions flagged for fraud. “It’s my inheritance, Dad.”
“Funded by my money, Flynn,” he retorts, missing Mom’s pursed lips.
I’m not sure if her disapproval is on my behalf or her own. They’ve been married for thirty years. Long-term exposure to Julian’s frequent selfishness might have eased the sting of him not referring to their wealth as our money.
“Which you said I’d receive after law school. It’s after law school.”
“That was a good start.”
I go still at the word start.
Dad reaches for his glass again. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you paid classmates to take all your exams for you. We’ll see if you pass the bar.”
He knows I was at the top of my class, so of course I cheated. If I’d graduated no laude, rather than summa cum laude, I’d have been lazy. I literally can’t win.
Stupidly, it never occurred to me Dad might back out of our agreement. I had my doubts that he’d truly cut me off if I’d refused to go to law school—for the optics of having a destitute son, if nothing else—but I thought he’d ensure I received my trust fund if I jumped through enough hoops.
“So, I’ll get it when I pass the bar?”
Thank fuck I spent the whole summer so far studying.
“We’ll see.”
“We’ll see?” I scowl. “What the hell does that mean, Dad?”
“It means you’ll receive your trust—not just the first installment, the entire amount—as soon as you get married. That’s a commitment you can’t cheat your way into.”
I laugh once, waiting for him to laugh too.
He doesn’t.
Mom refills her glass of champagne. I wonder if she’s wishing she’d ordered something stronger.
I wish I’d ordered a double.
“That’s … ridiculous,” I say, still certain this is a joke.
He’s simply starting with this condition so I’ll agree to whatever the real requirement is.
“That is life, Flynn. You get married, and I’ll agree you’ve finally grown up.
Professional responsibility is one thing, but I’m not about to hand over a fortune for you to blow on cars and alcohol and inappropriate women.
If you don’t pass the bar, the firm will fire you, and you’ll wind up right where you started. ”
I stare at him, stunned. “No. I’m not—no.”
Dad nods. “Then you’re cut off.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Three years of law school. Months of foundation plans. All a waste, if that happens. My salary from the firm won’t come close to covering the monthly rent of the condo I just leased, never mind my other expenses. Or the costs associated with my other plans.
I glance at Mom. She appears unhappy, but she stays silent. She won’t argue with Dad after he’s decided something. She won’t even attempt to change his mind, lest he decide to oversee how she spends his money too.
“If I flew to Vegas and got married tonight, I’d receive my trust tomorrow?”
Dad sighs. “Of course not. And that sort of suggestion proves why this was necessary. Despite what you might think, I don’t enjoy controlling my adult son’s life. You’ve made it necessary with your refusal to act your age. I know Crew Kensington isn’t overseeing Christopher.”
Because Kit’s dad trusts him. It was Kit’s decision to work at Kensington Consolidated. He willingly committed to Collins. He knocked up his assistant, yet my father still views him the opposite of me—incapable of doing anything wrong.
“So, not only do I have to get married, but I have to marry someone you approve of?”
“Yes. She’ll be a member of this family. Have access to our money”—once a stranger is involved, it’s “our” money—“and you’ve hardly had high standards in the past.”
My father hasn’t approved of a single woman I’ve dated.
That was why I dated some of them. Molly’s presence at my graduation lunch ensured it only lasted forty-five minutes.
Of course that’s coming back to haunt me, along with not insisting my trust requirements be in writing. Some almost lawyer I am.
I blow out a long breath, attempting to corral my chaotic thoughts. I’d love to storm out of here, but that will only serve as another immature example for my dad to use against me in the future. I have a job. He can cut me off and know I won’t end up on the street.
Maybe I’m as selfish as most people assume, that I’m this attached to money I didn’t earn.
But I grew up expecting the safety net of it.
And I was planning to do some good with it.
I’ll have to delay the foundation to save up enough to launch it on my own, or I’ll have to accept Kit’s offer of funding.
This was one thing I wanted to do entirely on my own.
“Counteroffer,” I state. “When I get engaged, I receive the first installment you promised me after graduating.”
Silence.
I’m positive Julian expected me to cause a bigger scene about the prospect of marriage. It’s why he insisted this dinner take place at Atlantic Crest’s restaurant.
“Fine,” he finally agrees. “That is acceptable.”
I nod. “You should call Adrian in the morning.”
“You told your mother you weren’t seeing anyone half an hour ago,” Dad says, amused. “You expect to be engaged soon?”
“Yep.” I pop the P, and it does little to exhale my frustration.
I almost wish Dad hadn’t agreed to this amendment. An engagement is better than marriage, but not by much.
“To whom?”
“I am dating someone,” I lie. “I didn’t mention it earlier because I didn’t want you and Mom to make a big deal about it.”
“Because we won’t approve,” Dad surmises.
“That’s not why.”
The hole I’m digging just keeps getting deeper, but I’ll think of something. I’ve played versions of this game with my father before. I bought a whole year before law school, “studying for the LSAT” after scoring a one seventy on the first practice test I took.
I saw through a bite of steak and pop it in my mouth. The rich meat tastes like ash. What a waste of a delicious meal. So like my father, to turn a celebration into a challenge.
“Who are you dating, honey?” Mom asks eagerly, jumping back into the conversation now that it’s safe to speak again.
I stare at her, the word fuck a constant refrain in my head.
I open my mouth, intending to make up a name. I can hire an aspiring actress—New York is full of them—to play my pretend fiancée for a few months, until the foundation is all set and I’ve found a cheaper place to live. The perfect loophole.
Then I glance at my father, who’s smirking. A name he doesn’t recognize is exactly what he expects. He’s sure—always so sure—that I’ll disappoint him.
I don’t want to swim against the current. But I do wish I could change its direction sometimes.
So, I name the only person I know my father won’t be able to come up with a single critique of.
“Rory Kensington.”