Vaughn smiles again. Unsettling, and devoid of any actual joy or happiness. This time, staring directly at my father.
He must know Dad’s plans of side-stepping him, forcing him out of the company and eventually handing it over to me. I don’tknow how he’s planning to do it—just that he has every intention of turning VK Corporation into a McCarthy family empire.
Meaning, Vaughn must have the same idea. Or at least a way to keep his half of the company intact until he can force my father out.
They continue with their little wordless mind game. Staring one another down, never saying what’s on their minds but leaving little to the imagination. It’s sad. I don’t know much about my father’s life aside from being a businessman, but I know Vaughn used to be his friend. I’ve seen younger pictures of them. Before sharp stares and dirty business tactics, they cared about golf tournaments and beer on tap.
They grew old together—and bitter, too. Now it’s nothing but sour competition.
My mind goes to laughing at a table over a board game, and joking with Rosie while cleaning up the living room, and texting funny videos to the group chat I have with Grant and Billie. Those memories are some of my simplest, but by far the most rewarding. More valuable to me than any amount of money.
For the first time in my life, I pity my father.
They eventually finish their alpha-male stare-off before discussing an upcoming collaboration. I sit silently through it, spend the hour pretending to listen but really thinking about Rosalie’s beautiful brown eyes, and swish the bourbon around my glass.
Vaughn leaves the room before I take a sip.
“Did you see that, Locke?” Dad’s voice is hushed. No one would be able to hear us in his office regardless, but his body bends to bring his face closer to mine. The wrinkles crowding his skin sit everywhere but the area around his mouth. “Those were first-hand lessons of what you should be preparing yourself for. After everything works out in my favor, that’ll be you in fifteento twenty years. Commanding a board room and standing your ground against your enemies.”
I feel sick. I can’t think of a worse way to live than being cruel to others and making millions from it. The furthest thing I want to be in my life is anything resembling my father.
The idea gives him a horrifying sense of pride, though. He rounds the leather chair before dropping his hands onto my shoulders and kneading them painfully.
“Do you know what my greatest accomplishment in life is?”
His mouth is lowered close to my ear. I almost have the nerve to push him off me, grunt out a few choice words, and stomp out.
Almost. The uncomfortable feeling stirring in me is strong, but my father’s sneering tone is stronger. Thankfully, at least, I know the answer to his question.
“This company, sir.”
“That’s right.” His hands stop, but they linger on my shoulders. Keeping me tethered to the chair while he grits out, “This company means more to me than anything else in the world. And having you is essential to making sure it never slips out of this family’s hands.”
I scoff accidentally. It slipped from my subconscious and out of my throat before I realized. Quickly, I cover it up with a cough and hope he’s too distracted to care about me.
“Your head has been on straighter in the last few weeks. I’m pleased.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I lie through my teeth.
I have been doing better to avoid his relentless lectures and screaming phone calls. Spending less, kissing up to his professor friends more. Staying quieter during office days. Not pushing back when he called this morning and told me to skip my classes to be here.
It should make me glad to get my father off my back. He’s eased up in the last few weeks. A few months ago, all I wanted was room to breathe from the pressure of being his son.
There’s an itching side-effect of it now. Even if his harsh words aren’t directed to me as often, they still sting. Maybe even more. The desire to throw his cruelty back into his face grows more tempting every day. I daydream about it while logging in different reports from my smaller, quieter office a few hallways down.
I want to tell him offjust once. To give him a taste of his own medicine. The exact opposite of nodding when he wants me to and falling in line as he asks. I’m obeying him but betraying myself.
His hands squeeze one more time before he walks back to his own chair, falling down into it. My father smiles, proud and unafraid. I don’t think my need to stand up for something—someone—has been so charged before.
I don’t dare, though. I’m not brave enough.
“You’re shaping up well. If you keep it up, by the end of this year, you very well might get that apartment back. And then by the end of next year, you’ll be in a high-profile position in this company. It’s just a matter of time.”
No and no. I hate both of those ideas.
Just tell him how much you hate it.
Spine straight. Shoulders back. Chin up.
