Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“Finally, you asked.” She grins, making some notes on her phone, before looking up again. “I have a lot of ideas for where to start, just waiting to be explored.”
I grin at my girl.
“Now that we covered one, how about the other? What’s going on with Sai?” Delta wonders.
“I don’t know. Ever since his random two-day leave, something has been off.”
“Yeah, he never used to linger on campus before,” Bronx agrees.
“Right? It’s odd. He’s following me through the training yard in the evenings now, and he shadowed me into The Enterprise this week like he’s refusing to let me out of his sight, but then he’ll turn around and disappear randomly and I won’t see him for an hour or more.”
Wait. What if he knows the grounds were breached by my MIA intruder?
“Coco Rocco?”
“Hmm?” My head pops up, and I lick my lips.
Delt frowns, asking, “It makes the most sense this is about Enzo.”
“Maybe, but my dad acted like the threat of Enzo showing up was as worrisome as flies in the summer, guaranteed, but no big deal.”
“To be fair, your dad is top notch when it comes to intel, so maybe it isn’t?” Bronx suggests, even though I know it bothers her too.
For including us in so little, our fathers sure do expect a lot from us.
What would they do if we just … stopped being perfect twenty-four hours a day?
“Boston finally spilled a little,” I share, and then repeat what she had to say.
“So Boston doesn’t think he knows and your dad’s acting like he’s unconcerned, but Sai is on one,” Bronx lays it all out, trying to make sense, but that’s the problem.
It doesn’t.
“Let’s shelf this for now.” I eye the campus outside the window, the boys exactly where expected, up the steps. “Time to shine.”
Delta runs her hands down her jacket.
Bronx sighs, buttoning hers.
With practiced smiles and devising minds, we climb out.
The minutes tick by, one class rolls into the next, and with each one, my focus dims further. I couldn’t tell you what we went over in my international dynamics class and I have no idea what topic we’re tackling in debate next.
Now I’m sitting in my last class before break and all I can think about is the situation with Boston. If Enzo didn’t honor the deal of the ass-backward courtship my father demanded, is that not enough to potentially call a foul and cut the contract?
My dad, Boston, and Enzo all signed it. Enzo paid. My sister was ‘delivered,’ and the wedding is being planned, but it hasn’t happened yet. Could his failure to spend any sort of time with her be her ticket out without causing a war?
If that were the case, why would she not want Dad to know this?
Maybe that’s the lie she told?
I swallow my sigh, trailing the feather of my pen along my chin, tuning in for the first time since I sat down in advanced investment management.
Professor Fredric asks a question, his gaze falling on me for the answer, even though more than half the class have their hands raised and I do not.
Rocklin Revenaw expected to have every answer to every fucking problem known to man. Gag. Me.
What would they say about me should I give the wrong one?
“Entrepreneurship requires balance. You must account for risk and growth and can’t have one without the other. Your investment portfolio should be approached the same way.” Textbook response.
The professor praises.
My classmates offer terse smiles.
I want to fucking scream.
I’m sitting in a classroom full of people dying to take my spot while a credible threat looms over my family.
I know how to handle money, massive quantities of it at that. The entire idea behind The Enterprise was mine. Not Bronx or Delta. Not my dad’s. Mine.
Did they find a way to make it more to help cover the truth? Yes.
But the added zeros of net worth growth and the potential for more … stable relationships with other outside organizations became possible because of me.
Any man with half a brain and a gun can find himself a million or two if he plays his cards right, but what happens once he does? What’s he going to do with all that cash and no paper trail for where it came from? With all those marked bills?
He’s going to come to The Enterprise and play cards, that’s what.
The professor dims the lights and goes into a PowerPoint about the many risks that come along with investments, so I allow my shoulders to slump the slightest bit.
I look at the clock.
Fifteen more minutes.
My phone vibrates on the table, so I flip it over, my pulse jumping slightly when I see the name on the screen.
Bastian: outside.
My brows snap together, and I glance around, catching the eye of my desk partner.
I force a smile and then face forward again.