I’ve hardly spoken to either of my parents since the semester started two weeks ago, and for a very good reason. No matter how hard I’ve tried to push them away after what happened this summer, it hasn’t stopped them from calling every day.
“They probably don’t even know what you’re mad about,” Wren offers, and I glare at her.
“Whose side are you on?” She holds up her hands in surrender and I fold my arms against my chest, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Besides, they’ve got to know,” I add, a little quieter.
Wren’s mouth tilts to the side. “Well, maybe you should spell it out to them. You know, just in case.”
I think I got that much covered when I stormed out my dad’s office three weeks ago when I thought I’d be receiving a paycheck for all the work I’ve done for the family business over the summer, just to receive a literal pat on the back. A simplethanks for doing all this unpaid work just becausewas all I got after working my ass off all summer.
I don’t even know why I’m surprised. My parents have always been . . . a lot.
Having high-profile parents hasn’t always worked out in my favor. I used to think it meant they would bail me out of trouble before the press got a whiff of it. Or they’d call in favors from celebrities to attend my birthday parties. But the reality of it is that my business has always become their business, and there’s nothing I can do to escape that.
On paper, they’re perfect—loving, supportive, kind. They just don’t . . . trust me, and I don’t know how I else I can prove to them that I’m worthy of some responsibility.
After my dad inherited Voss Couture back in the late ’70s, our family’s Italian-turned-global fashion brand has been the most important thing in all our lives. Our family represents so much more to me than just a name on a tag, and if my parents ever gave me the chance to design for Voss, I could show them just how much I care about our future as a family and a business.
I know I need to talk to them, but what would I even say?
Hey, family! I know I have given you absolutely no reason to trust me since I turned thirteen, but I would love it if you employed me!
The truth is, if they wanted me to be a part of Voss, I would’ve been already. My older brothers have been working for our family since they were teenagers and none of them has had to see a day of real work since. My eldest brother, Alex, is managing Voss from London, for fuck’s sake. But because I made one bad decision when I was a stupid teenager, my parents are dangling my dream job over my head like a carrot on a stick. And like the desperate youngest daughter I am, I’m falling right into their trap because they know I want it so badly.
Kennedy bumps her shoulder into mine, snapping me out of my daydream. “Look, Scar, I really think you should talk to them.” I see her worried expression. “Your grades will suffer if you don’t get out of your head about it.”
“Ican’tget out of my head about it,” I groan. “This summer was . . . bad. I can’t let that happen again.”
Kennedy nods slowly. “It was still incredible work experience. You got to do something you loved.”
“I know, but without any recognition for it,” I fire back. I take in a steadying breath, reminding myself that I’ve got to stay calm about this. That’s the only way my parents will ever listen to me. “It’s exhausting doing so much for people that don’t even take me seriously.”
Kennedy huffs, twisting on the couch slightly to drop her feet into my lap. “I wish I had these problems. Being rich sounds so hard.”
Wren snorts and I flash them both a look. “I’m being serious!”
“So am I!” Kennedy laughs, before her expression turns serious again. “Scarlett, you need talk to them. Yell at them, even. Demand what else you need to do to prove that you’re not sixteen again. And then you can get out of this brain fog, crush all your exams, and be the academic weapon that you are.”
“I guess I do need to get my grades back up if I’m not going to be able to work for my parents,” I mumble, poking at Kennedy’s feet in my lap. “I hate when you’re right.”
“Really? I love it.” Kennedy giggles.
Wren clasps her hands together, grinning at the two of us. “Okay, now that you look a little less stressed, can we watch a movie?” she asks, lifting Kennedy’s legs from my lap so she can squeeze herself in between us on the couch. “Trying to teach myself whatever the hell that was, has fried my brain.”
She glares in the general direction of The Whiteboard, and we all burst into uncontrollable laughter.
As much as I hate to admit it, the girls are right. My grades are already suffering because of how out of it I’ve been, and I’m in junior year now, I can’t get off to a bad start. I didn’t eventhink that was something I was capable of. But trying to talk to my parents about something as important as this isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds.
CHAPTER TWO: EVAN
He’s twenty-seven minutes late.
I’ve started to realize that no matter how much I try to tell myself that I have to accept the things I have no control over, I will still find a reason to be stressed, and panic, and think the sky is falling over every minor inconvenience.
I didn’t ask to be born like this. But when you have a dad like mine, these things start to bug you more and more each time.
I love my dad. I think he’s great. The smartest businessman I know.
But he is never on time.
