Page 2 of Break Points and Face Offs

“She’s enjoying her classes,” he says, smiling, his cheeks pink as he lights up.

People like to feel special. I can see Father’s approval when his associates are impressed.

One the clients have left, Father puts a hand between my shoulder blades and leads me into the office.

“Take a seat, Priestley. Tell me about school.”

I take a seat in front of Father’s desk and smooth my hands over my clothes again, making sure to sit up straight. He isn’t watching me, not yet. He pours himself a glass of water from a carafe and offers one to me.

I thank him, taking a sip of water before I answer his question.

“It’s going well. I’m officially enrolled on Princeton’s Master of Finance program.”

“Excellent,” he says before taking his own seat behind the desk.

“I look forward to spending my summer here,” I add.

My heart thrums as I await his response. The internship Father awards to a first year Princeton finance student is legendary. It is the most coveted internship in the finance world: a summer program guaranteeing success to one lucky recipient. It has been the starting block for some of the world’s most successful financial advisors. And this year, it will be mine. My grad degree is a mere formality. I have been in training for this job since I was ten years old.

He clears his throat and finally fixes me in his gaze. His eyes roam my entire face before moving down to my shirt, checking that my tie is straight. I remain still, reminding myself that the fear I have of stains every time he appraises me is just paranoia. I would never allow myself to step into this office with so much as a smudge on my clothing. I once entered one of these meetings with a tiny bruise on my cheek—thanks to Nathan being an idiot during tennis practice—and Father acted like I’d shown up with a black eye and a criminal record.

He leans back in his chair. “I hope you understand that this internship is for the best student in the class.”

I nod. “Of course, Father. That will be me.”

His lips quirk in approval. My whole body hums with relief.

“I will not be accused of nepotism.” He says the word like it tastes bad and he resents having it in his mouth.

I want to assure him that nothing about my success is due to nepotism. I have worked my ass off to get here, starting from my childhood notes in the boardroom to memorizing tiny details about clients’ lives. Not to mention all the hard work I’ve put in at Princeton.

When my teammates were out getting drunk, laid or both, I stayed at the frat house or the library, studying and getting a head start on my assignments. I accepted unpopularity when I squashed their fun to make sure our tennis team became champions, when I had to ride sloppy vice presidents to hand in financial reports on time, or chide careless pledges for pranking rival fraternity houses. I have spent the past god-knows-how-many years of my life training for this job. There is no one on earth more well-suited or deserving than me.

I want to remind him of all of this, but I don’t.

Father gives one brisk nod before speaking again. “Because Priestley, if you do not finish top of your class this year, you will not be awarded the internship. And you will not be guaranteed a position at Rosenthal Asset Management after graduation. Understood?”

My blood runs cold. Keeping my emotions carefully trained, I brush a spec of lint from the lapel of my suit jacket.

“Perfectly, sir.”

I manage to stay cool through the rest of the meeting, maintaining the smile on my face as I say goodbye to my father and nod to the receptionist on my way out. My palms are sweating when I make it onto the street and hail a cab.

Of course I will earn this internship. Of course I will come out top of my class. I always do.

I try to push down the bitter thoughts that threaten to surface. Haven’t I already proven myself enough? Top of every class in prep school? Top of every class at Princeton, for god’s sake! President of the most prestigious fraternity on campus. Captain of a championship-winning tennis team.

I square my shoulders and clear my mind. I don’t have time to be whining about facts—time that could be better spent getting a head start.

I’ve barely registered for the course, so I doubt any of my peers will have started on the essential reading list yet. Most are probably students from other colleges, perhaps international students arriving shortly before classes start. None of them will know the library as intimately as I do. I could go and get the necessary books out first and bone up on my professor. Nothing wrong with a little sucking up in the right places. A proverbial apple on the teacher’s desk.

I feel a little better as I watch a yellow cab slow beside me on the sidewalk. I already have a plan to crush the competition.

2

WILL

Iwhistle the second I catch sight of the library.