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“Are you serious? You earned everything? How many hours did it take you to earn your BMW? How do you earn your monthly allowance?
“You get the vice president for a mentor and the head of the business school, and I get the stuck-up suck-up and Professor Newbie. Right, no one gave you anything.”
“You think Fred is some prize?”
“Fred? You’re on a first-name basis with your mentor already and you can’t see the favoritism in that?”
“You’re crazy. Geoff was a Gage Scholar and has some idea what this is like. Fred didn’t even go to Harrison. I got the guy who’s trying to score points with my dad but knows nothing about this program. Some favoritism.”
“Right. And all that, ‘Tell Aiden I said hello’ crap? Nothing there, either?”
“It’s called being polite. I barely know his son, who, I might add, spends every minute we’re together trying to impress me with how many girls he’s fucked. As if I give a damn. Your head is so far up your ass about not getting what you think you deserve that you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“My head is up my ass?”
“Are you having trouble keeping up here? ’Cause you repeat everything I say.”
“Fuck you,” Isaiah tossed at him.
Darren crossed his arms and mumbled. “So original. I’m impressed.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Right, I’m the asshole.”
“You show up late, looking like you just rolled off the deck of the family yacht, and then pretend to be surprised with all the ass-kissing you’re getting. How’s them butt cheeks? Chapped yet?”
Darren blinked down at his clothes and laughed dryly. “In case you missed it, it’s ninety freaking degrees outside. And as I said, no one gave me squat. Fred’s gonna have nothing to offer, and if you think Dr. Billings is so great, I’ll swap you for Professor Linton. Billings doesn’t even know how to use email. He has to get his assistant to answer for him.”
That stopped Isaiah. He leaned over the back of the chair and switched to a lower tone. “Really? That’s not just a rumor?”
Darren mirrored the ceasefire and delivered Isaiah a grin that he was going to feel the rest of the week. “Yesterday he handed his classroom assistant floppy disks and asked her to print more copies of the syllabus.”
Isaiah busted out a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve even seen a floppy disk in real life.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. I got all the best people.”
Isaiah sighed. That wasn’t how he saw it, but then he’d already come to the meeting pissed off and everything since had been seen through that lens.
He cocked his head and eyed Darren once more. Tried to see things from his point of view. The guy had seemed decent when they first met—helping him with the painting with delightful cheek. Jack had said some redeeming things about him, too.
But the fact remained—Isaiah hadn’t imagined the way President Jerk-Off catered to him. “Look, I want a fair chance at this, okay?” Isaiah said. “That means both of us sacrificing things. Both of us getting to meetings five minutes early.”
“Fine, but I did not ask President Jenkins to set the time or ask him to give me Billings or Fred or anything. And I’m not going to apologize because my family has money. I don’t flaunt it in anyone’s face, and I’m sure not going to feel bad for wanting the Gage Scholar position. It means something to my grandfather and my father that I be the scholar next year.”
“And you always do what daddy and granddaddy want?” That came out perhaps a tad snide.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but Darren cut him off, a pained look in his eye that made Isaiah feel crap. “My great-great-grandfather intended this scholarship for his son and descendants. It’s meant to be mine.”
“Have you studied the Scholar charter? There is nothing in it that says it’s meant to be yours.”
Anger flashed across Darren’s face. “Seriously? You’re going to lecture me on the program?” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we call my grandfather and ask him what his grandfather said when he created the program?”
Darren tapped a few buttons and then turned the phone so Isaiah could see “Grandpa Gage” on the screen.
Was this guy for real? Isaiah rolled his eyes. “How long have you been waiting to do that? All day? Your whole life?”
Darren dropped his arm, cheeks flushing. He averted his gaze, and Isaiah felt a prickle down his nape like he’d overreacted. The guy was privileged and blind to it, apparently. But was there something lurking in his expression that seemed . . . different from other rich guys he’d experienced?
Darren spoke. “Can we just pick a time to meet? Please?”
“I have night classes and rehearsals. I need to meet before six.”
