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“My aunt Marion got me my first job,” I tell her. “I was an intern in the IT department forThe August Room. I didn’t really do anything apart from the coffee rounds for the higher-ups and I’d sometimes respond to the occasional misplaced query in the contact box.”
She nods, still looking confused.
“Aunt Marion is married to my uncle Ernest. The CEO ofThe August Room.”
Realisation dawns on her face and she grins. “Finn, are you telling me that you’re a nepotism hire?”
I shrug. “Depending on who you ask, yes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m good at my job, Amber,” I say, and there’s more frustration in my tone than I’d like. “Yes, my aunt got me in the door, but I worked my way up. Every promotion that I got, I deserved it. But a lot of people don’t see it that way. They just see my last name and know that I’m technically related to the CEO—”
“Who is a major dick, by the way.”
“Agreed. But dick or not, heislegally my uncle and people just assume that anything I get is because of him. Especially this role. The other serious candidate was a senior manager in another area of the business. He actually ended up quitting when it was announced that I got the job over him, but not before telling everyone that I only got it because my uncle pulled some strings for me.”
“And did he?”
“Fuck no,” I say as I snort. “My uncle can’t stand me. I’m not entirely sure why, but there’s some bad blood between him and my dad. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because of that. Anyway. That’s why I don’t really have time to date.”
Her brows furrow. “Because your uncle’s a dick?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “Because I’m too busy trying to show everyone that I deserve to be where I am right now. That’s why I’m so involved in everything. I don’t have any room to fail, not if I want people to believe that I’m not here because my uncle called in a favour or is secretly looking out for me.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
“Not great,” I admit. “As hard as I work, people still just see my last name and assume I got here through nepotism.”
She wrinkles her nose. “But you did. And I know,I knowthat you work hard,” she says quickly. “Believe me, Finn. You’ve been a pain in my ass for the last three months, and I know just how hard you work. But do me a favour and humour me for a second.”
I nod and she continues on.
“Imagine you’re still you, nothing has changed except your last name isn’t Hawthorne and you don’t have an Aunt Marion to get you in at her husband’s company. You’re just a normal 22-year-old fresh from university, and you’re frantically applying for jobs like the rest of us. What do you do?”
“I…I apply for an internship in the IT department.”
“Okay, cool. So you apply and four weeks later you get a rejection. And it’s not a nicely personalised one either. It’s one of those ‘Dear Candidate’ form type emails.”
“What?” I scowl at her. “Why am I being rejected? Nepotism or not, I graduated with honours from an Ivy League.”
“So did about ten thousand other students. And because there’s a little rich boy whose aunt is married to the CEO,hegot the internship that you applied for. And in ten years or so, he’s going to become the managing director for the company and you’re going to be…I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Burnt out, broke, and bitter. Just like the rest of us.”
“That wasn’t very fun.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” she says with a dry laugh. “You’re good at what you do, Finn. But I bet you rub a lot of people the wrong way back home by acting like you didn’t have help getting where you are. That leg up in the beginning put you miles ahead of the rest of your peers. It’s like winning a marathon you started at the halfway point and not understanding why everyone else is so tired. Do you know how many jobs I applied to before I got this one?”
I shake my head.
“Me either because Ilost count. Did you even have to do an application for the internship?”
“No.” I can feel warmth spreading to my cheeks. “I didn’t want to work at my dad’s company — pharmaceuticals wasn’t for me — so he asked my aunt to help me out. I think I had the internship secured the next day.”
She throws me a satisfied look. “Exactly.”
“So what am I supposed to do? It feels like I can’t win.”
“You can’t,” she says simply. “But you can stop caring about it so much. It is what it is. Stop trying to change the minds of people who have already clearly decided they know what box to put you in. You’re good at your job. Own that.” She pauses and frowns. “Or there is one other alternative.”
