“Might as well.” I glance at Mason. “Should we go home?”
“Hell no, I’m not spending my vacation anywhere near family.” A frown still rests on his forehead. “Let’s go to Hawaii. We haven’t hit the waves in a long time.”
I nod in agreement as we make our way back to the hotel. Taking my phone from my pocket, I call Stephanie, my father’s personal assistant, and instruct her to make arrangements for our trip.Earlier today, we returned to Atherton after spending the rest of our vacation in Hawaii. I take a deep breath before I walk into the dining room, knowing my family will already be seated for lunch.
Loosening the button on my tailor-made Sanita sport jacket from Isaia, I pull out a high-back chair and take a seat next to Julian, my older brother. Father’s face is hidden behind the latest edition of the Financial Times. My eyes flick to Mother, who seems to be inspecting the dinner menu.
Thank God I’m leaving for the academy and won’t have to endure another meal with my family for a while.
“Afternoon,” I murmur in a low tone even though my greeting isn’t needed. It’s only a polite habit that’s been ingrained into me since early childhood.
Since I got home, I kept myself busy with arrangements for the coming year, successfully avoiding my family members.
“What time are you leaving?” Mom asks, placing the menu down on the table and raising a well-manicured eyebrow at me.
Zero-interest in my life as always. It doesn’t bother me. The less interest my mother shows, the better for me.
Clare Reyes, my mother for all intents and purposes, although she’s never been motherly a day in her life, only cares about her image in the world of socialites.
“After lunch.”
“Are you picking an assistant, seeing as it’s your final year?” Julian asks. He sets his knife and fork down and lifting his chin higher, his dark eyes try to stare me down.
Julian sees me as a threat to his inheritance since Father dropped the gauntlet between us when he said whoever gets the best grades and works the hardest will take over as chairman once he retires.
I would’ve been happy to let Julian take the seat, but it’s turned into a feud between us. My family is cold and calculative. There has never been love and affection between us. Don’t get me wrong, we will stand together and fight as one if we come under attack, but once the threat has been dealt with, we go back to turning on each other.
“Yes.” I keep my answer short, not wanting to spend more time than necessary at this table.
Where my mother is self-absorbed in her hunger to stay at the top as a socialite, Julian has only one goal in life – to keep me firmly beneath him so he can rule over our billion-dollar empire, CRC Holdings. He’s never been good at sharing, and I know he’d rather die than share the company with me.
Father holds forty percent of the shares, and the remaining sixty is evenly divided between the Chargill and Cutler families. Lake is the sole heir to Mr. Cutler’s thirty percent. After the tragic death of Mason’s older sister, he became the sole heir Mr. Chargill’s wealth. I know this is a constant worry for Julian, seeing as both Mason and Lake are loyal to me. Even if Julian inherits thirty percent, leaving me with ten, I’ll still have more power than him because I share an unbreakable bond with Mason and Lake.
Growing up, surrounded by power and wealth, has taught me one thing, paper is thicker than blood – specifically the paper with Woodrow Wilson’s face printed on it which is held in our family’s security box at the bank. It was given to my grandfather as a gift and although it’s worth was a hundred thousand dollars back in the nineteen hundred’s, it’s worth more than a million now. Whoever takes the Chairman seat will also inherit it.
“Please,” Mom says, taking a heavy breath which breaks through my thoughts, “do give Serena special attention this year. Her father is a senator now, and she’d make a good asset to the family name.”
Serena Weinstock. The perpetual thorn in my side.
When you’re at the top of the food chain, relationships are mergers. Love is not a word we often use unless it’s referring to an object.
“Also, make sure to greet Layla Shepard. She’s Stephanie’s daughter. Your father felt the need to be charitable by allowing her to study at Trinity.” Mom’s words are saturated in disdain as her eyes shoot daggers at Father who’s still hiding behind the newspaper. The corners of her mouth pull down, making her look older than her forty-nine years.
It’s no secret Mom doesn’t approve of Stephanie Westwick. Father’s personal assistant sees more of him than we do. Even though she’s Father’s PA, it falls under her list of responsibilities to make sure any personal problems the three founding families might have, get smoothed over and the press never gets wind of it.