“Everything okay?” Edgar says.
“Huh? Why?”
“You look really pissed. Is it Mom?"
I tense up. She hasn’t texted me since last night. She probably got tired—or maybe her battery died. Permanently, one can hope. “No, it actually isn’t. For once.”
“So what’s the problem? Your fancy school just realized that you didn’t take enough gender classes and is taking your diploma back?”
Ha. That would be hilarious. “My degree’s safe enough."
“Then what? Dad still giving you a hard time about taking a position at the company?”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. Dad knows there’s no way to have Tony be part of the company. So he wants me instead. His sons will continue the family legacy, whether they like it or not.
Except… Working for Dad would mean living in Tempérane. And living in Tempérane means fawners. I have this thing about people who like me because of my family connections and name. I try to stay under the radar as much as possible, be the irresponsible kid who people with ulterior motives overlook. “Not really. He knows he can’t really force me. I’m taking control of my trust in three weeks.”
“That’s true.” Edgar finishes his drink. “He is really unhappy about that.”
Thank God it was Grandpa who set up the trust. If Dad had it his way, I’d never take control over the money or the stake in Blackwood Energy. The second part is silly because he knows I’ll always do what’s best for the company—in other words, I’ll always vote with Edgar. The company is too important to the local economy to mismanage. “Even if I had zero money in my bank account, I wouldn’t work for him. There are other jobs.”
Edgar stares at me like I just told him I could do matrix algebra in my sleep. “You have one lined up?”
I shrug. He takes this kind of stuff too seriously. “I can work for Tony. I can be his club auditor.”
“Club auditor? You don’t have any accountant training.”
“No, not like that. I go to his clubs and see if I like them or not. And get paid for it.” To be honest, I don’t know if that’s a real job. But if not, it should be. Clubbing is serious business.
“So you want to be paid to party?”
“It’s not partying if it’s a job.” I smile, liking that idea.
Tony walks in. “Who’s paying Court to club for a living?”
“You,” Edgar says.
Tony turns to me. “Did Wei promise you that job?”
“No, although he should.” Tony’s assistant is a sensible man. Surely he can see the wisdom of having such a position filled by someone like me. “We were just talking.”
“Why do you need a job, anyway?” Tony asks. “You’re going to be worth about a billion dollars in three weeks.”
“Yeah, for a guy who’s going to be a billionaire, he looks pretty glum, doesn’t he?” Edgar gestures at me with his empty glass.
Since both of them are here and have more experience than me, I tell them what happened with Skittles. They listen, leaning close and nodding from time to time.
When I’m finished, they pull back. Tony rubs his chin thoughtfully. Edgar’s brow furrows, and he taps the rim of his glass. Then they look at each other and both burst out laughing.
“Oh man, I can’t believe that happened to you,” Edgar says finally, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “Fifty dollars? She probably faked it. Just how bad were you that she didn’t even leave a C-note?” He looks at Tony. “You think the fifty included a tip?”
For fuck’s sake. “She definitely did not fake it! I would’ve known.”
“Then why the pittance?” Tony asks.
My jaw tightens. “That’s why I’m asking you. Which I see was a mistake, because both my brothers are idiotic, red-faced baboons.”
“The red faces are ’cause we’re laughing too hard,” Edgar says.