Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“What’s your major, son?” Mr. Hayworth asks.
“Business, with a finance concentration, sir.” I break a roll in half, and move a pat of butter from the butter dish to my bread plate on the left. These are things I learned three years ago on YouTube when I was trying to get a waiter’s job in a decent restaurant. But they’re things that Keaton was taught from birth.
“I’ve set up a finance internship for Keaton over the summer,” he says. “But it would be great if he could take finance courses next year, too.”
“Wow, sounds like a great summer opportunity.”
I glance up at Keaton, who suddenly gives a lot of attention to buttering his roll. And didn’t he tell me he was applying to some kind of research internship for the summer?
Hmm. If his father doesn’t know that, I’m not going to be the one to break the news. At least now I know Keaton wasn’t fibbing when he said he disliked brunches with his dad.
I clear my throat. “I was really hoping you could tell me about that convertible bonds deal you just did. Specifically, why convertibles?”
“Ah, of course!” Mr. Hayworth says. He’s actually beaming. As if I was asking about his favorite child. And maybe I am. “Pharmaceutical companies love convertibles. The debt comes at a reasonable interest rate, because the buyers are hoping our development products will get FDA approval, which will lead to an equity upside.”
I flip open my notebook and click my pen. “How reasonable is the interest rate?”
“Well, if you take a look at LIBOR spreads in the pharmaceutical industry…”
I start scribbling. And I write down everything he says.
It’s Always My Treat
Keaton
I stop listening about two seconds after my father starts talking. There is nothing less interesting than (the ironically named) interest rates.
But Luke takes to this shit like a duck to water. He’s taking notes and asking follow-up questions using terms I don’t understand and never will.
My father eats it up, too. All he ever wanted was for me to take an interest. But I really don’t understand why. The man is hardly starved for attention. He runs a business where literally hundreds of people hang on everything he says.
He isn’t terribly interested in me, either, unless I’m talking about one of his favorite topics. Those are, roughly in order: business, football, and Alpha Delt. That’s the part that makes me feel stabby. It’s fine to be jazzed up on your own interests. But to assume that your favorite things should be important to everyone else? It’s both self-centered and ridiculous.
The waiter sets a plate down in front of me, and my mood lifts a little. I tuck in to my plate of pancakes and bacon. Carbs, salt, and fat are utterly restorative.
For a while, Luke is too busy taking notes to eat. But then he and my father eventually dig in, still talking about “equity upside” and “implied volatility,” whatever that is.
I’m irrelevant to this meal, and it’s glorious.
“Thank you so much,” Luke says when they finally run out of nerdy little details to discuss. “I am so getting an A on this paper.”
“As well you should,” my father says, draining his mimosa. “You’ve got the analytical part down. Keaton is going to learn all about it this summer, too.”
Fuck.
“Excuse me one moment,” Luke says, pushing back his chair. “The men’s is…?”
I point toward the back corner of the room, and then that fucker abandons me here with Dad. He struts away from the table, and my eyes follow him, because I feel reckless and it’s just dawning on me that I have a confidence fetish.
“Great kid,” my dad says after Luke has disappeared into the bathroom. He gestures to the waiter for more coffee. “He’s Alpha Delt too, right?”
“Yup,” I say with a sigh. “Actually, he’s our president elect.” I might as well come clean about that.
Dad blinks. “No, you are.”
“Not true.” I shake my head. “I dropped out on election day, because I don’t actually want to be president, and he does.”
“Why?” Dad gasps.
“Why would anyone want to be president? Good question.”
His face reddens. “Don’t be flip, Keaton. Why did you drop out?”
“I’m a loyal member of the frat, Dad. I love Alpha Delt. But I was only running because you wanted me to. And that wasn’t a good enough reason.”
“But why wouldn’t you want to be in charge? That makes no sense.”
“Because I’m not you. And that would make plenty of sense if you could ever figure out that I have interests, too. They’re every bit as valid as yours.”
“Watch your tone,” he hisses.
“I watch it all the time,” I whisper. “But then you don’t hear me.”
Luke is approaching the table now, so Dad clamps his jaw shut. He won’t make a scene. It’s not his style.
Instead, he signals for the check. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he says to Luke. “You’re the next president of Alpha Delt.”