Page 41 of The Himbo and the Lord
I bring my laptop forward as I round his desk, and plop it in front of him before he has time to ask me what the fuck I’m talking about.
I keep staring at the screen, even when I feel him look up at me for a long moment, but he must see something that makes him stay quiet because he reaches for his glasses and inspects my portfolio.
It seems like he’s readingforever.
Clicking and changing pages, changing the ranges to see the progress over the last three years, then five, and then the last month only.
Then, when he’s apparently satisfied, he throws his glasses on top of his desk, leans back so his chair tilts, and spins it around so he’s facing me straight on.
And then he pulls the metaphorical rug from under my metaphorical feet.
“I guess it’s a good thing you won’t be coming to work with me.”
“What?” My words come out in a stunned whisper. I never actually thought?—
“I’d be out of a job indays,” he shouts, and then he... smiles?
“What?” I repeat. It’s the only word I know now, apparently.
“This is amazing,” he cheers, and goes back to looking at the screen. Though now that he threw his glasses away he has to really lean in. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been doing this with your trust fund?” he asks, almost as an afterthought since he’s still entranced by the numbers.
“Because I do it for fun,” I say in a low tone, still not quite sure if I’m dreaming all of this. “I don’t want to...” I trail off. I have no clue how to explain it to him so he won’t explode.
“That’s even better,” he says and laughs. He actually laughs. “The things you could do.. .” He shakes his head and turns back to me once more. “So you thought I’d ruin the fun, huh?” The little smile he’s wearing makes me think he’s teasing me, but I can’t be sure. I can’t remember him ever doing that in the last ten years.
“Something like that,” I say, skeptical.
“Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?”
“Uh—” I stall, then decide to just come out with it. “How the fuck should I know?” I demand. “I’m twenty-four. Most days I don’t know what I’ll do that night.”
“Yeah, okay,” he grumbles, and moves his shoulders like he’s getting rid of tension there. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Uh-huh,” I agree, though now I don’t know what to do or say. In spite of my apparent bravado, I really didn’t think he’d take this so well.
“I think you should get more education for it. Maybe another masters that’s more focused on math, that way you can really?—”
“I knew it was too good to be true,” I snap.
“What? Nathaniel?—”
“No,” I interrupt him. “You can’t just accept that I’m not the screwup you thought I was, then turn right around and say I don’t know enough. After everything you said before? What about?—”
“I’m just trying to help,” he shouts over my rant, and that gives me pause.
“You are?” My voice drips with incredulousness.
“Yes!” he keeps shouting. “I’m just saying, if you want to manage your money this way, that’s fine. All I want is to know you’re not going to be out on the street someday. So I thought, maybe if you actually study what interests you, you can learn a bit more and have more security. That what you’re doing will help you have the life you want.”
I hear every word carefully, trying to find the trap, but I don’t find any.
“So another masters, huh?” I ask, like I didn’t just explode a minute ago.
“Yes. Something more focused on financial trends, statistics, maybe something like...”
He keeps talking but I can’t keep listening. I mean, I’m interested, and with just a few words I know that his idea has some good merit, but my mind is full of possibilities because...
There has to be someplace in England where I can get a masters like that, right?
