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Carter lifts his arm and flicks his wrist to check his watch. “Fuck if I know. He should have been here an hour ago. He said he’d meet me at the apartment, but then he told me he’d be delayed. He and Frank are probably still fucking around in Boston.” He huffs out of a breath of annoyance and shrugs. “Fuck ’em. Let’s order.”
As if we conjured them, my younger brother and his best friend enter the bar, grins on their faces and laughter bursting from them. I jump off my stool and run to Cash. I’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s my favorite.
“Kit Cat,” he murmurs as he hugs me close. After the coffee shop ordeal and the mortification I can’t shake after sassing my would-be employer, I crave the extra affection Cash always gives me. Carter can certainly make me laugh and take me out for drinks, but Cash is the serious, affectionate one. He’ll sit on the couch and chat with me for hours, watch the movies I love, and tell me I’m too good for the shit Mia puts me through. Bottom line, he’s always been my best friend, and right about now, I don’t care that he’s only here because he wants to party with Carter.
“How come I never get a welcome like that?” Carter grumbles as he approaches, a hand extended to Frank. I turn to my younger brother’s best friend too. He recently buzzed his red hair. He’s in ROTC and planning to enlist as soon as he turns eighteen. Unlike us, he won’t be handed a college degree on a silver platter. He works for everything he has. He’s a good kid, and I’ve always been thankful for the down-to-earth influence he has on Cash.
Cash lets me go, and he and Carter embrace in one of those man hugs where they shake hands and slap each other’s backs, muttering something along the lines of “I missed you, bro” to one another.
I roll my eyes. Boys can be so basic.
I offer Frank a hug as well, and then we grab our drinks from the bar so the hostess can seat us. Once we’ve ordered and Carter’s ordered a round of beer for the guys, even though Cash and Frank aren’t old enough to drink legally, we settle into our normal banter like no time has passed since we were sitting around Grandmother’s table for Sunday dinner. A meal Frank joined us for more often than not.
“How do you like school?” Cash asks me.
An excited flutter fills my stomach. As much as I loved NYU, I’m thrilled about this program. My family’s business has always been whiskey. And while it’s probably in my blood, and it most certainly could be in my bank account, I’ve never been interested in it. I want to pave my own way.
Our grandfather used to take us out on individual dates regularly. When it was my turn, he would tell me about how he built the company from the ground up. The struggles, times when he wasn’t sure whether the company would pull through, the long nights. The stress, the blood, sweat, and tears he put into his business. The love he had for the company, the industry, the legacy all made me want to find a career I could be equally passionate about. While there’s nothing wrong with furthering one’s family legacy, I want to create something of my own instead of being handed the keys to the empire others have worked so hard for.
Which is why, during my senior year of high school, while everyone assumed I’d follow tradition—attend Brown business school, then return to Nashville to learn the ropes with my family—I shocked them all by telling them that I planned to go into marketing and fashion instead.
And then I turned down my grandfather’s offer to fund my education.
Instead, I applied for scholarships—merit based, obviously, since I didn’t qualify for financial assistance—and I have worked my butt off to keep my grades up and for this literally life-changing internship.
I use my mother’s maiden name so I can fly under the radar. Yes, my last name has its perks, and I love my grandparents and my brothers dearly, but that last name brings with it more headache than help. And that is mostly my father’s fault. In general, though, I don’t want people to think I used my name to get where I am. What I’ll do, not who I am, will be the reason that, one day, I’ll be senior editor of Jolie.
The dreams are big; I know. But, as they say, if I shoot for the moon and miss, at least I’ll land among the stars.
Not even Mia knows my real last name.
We met at boarding school in sixth grade, just after my grandparents agreed to have my name legally changed. Back then, I wanted the change because it made me feel closer to my mom. She died when I was six, and my father lost custody of us a few years later. Changing the name also erased one significant reminder of him.
I begged my grandparents to let me take her last name, and because my grandfather never could say no to me, at the ripe old age of eleven, I became Catherine Hope Bouvier.
I’ve proudly carried the name since.
“It’s good so far. I’m only two weeks in, but everyone is really kind, and all my credits transferred.” I smile, giddy about how easy the transition has been.
Carter nods. “When do you start the internship?”
This makes me full-on grin, the excitement almost too much to handle. “I start at the magazine next week. My classes are on Mondays and Thursdays, and I’ll intern on the days I don’t have class. I’m looking for a job in a bar or something so I can work weekends for extra cash. I applied at the coffee shop where my roommate works.”
Carter glares at me. “You can’t work, intern, and go to school full time. It’s too much.”
I flip my hair over my shoulder and sip my vodka drink. “Plenty of people work and still have to take out student loans. I’m lucky I have a scholarship.”
Cash smiles, pride shining in his eyes. He may not forgo the family business, but he is certainly no stranger to hard work. Every summer for years, he’s chosen to work in the distillery rather than hang out at the beach or on one friend’s boat or at another’s summer house like most of his friends.
Carter groans. “I hate the idea of my sister scrambling for cash and working herself to death. Especially when she doesn’tneedto.”
This time, Frank cuts in. “Looks like she’s handling herself just fine.”
I smile and hold up my drink in a salute.
“Fine, if no one else sees how ludicrous it is, I’ll let it go. But if you need help with money—”
“I know,” I cut him off, “my big brother will help me. And I appreciate it. But I need to do this my way.”
