world, about how I viewed an MBA as my “I told you so” to them, as my “fuck you” to the world that was determined to keep me down. I told him about the hopes and dreams and tireless hours of hard work that I poured into my MBA, going into unimaginable debt so I could bet on myself. I told him how the gamble never paid off.
He listened silently as I sat there on the edge of the desk and stared down at my hands, which were cupped in my lap as if my disappointment was a pebble in my palms. It certainly felt like something I could hold, something I could feel, something I carried around with me day in and day out.
“I had such intentions for my life,” I said, my voice small, dwarfed by a mansion that would never be mine. “I had such silly, stupid ideas. Ideas like I can be whoever I want in life, go wherever I want, do whatever I want. Silly, stupid ideas like my past, my parents, my purse don’t matter. Like there was a ladder in society and climbing it was as simple as being strong enough to climb it. Silly, stupid ideas like I, and I alone, decided my fate.”
I glanced up with a sad smile. I expected to see a glossy film over Ronan’s eyes; it wasn’t like he could possibly relate to any of this. But I found a sad smile on his face, a mirror of my own, a reflection of my own. I wasn’t sure how, but there was understanding written on his softened features, there was sympathy extending toward me as naturally as a petal toward the sun.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious again in this new intimacy between Ronan and me.
“I don’t know,” I said lamely, fidgeting with the corner of his MBA. “It’s just that if I had your money, your connections, your power in society, your father’s hotel empire, nobody would stop me. Nobody would tell me who I am, who I can or cannot be. Nobody would ever tell me to be quieter, to be more polite, to know my place. Nobody would keep me from running the world.”
I laughed at my own words and shook my head. I guess even then I hadn’t been able to quite expel all those childish ideals from my heart; deep down beneath the cynicism I tried to bury it under, I still stupidly believed I could be somebody.
“It’s stupid really, having a million and one ideas for a company that isn’t even your own,” I said, still staring lamely at my hands.
I sucked in a stuttering breath.
“Anyway,” I laughed again, using it like an eraser on a blackboard where I’d carelessly written my secrets for Ronan to read. “We better go over those Le Ball attendees. I need to know the names of the old women gossiping behind my back so I can curse them when I’m back in my backwater swamps eating pork rinds and—”
“What time is it?” Ronan interrupted.
“Huh?” I asked as he searched the desk to the left and to the right of me.
I stared at Ronan in confusion as he got up and kicked through the mess around the desk. His head was bent intently and his big toe sniffed around like a hound dog.
“Where’d the clock go?” he asked. “I need to know the time.”
He passed in front of me as I continued to watch him in bewilderment. He grabbed my wrist and dropped it just as quickly.
“Why don’t people wear wrist watches anymore?” he grumbled irritably.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re not wearing a wristwatch, asshole.”
Ronan dismissed me with a hasty wave as he went to flip through a mess of file folders on the opposite side of the desk.
“I swear I had a clock around here somewhere,” he mumbled. “Do you always make such a mess while fucking?”
I glared up at the ceiling and clenched my jaw to keep myself from saying what I wanted to say, namely, “Umm, fuck you?”
“What does it matter what time it is, Ronan?” I asked through tightly held teeth. “You’re acting rabid.”
Paper clips went flying over my shoulder as Ronan rifled through the slurry of office supplies in front of the desk. I swatted at them like the swarms of pesky mosquitoes back home. I ducked to avoid a hurled pocket calendar. I was about to chuck it right back at Ronan’s back-turned head when he suddenly popped