bad enough, but the realization that now everyone would be paying close attention to her choice of research, watching to see if she lived up to her potential or fell flat on her face, filled her with a new brand of anxiety.
“That’s okay,” her father said. “We can come up with a game plan for you. If you want the Fields Medal, it’s going to take some big-picture planning. We’ll need to make sure all the pieces on the board are aligned to your advantage. Which means we should coordinate your next area of research with the right job—the one that’s going to get you what you want. I can advise you on all of that. Help you make the best decisions. Give you a leg up on your competition.”
Mia set her champagne glass down slowly as a sour feeling settled in her stomach. She didn’t want to think of research as a competitive play in some big football game. It was supposed to be about the search for greater understanding. A way to express truths that were independent of the physical world. Like poetry. That was what she loved about it.
But a businessman like her father could never understand that.
“Of course, we’ll need to boost your profile,” he said as he crunched on a large piece of lettuce. “It’s not enough to simply be good. You’ve got to be the best, and you have to make sure other people know it. These things are mostly about PR when it comes down to it. Lucky for you, I’ve got a wide network of contacts that we can utilize. I’m going to set you up with a publicist—don’t worry about the cost, I’ll foot the bill.”
He picked up his champagne and knocked back the last of it. Before he’d even set it down again, a waiter scurried over to refill everyone’s glasses.
Her father flicked his hand to simultaneously acknowledge and dismiss the server. “Jennifer—that’s the publicist I know—you’re going to love her. I’ll have her start pitching stories to some of the more mainstream science magazines. We need to get you on people’s radar and make sure you stay there. You’ll need headshots, of course. And someone to manage your social media too. It’s important to make the most of your online presence. That’s where it’s at these days. You need a Twitter following to get people’s attention. But don’t worry, Jennifer’s people can handle all that for you.”
Mia’s shoulders hunched as she stared at her plate, her appetite completely evaporated now. Everything her dad was saying sounded…awful. The exact opposite of what she wanted. A publicist? A social media manager? Headshots? She wasn’t Taylor Swift. She just wanted to teach and do research, not all this other stuff.
“I’m thinking we should start with a human-interest angle,” her father went on, oblivious to Mia’s growing listlessness. “A joint interview with the two of us—the math prodigy and her mentor.” He smiled, but instead of pride Mia saw opportunism in his expression. “A legacy of math passed on from father to daughter.”
Now, at last, she understood. This was why her father was here. Why he’d flown down to deliver the news in person. To share her success, yes. But not simply as a proud parent—he was an attention parasite looking for a host. That was the agenda she hadn’t been able to deduce before.
Now that she’d finally done something worthy of his notice, he intended to angle her into the spotlight so he could bask in the glow that bounced off her and reflected back onto him.
Mia barely spoke for the rest of the meal. Josh kept throwing her questioning looks, clearly sensing that something was wrong, but she couldn’t explain with her father sitting right there. Not until she’d decided what she wanted to do about it.
Her father paid the check when it came, basking in his own magnanimity as he received their thanks. Mia snuck a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and left it under her napkin. For all he liked to make a great show of his largesse, her father was a notoriously bad tipper.
They stepped out of the restaurant into the chilly November night, and Mia shivered as she struggled with her jacket. Josh moved to help her, sliding the sleeves up her arms and straightening the collar for her. His gaze met hers as she spun to face him, and his brow creased with an unspoken question. Are you okay?
She forced a smile for him as