Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I can’t wait to get inside her tight little body, either.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We have our first real date tonight. Last night was a chance meeting. Doesn’t count.
She perked her ears up at my name. But she wasn’t quite able to figure out where she had heard it before.
She’s either a fantastic actress or she actually has no idea who I am. Who my family is.
A lot of the women I’ve dated over the years have come to me solely because of my last name. They know that the Hathaways are a local political dynasty, and one of the first things they ask me is if my father was Henry Hathaway, the former mayor.
I usually sigh and say yes.
It’s the truth. The truth I can’t escape.
Once they learn, however, that I have no political ambition, they usually run for the hills. If that doesn’t get them, once they find out that I’ve been cut off from my family’s riches, they’re history.
But Alissa seems to be interested in me despite not having any of that information. She’s from England, after all—God, that accent of hers makes me insane—and would have no reason to know much about my family’s political connections. Only people who grew up in and around Chicago would know anything about us.
Those who do know are aware that my father’s final term ended fifteen years ago, right before I turned twenty. He was dead within a year.
Some say the stress killed him. While his twelve years in office were mostly successful, his approval ratings plummeted in his final year, and he left the mayorship in disgrace.
I was his one shot at continuing his legacy, and later, redeeming it.
And I refused.
Dad has really pulled out all the stops for my eighteenth birthday. We’re in the Wrigley Mansion ballroom downtown, and he hired a decorator to outfit the entire place in my favorite colors, cobalt blue and mint green. A giant birthday cake stands on a small table at the room’s center directly under the grand chandelier, and everybody who’s anybody in the Chicago political scene is here. City councilmembers, party donors, and even several Illinois state senators are present.
We are the Hathaways, after all.
Dad is celebrating ten years of being mayor, and he’s been very popular. He’ll run for a fourth term in two years, and he’s a shoo-in to win.
I’m slated to go to Yale in the fall to study political science. I doubt they even looked at my application. They probably saw the name “Maddox Hathaway” on the top and admitted me right then and there. I spent a lot of time studying for the SAT and ACT, painstakingly wrote the perfect admissions essay, and did years of community service and extracurricular activities to pad my résumé, but my name alone is all I needed.
I didn’t earn my place there.
So I’m not going.
I’m going to tell them all tonight.
And it’s not going to be pretty.
I spend the cocktail hour shaking hands and receiving checks from family friends. I haven’t looked at any of them yet, but I know each one is good for at least a grand, if not more.
After I make my announcement, I’ll offer to give the money back.
Dinner is served—first a wedge salad, and then New York strip with garlic mashed potatoes as the main course, all my favorites—and then I’m expected to make a speech before they cut the birthday cake.
I slowly walk to the podium in front of my cake, which has been placed at a perfect height to frame my head and shoulders as I speak. Everything in this room has been intricately tailored to be a damned photo op. The photographer diligently takes his place in front of me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my father and the Hathaway family at large, I want to thank you all for attending my birthday party.”
My speech has been written for me, and a teleprompter is there to make sure I get it all right, of freaking course.
But fuck it. I’m going off script.
“Eighteen is a weird age. You’re legally an adult, but there are days when I still feel like a scared little kid. My brain isn’t even fully developed, but I’m supposed to decide right now how I’m going to spend the rest of my life.”
A few nervous chuckles resonate through the audience. My father narrows his eyes. He wrote my speech himself, and he knows I’m already straying.
“As you all know, I’ve been accepted to Yale, my own father’s alma mater, this fall, to study political science, continue the family’s legacy in the city of Chicago and the state of Illinois.”
Several people nod as murmurs fill the room.
“But…after weeks of thought, I’ve realized that I have no desire to go into politics.”
Gasps. Various women clutch at their necklaces.
Dad gets to his feet. “Friends, you all know my son is a bit of a joker sometimes…”