alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

2.6 ➢ Alice Hayes.

LUKE HEMMINGS

Sitting across from my father's secretary, Glenda, and his assistant, Michelle, I begin to wonder why on earth the man ever wanted to get married in the first place.

He's talking about business deals, investments and shares, forty percent of one thing profiting the fifteen percent of another in order to help the 'thriving' family business. I understand everything he's saying; I'm just not as interested.

Sighing, I tap my pen against the empty notepad on the table. I should probably be writing stuff down. Apparently it's up to me what path the company takes for the remainder of this year. I think that sometimes my father forgets what it's like to be my age; I've got a whole lot of other shit I need to sort out, I'm not at the settling degree yet. A business that I never even wanted to be a part of in the first place shouldn't be my top priority.

But of course, I can't tell him that. Fuck no. Can't even utter a word of it. I'm expected to keep my mouth shut and my head down, all while smiling for flashy magazines that feature me as a 'rising billionaire' at the age of twenty-four. It's not that impressive once you realise I had a lot of help- both from under the table and over it.

"What do you think, Luke?"

There it is, then. That dreaded question that I get asked almost every meeting because I'm his 'partner' now and my input 'matters'. The truth is it doesn't. He just needs clarification that I won't file a suit against my own flesh and blood for not confiding in me first about a multimillion dollar share.

"Sound's good."

"Great."

"Great," I repeat, nodding slightly and attempting to ignore the seductive side-eye being sent my way by Michelle. I'll admit, she's an attractive woman and we've messed around a few times before— none of them sober on my part— but she's not my scene. Not anymore.

After a short while, I begin to rise, "So, are we done here now, or-"

"Now, now, Luke. I actually wanted to talk to you," Dad says, straightening his position. Slightly stunned, I tense as he glances around at the other few people in the room, "Alone."

Alone. I shudder, suddenly wishing I hadn't said anything and just stood up and left like I usually do.

Like a group of moths on a disco ball, Glenda, Michelle and two other partial business partners scurry out of the door, bumping into one another and uttering half-assed apologies while doing so. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, instead choosing to look back at my father.

It never used to be like this, funnily enough; the tense conversations and the need to look every which way just in case we accidentally made eye contact. But what can I say; people change. Money makes people change. When put under pressure, the average human being gives in and it's only a matter of time before they show their true colours.

It didn't happen all because of money though, and I know this. That's not all that put a strain on our relationship. Hell, I grew up. I know how things work now, and they're not always as smooth as I once thought they were.

"What's up?" I ask him, leaning my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands together. He leans back against his own seat, spinning it ever so slightly so that it faces both me and the large window behind him.

It overlooks Manhattan, and from here I can just about make out the window of my own penthouse. Just about. Opposing buildings, both of the same height yet in two very different sides of the city; it describes our situation pretty well.

"How's college, Luke?"

"Fine,"

"Your course?"