by Lisa Lace
I laugh. “America? Why?”
“You’ve made yourself a laughing stock here. Everyone who’s anyone is talking about how Henry Southby was in a fist fight at his brother’s wedding. All this after all the scandals we’ve already tried to smooth over for you? This family can’t handle any more cover-ups. You need to go somewhere where people don’t know you so that your bad reputation can die down. With any luck, you might even return a better man.”
“You want me to go to Harvard to complete an MBA? That’s it?”
My father takes a seat on the edge of his desk, only inches away from me. He leans forward intensely. “It’s a two-year course, and I’d expect you to achieve a 3.5 GPA.”
“And if I say no?”
He shrugs. “Then you’re out on your own. Cut off. I refuse to continue to support a son with no sense of personal accountability or responsibility. If all you want to do is party and cause trouble, then you can fund your own lifestyle. If you won’t study, then you will be evicted from that cozy little flat I’m paying for, and you’ll receive no more money from me.”
“And if I go?”
“If you go, and you achieve a 3.5 GPA and cause no other scandals, you can return to England, and I will continue to fund your lifestyle as I do now.
“I will, of course, pay for your tuition and other expenses. I will pay for the first year of your studies up front, pay for a private flat for you to stay in, and give you an allowance to last the year. While you’re away, I want you to learn how to take responsibility for yourself. You’ll have to budget with the money I give you and work hard.”
He meets my eye. “I know you’re more than capable of getting a degree from Harvard, Henry. You flew through your undergraduate at Cambridge. All I ask is that you keep your head down and avoid making trouble. I had to pull in a favor to get you enrolled last-minute. Don’t let me down.”
“Hold on,” I say, holding up hands. “You expect me to give up two years of my life simply because you demand it?”
“It’s not a demand, Henry. It’s a lifeline. You don’t deserve another chance—you’ve already had so many. But I’m willing to do this for you because I’d rather see my son make something of himself than throw all his potential away. I’m hoping that this opportunity might be the making of you.”
I sit back with my arms folded over my chest and think about his proposition. I can either take offense at another attempt to control me and leave myself homeless and broke, or I can spend the next two years in America, where I might finally be able to live my life without my father looking over my shoulder.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
My father nods but doesn’t smile. “I’m glad. I really want the best for you, son. Take this opportunity I’m giving you and make the most of it—not only for me but for yourself. I believe you could really be somebody if you’d only apply yourself. I will arrange everything. You leave in three weeks.”
Melissa
I walk across the campus with an armful of books clutched to my chest and eyes wide with wonder.
Harvard is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Everything is tall and beautiful. My first lecture is in Aldrich Hall, which is a vast red-brick building with green double-doors. It’s set on magnificent grounds dotted with trees. The sun is shining brightly, and I’m excited to start my new adventure in the Ivy League.
Dozens of students carrying backpacks, satchels, and textbooks are crossing the grounds. Everyone looks fresh and prepared after a final summer of freedom. In fact, everybody looks far fresher than I do. I hardly slept at all last night; Connor had his music blaring until the early hours of the morning. I didn’t dare tell him to turn it down in case he kicked up a fuss.
The other students’ clothes are new and expensive. I’ve tried to make an old dress look new by pairing it with a second-hand leather purse and an almost-unworn pair of designer shoes that I found at Goodwill.
I’ve brushed my long brown hair back and pinned it in place to look more sophisticated. Even though I don’t need to have them on right now, I’m wearing my big, square reading glasses like a mask.
As I walk across the campus, I can hear people laughing and chatting together, and I feel like an outsider.
It’s only day one, Melissa.
I know I’m a grown woman—a mature student—and I shouldn’t feel nervous, but I do. Harvard is a world away from my upbringing, and the struggle to make ends meet that I’ve dealt with in recent years. But I’m here in the hopes that an Ivy League postgraduate degree will lead me—and Connor—to better things.
The first class is a case-methods session. The professor will put us into groups and present us with business scenarios to tackle. I have no idea if I’ll find it difficult. Although I was at the top of my class for my business undergraduate, this is different; this is Harvard.
I enter the hall and take a moment to orientate myself. Everyone else is striding with purpose. Is nobody else lost?
I take out my campus map and try to look like I know where I’m going, too.
After a few wrong turns, I finally find my lecture room and enter. It’s a huge classroom with half-circles of pews facing three large blackboards and a professor’s podium. I don’t dare sit too near the front of the room, so I make my way to the very back row, where I can quietly listen until I find my feet and the nerve to participate.
I slip into the back row, set my books down, and open my new notepad to the first page, quickly jotting down the date and lecture title. I smile down at my very first notes with satisfaction. You’re a Harvard girl.
The lecture begins, and I bristle with excitement. I love to learn, and this is the opportunity of a lifetime.
The professor is a middle-aged man with graying hair combed neatly back, a grey collared shirt, grey slacks, and a beige button-up cardigan. He keeps one hand in his pocket as he talks, strolling leisurely in front of the podium.
“Good morning, everyone. It is a pleasure to have you in my class this morning. I hope you’re all ready to be challenged. This course is not an easy one, but it will prepare you for the harsh realities of the business world.
“To succeed on this course, you will need to balance logic and careful analysis with initiative and creativity. Don’t be afraid to think outside the box. At the end of the day, business is all about identifying the issues and resolving them.
“So, let’s begin. Please partner up. I’ll give you a few minutes to make your introductions, and then I’ll give you your instructions for this task.”
Nobody is sitting beside me. My stomach sinks at the thought of having to face the sea of students in front of me to find a partner. As I’m preparing to make a move, somebody comes to me.
A man in his mid-twenties with blond hair, a tan, and piercing blue eyes enters through the doors at the front of the room. He makes a quick apology to the professor for being late, then darts to the back of the classroom. He sits next to me.
When he gets closer, I see that he’s incredibly handsome. He has a straight nose, a chiseled jaw, and eyes full of mischief. He’s wearing a pair of blue denim jeans and a designer navy polo shirt and carries himself with an arrogant air. I’ve got a feeling you’re trouble.
He turns to me with a cheeky grin. “Impossible to find these bloody rooms, isn’t it? What are we doing?” His accent is British, lending him an immediate charm—despite the fact that he’s late.
“We’re pairing up for a case study.”
“Excellent.” He peers over my shoulder to look at my notes. “Great—I’ve not missed anything. I’m Henry, by the way.”
“Melissa.”
Henry holds out a hand to me, and we shake. His grip is firm and confident. He withdraws his hand, then slaps a scruffy notebook down on the table and pulls a Harvard pen out from behind his ear. He lounges back in his chair like he’s at the movies, rather than a Harvard business lecture.
The professor talks about capital budgeting and circulates
handouts for a fictional company’s current and prospective expenditures and investments. We get a thick booklet full of information about the company’s history, the context of the industry, competitors, and other relevant information. We’re tasked with budgeting the capital to maximize the company’s future profits.
“We’ll be working with these materials over the next four lectures,” the professor says. “You and your partner will hand in your own assessments but may work together to share ideas and insights.
“Begin by reading through pages four to ten of your information booklets. I want you to identify the four main capital expenditures for the company between 2008 and 2011. Considering the context of the industry at the time, evaluate whether these were wise investments.”
While the professor is talking, Henry flicks absent-mindedly through the booklet, then begins to tap the pen against the desk and click his tongue.
I shoot him an annoyed glance. “Are you listening?”
“Of course.”
“Then you read the first three pages. I’ll read the rest. Then we’ll share our views.”
He sits up with an exaggerated groan. “I’ve already read it.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have. Bellemont Industries is a marketing and PR company whose main capital investments were new offices in 2008, an advertising campaign in 2010, and a revamp of their website in 2011, totaling $4.8 million. In my opinion, they wouldn’t have needed the advertising campaign if they had prioritized the website revamp in year one. Did you see these screenshots? Shabby.”
I narrow my eyes, unsure whether Henry’s correct. I bow my head and quickly scan the opening pages of the booklet.
He’s completely right. I can’t believe he took in all that information in the mere seconds he flicked through it.
“Have you done this course before?”
He throws his pen up in the air and catches it casually. “No, but it’s hardly rocket science. I had more trouble doing reading comprehension for my middle school SATS.” He casts me a sideways glance. “If this is as hard as the course gets, then we’re in for an easy ride.”
“It’s day one.”
“Then there’s still hope that this place might actually have something to teach us.”
“Professor Mallim is one of the leading experts in this field, not only in America but the world.”
“Show me his net worth, then tell me he’s an expert. If he really knew what he was doing, he’d be a billionaire—not spouting tired business theories to freshers. You can’t teach business acumen.”
I frown. “Then why are you here?”
“I have a reputation to uphold,” he says with an undertone of disdain. “Apparently, the fine, upstanding young men of England require a postgraduate degree from a top university—and I’ve burned my bridges at Cambridge, ever since I went AWOL with that punt.”
“A punt?”
“Like a boxy gondola, minus the Italian in a stripy shirt.”
“You did your undergraduate at Cambridge?”
“Like my father and his father before him. I hardly had a choice.”
The more Henry speaks, the more insufficient I feel. My meager undergraduate from a state college hardly seems worth mentioning next to his top-tier education in the UK. His accent alone makes him sound smarter than I ever will.
“I like your glasses,” Henry says.
I take them off self-consciously. “I tried to find something that wasn’t completely out of fashion.”
He smiles. “They suit you. You look like a Harvard girl.”
His compliment makes butterflies flutter in my stomach. I wonder if he even knows how much of a compliment it is. “Thank you. Shall we continue?”
“Let’s.”
Henry leans over my shoulder to look at the material, even though he has his own copy. I’m keenly aware of how close he is to me. I can feel his breath on my neck and smell the scent of his sweet cologne.
When I offer my opinion, he listens intently—or at least pretends to. I get the feeling that he’s a natural charmer, and I instinctively put my guard up. I have too many responsibilities on my shoulders to let myself get caught in the spell of a smooth-talker.
The session comes to an end.
Henry smiles as he slides his pen back behind his ear and picks up his notepad. “I guess we’re going to be seeing each other again.”
“I guess so.”
“How about we don’t wait until the next lecture? I don’t know anyone here. I get the feeling you don’t know anyone either. Maybe we could go get a drink together?”
I smile politely and scoop up my books. “Thanks for the invite, Henry, but I’m not really looking for social engagements.”
Henry laughs. “Is that what you call them? I was asking you on a date.”
I raise my eyebrows in amusement. “I gathered that. I’m still not interested. I’m here to study.”
“We could talk about business over dinner.”
His persistence makes me laugh, but I stand firm. “Sorry, but no.” I gesture around the classroom. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, though. Perhaps one of these other girls can give you a social engagement.”
I turn away and instantly smile when Henry can’t see. I’m flattered—Henry is gorgeous and obviously very smart. I can also tell from a mile away that he’s trouble. Who tries to arrange a hook up on their first day?
I leave the classroom and purposefully stride ahead, leaving Henry behind me.
Henry
I return to the private flat that my father has rented for me on DeWolfe Street, just north of the river and the business school campus.
The apartment is on the third floor; one-bedroomed, clean, fully-furnished, and filled with modern conveniences. For most students, a private flat with a separate living room, kitchen, bedroom and en-suite bathroom would be a dream, but I’m aware that my father could have easily afforded a top-floor flat instead.
I climb the stairs to the third floor and see another man my age hauling a case to the apartment next to mine. I cast him a casual sideways gaze. “Student?”
“Yeah—the business school. You?”
“Same.”
He sets down his case in the communal hall and reaches out to shake my hand. My new neighbor is slim, with expensively cut dark hair and a preppy dress sense. “My name’s Ryan; Ryan Everett.”
“Henry Southby.”
Ryan pauses like he’s trying to remember something. He lifts a finger and points it questioningly in my direction. “Southby—British—is your father the Duke of Cambridge?”
“Unfortunately.”
He laughs and snaps his fingers. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Really? I’m not sure any of my antics are epic enough for news of them to have traveled across the Atlantic.”
“My brother is studying at Cambridge. He’ll probably know your brother. Alexander, right?”
“It’s a small world.”
Ryan grins like he’s meeting a celebrity. “My friend was telling me about you going in the lake at the wedding. He said it was all anybody was talking about. Is it true you also ‘pennied’ Stephen Fry at a formal?”
I take a little bow. “It’s true.”
“Pennying” is a traditional drinking game among Cambridge students. The aim of the game is to drop a penny into someone’s drink without getting caught. If you do, the victim has to down the drink in one go. It leads to students getting drunk quickly at those stuffy black-gown dinners.
“And did he down the drink?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny. All I can say is that for my attempt, I was banned from formals for the rest of the term.”
Ryan laughs. “You sound like a riot. I’m going to have to watch out with you living next door. Sounds like you’ve got the potential to be a major distraction.”
I hold up my hands. “I always passed with flying colors.”
“I’m surprised Harvard let you in
.”
“I won’t lie—my father pushed for me to come here. As I understand, he had to pull in a favor.”
Ryan slaps my shoulder. “Well, you’re lucky. It’s not an easy admissions process. I had to sing my praises like a choir to get in here. I did every extra-curricular going in my undergrad and worked for charity like Mother freaking Theresa. If you managed to creep in the back door, you’ve been dealt a lucky hand for free. I know folks who’d kill for an Ivy League education.”
“I know. My father keeps reminding me.”
“You know, it’s actually a cool place to be. There’s something for everyone here—sports clubs, politics, rowing. Let yourself get into it, and you might find your feet.”
I chuckle. “Did my father plant you here?”
“No, I’m just excited. See you around?”
“Yeah. See you.”
Melissa
I feel more positive going into day two of Harvard life than on my first. Despite all my doubts, I’d managed to make it through without feeling like a complete imposter. True, I’m poorer than my peers, but our minds are equally keen. You’ve got this, Lissy.
I walk across campus with my head held high, confident in my belief that I belong—until I spot Connor swaggering across the grounds. His unkempt appearance is drawing stares from students. They part like the Red Sea when Connor passes. By the time he reaches me, I can smell the cannabis clinging to his clothes.
“Connor,” I hiss, “what are you doing here?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
“It’s on silent. I’m about to go into a lecture.” I pull him toward me to the edge of the grounds, hoping to find a little privacy, although there’s really nowhere to hide. “You can’t show up here. It’s students only.”
He scowls. “You mean you’re embarrassed that I’m here?”
“Can you blame me? You’re high right now.”
He blinks at me. His eyes are red again, but he’s not stoned. It makes me worried that there’s more than weed in his system. “I’m not high.”
