The Boy She Bought for Twenty Thousand

2: 2

Once I got in the cab, my dad sent a voice message, breathing hard.

"Nathaniel, when's Kayla coming to see me? It's been almost two months now... Did you two have a fight?"

I sat in the back seat, the screen glow washing over my face.

My dad had always thought that twenty thousand was a dowry.

Ten years ago, when Kayla brought me home, he was so happy he wiped away tears, saying I was blessed to have found someone who truly loved me.

I told him it wasn't like that.

He didn't believe me. Year after year he asked, year after year he hoped, and now with the cancer already spread to his lungs he was still saying, "When's Kayla coming?"

I typed: 【Soon, in the next few days.】

After I sent it, I flipped the phone face-down on my knee and pressed my forehead against the cold window.

The cab stopped outside the house. I pushed the door open and went in. The living room lights were on.

Kayla was sitting on the sofa, the top two buttons of her blouse undone.

Wilfred was curled up at the other end, her jacket draped over him.

"You're back?"

She lifted her eyelids a fraction. "Go make Wilfred some hangover soup. And go out and buy stomach medicine."

I stood there without moving. "...My dad asked when you're coming to see him."

Her hand paused. She rubbed her temple. "We'll see. The project's got me swamped."

"He's having surgery next week."

"Tomorrow, then."

She set the empty cup on the coffee table. "Make the hangover soup first."

I still had the rain all over me, hair stuck to my face, one shoulder of my jacket soaked through.

She didn't look at me once the whole time, as if I were no different from the rain outside, not worth a moment of her attention.

I turned and went into the kitchen.

The next morning at the office, three months of proposal materials sat on my desk.

My assistant's face was white. "Nathaniel, the client pulled the contract."

"They sent the email at eleven last night. Said they're terminating, and they'll pay the penalty in full."

I stared at the termination letter on the screen, my temple pounding.

Three months. I'd burned through more than thirty versions of that proposal, revised the data more times than I could count, and it was all for nothing.

"The contract was already signed. Who's the person in charge on their end—"

"That would be me. Something you don't like?"

The elevator doors opened, and Wilfred walked in on a pair of gleaming polished shoes, two assistants trailing behind him.

"Wilfred, this proposal was built from start to finish around the client's requirements. The concept, the data, every item cleared three rounds of review, and the contract is already in effect. On what grounds are you pulling it?"

He let out a laugh and tilted his head, sizing me up.

"On the grounds that I'm the Swanson heir, and you're some kept man bought for twenty thousand. On the grounds that the client company is also a Swanson company, and you're nothing but the manager of some little firm."

"With your standing, you're not even fit to question me."

I gripped the materials in my hand, nails digging into the pages.

He stepped closer and leaned in by my ear.

"And do you know why Kayla picked you back then? Because you were standing by the roadside selling eggs. The cheapest, the most pathetic, the easiest to make another man jealous."

"So the fact that you've gotten this far, some of the credit's mine too. Wouldn't you say you owe me a thank-you?"

My pupils shrank.

He drew back, took the iced Americano from his assistant, and drank from it, unhurried.

"Want to bet that one phone call from me makes everything you've saved up over these ten years disappear overnight?"

Then he poured half the coffee down over my head.

Cold, the coffee running from my hair down my shoulder, seeping into my collar.

"Redo the proposal until I'm satisfied."

I stood there and watched him turn and walk toward the elevator.

Someone poked their head out from the break room. People started talking.

I stood soaked through beside my desk, my fingers still gripping that stack of scrapped proposals.

At seven that evening, Kayla and I had agreed to go to the hospital to see my dad.

I changed into dry clothes and waited at the door for an hour. My phone buzzed.

【Going to the racetrack with Wilfred and the others tonight. Push it to tomorrow.】

【By the way, did you get into it with Wilfred this morning? Why do you have to butt heads with him? Look at what he is and what you are. It's just one proposal. You redo a version and it's done, isn't it?】

A few seconds later another one popped up:

【If it weren't for us back then, you'd still be counting eggs at the night market.】

I sat there stunned for a long time.