Page 11 of Protégé King

The next morning the invitation list is published and my name is right there with all the other named Future Leaders. There’s another name, too. One that makes my belly summersault.

Damion.

Chapter Seven

Alana

I’m packing for my weekend trip to New York City to attend the social when I find out my parents sold our house in Jersey.

“What do you mean you sold the house?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to my suitcase. “I thought that was our forever home. I’m—” My browns dip. “I’m confused. And is it done? Or you’re thinking about it?”

“We closed last week. We’re never there and it wasn’t the image we need to portray when we’re dealing with the rich and famous.”

“The West family lived next to us, Mom. I’d hardly call it a bad neighborhood. What is going on?”

“Smart decision making, honey. That’s all. Our clients need to know we’re present in the city, in the market they care about.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“There’s no reason to distract you from school. You’ll graduate and take on the world soon enough. No need to rush it now.”

Three years, I think, now that I’m starting law school, which to her will go quickly, and to me slow as Christmas for a kid. I’m ready for the real world, but I’ve never been more convinced than I am now that we need the legal side of real estate as part of our empire. The constant need to fit in with this money crowd is exhausting.

It made them sell the family home. That makes no sense to me and I push to my feet to finish packing. I need to get home, which I guess is now in New York City.

“We’ll see you in the city, honey,” my mother says, as if confirming my question. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” I murmur, but she’s already hung up.

***

When I arrive in New York City, my mother picks me up from the train station and whisks me away to a spa and shopping excursion to prepare for my big evening event. She’s hellbent on spoiling her only child, who is finally home, if only for the weekend. This to me is my mother being my mother. Everything seems as it should be, except for the couple times I find my mother staring into space. When I say something to her about it, she waves me off.

“Work stuff,” she says, and launches into the topic of what I will wear tonight.

When I’ve picked a long, emerald-green gown for the evening, we head to the apartment, which is near Central Park, and just not home to me. Home is Jersey and it’s weird walking into an apartment and knowing that’s all we have. Not that it’s a cheap apartment. I’ve lived my parent’s world long enough to know that in certain zip codes, this one included, five million dollars isn’t even enough to buy space, just prestige.

Tonight though, is all about the city.

I have a few hours to nap and dress, and hopefully chat with my father about what’s really going on with them and the house, but he’s “at work” per my mother. There’s a nagging sensation in my belly telling me something is wrong, but then suddenly my father is home, pulling me into a bear hug despite some big box in his hands.

“Your mother sent me to Jersey to get your favorite cake,” he announces. “And I’m happy to announce after a major traffic jam, I made it. I have the cake.” He indicates the box.

For the next hour we laugh and joke, and have the kind of fabulous family time that has always made me feel warm and happy. There is not one person in my life with money that has the family bonds I share with my parents.

All the people in my life with money are not as rich as me, and yet, I wonder if my parents really remember that reality. If they did, wouldn’t we still be at the big family home in Jersey? I decide I need to come home more often.

***

A female professor once told me that being a woman is a powerful thing if you embrace it and refuse to see it any other way.

I step in front of the bathroom mirror with her words in mind as I inspect myself with approval. My dress is a power statement. A strong color. Boldly one shouldered. A declaration that I am woman, I am proud of it, and I am here to leave a lasting impression. Unbidden, I’m wondering what Damion will think of me now, frustrated at myself for where I’ve allowed myself to travel. This is not me being powerful. He probably doesn’t think of me at all. We had an encounter at a party. That was all. I’m sure the blonde took his mind off of things, and I refuse to be affected by his presence tonight.

This is about all my hard work being recognized.

Nevertheless, nerves kick in as I slide into the back of the sedan sent for me by the organization holding the event.

Our destination is the Time Warner Center, a short few miles away, but my heart pitter patters as if it’s hundreds of miles and I’m on foot, not planted on a cushy leather seat. Despite the jittery sensation in my belly, I exit the car with my chin high and ready to prove I belong here. Belonging has always been my issue. I never quite have and even Sally has proven that to be true. Yes, she apologized, but we aren’t quite the same anymore.

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