Samuel stretched his arms and reached again for his glass of wine, rolling his eyes and letting out an exasperated sigh. He smacked his tongue, savoring the familiar taste of the wine, and glanced ahead at the blonde man who kept speaking words Samuel had long since tuned out. He was fed up with hearing how he was expected to finish school, get good grades, and be ready to succeed at Nickel Boron as its heir. He tapped his foot restlessly, his left leg bouncing on top of his right. Samuel was dressed in a fly shirt and pyjamas, having just gotten off the phone with his mother an hour ago. She was on vacation in Las Vegas and had repeated the same old script, how the company needed him to be "educated and ready" to take the reins after his aging father—a man she had married for his wealth. Mrs. Bonnie never missed an opportunity to remind him how much she loved and appreciated him for coming into their lives and the family.
Samuel sighed again and shifted on the cushion, trying to get comfortable as the chubby man in front of him kept talking. He wondered if Mr. Corallo ever took a breath. Samuel was tired and annoyed by the incessant flipping of papers and the anxious tone in the man's voice.
Mr. Corallo was hired by his parents to tutor Samuel on the family business, making sure he was, as his father put it, "sufficiently prepared" to take over. Nickel Boron was one of the top enterprises in the country, and as the heir, Samuel was supposed to have the potential to lead it. But Samuel didn't want any of that. He didn't want to sit behind a desk, typing emails and arranging conferences. He couldn't see himself doing that in the next five years. To him, it was boring, old-fashioned work. Meanwhile, the man across from him—talking nonstop—was being paid millions to teach him about a business Samuel had no interest in.
Samuel rolled his eyes when Mr. Corallo mispronounced a word.
"You mean 'basic training,'" Samuel corrected flatly. His voice was calm, but there was a bite to it.
The man stopped talking and quickly adjusted his glasses, glancing at the papers in front of him. Samuel's tone had been cool, but there was an underlying insult.
"Ah, yes, of course. Basic training," Mr. Corallo stammered, clearing his throat before continuing. "Allow me, Sir. It wasn't intentional, I promise. The statistics here show that Nickel Boron is worth over a trillion dollars, making it the top oil company in the market." He paused, meeting Samuel's gaze. "You are the heir, and it is vital, more than anything, that you understand the company's operations," he added, his voice tinged with impatience.
Mr. Corallo knew how uninterested Samuel was from the very first day of tutoring. The boy hardly ever asked questions, showed no interest, and rarely paid attention. It frustrated the older man. How could Samuel not grasp the importance of what was being handed to him? Nickel Boron was an industry worth dying for, a dream job for graduates. Mr. Corallo couldn't forget how his brilliant nephew, Damson, had been rejected after applying for an accountant position—a position that had opened up when the former accountant was promoted to another city. Damson had been perfect for the job, but still, he'd never even been called back. And here was Samuel, heir to the very company that had rejected people like Damson, showing no regard for the opportunity he had.
Samuel shifted in his seat, the words feeling too old and worn-out to him. They were the same things he had heard from everyone, especially Mr. Corallo.
"No." The man was taken aback by the boy's single word, fixing his gaze on him.
"You know what's more important than anything? If you shut your mouth," Samuel said, his tone firm and commanding.
Mr. Corallo fell silent.
"Exactly how much is the old man paying you to do this?" Samuel continued. "I'll triple the amount if you promise never to see me again."
Mr. Corallo stared at him in surprise, shaking his head.
"I can't accept what you're offering. It's my job to—"
"When was the last time you had a trim?" Samuel interrupted, his eyes scanning the man's unkempt blonde hair.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"The collar's dirty. Shoes aren't polished. And you speak incoherently," Samuel noted, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do you have a daughter? Tall, slender, with… assets? Someone who speaks fluently, maybe? I could date her for, say, two days? Because trust me, she wouldn't regret it."
Samuel bit his lip and leaned back in the armchair, watching as the man's face twisted in irritation.
"I have two daughters who are much older than you, thank you. Now, if we must continue—"
"I like them older," Samuel grinned, enjoying the man's discomfort.
"Master, your father would be disappointed to hear you say something like that," Mr. Corallo replied, visibly uneasy.
"More like you're disappointed," Samuel muttered, tossing his empty wine glass aside with a clink as he drained the last drop.
"Sir, we're still far from the material we need to cover. You need to pay attention," Mr. Corallo pressed earnestly. "It's the only way I can prove to your father that my time here isn't wasted."
Samuel rubbed his forehead, his patience fraying. "I'm tired," he muttered. He felt the overwhelming urge to throw himself onto his bed and sleep. Tomorrow, he had a helicopter ride scheduled with his friends to survey the acres of land Clinton was planning to purchase for his new penthouse. Samuel wasn't going to miss it for anything—not even if his life depended on listening to the man drone on about Nickel Boron no longer being his inheritance.
"My session with you lasts 55 minutes. We still have 30 minutes left," Mr. Corallo tried to reason, his voice professional.
Mr. Corallo was one of the most sought-after business management consultants, known for educating people about the inner workings of big enterprises. When General Flores Boron, Samuel's father, had reached out to him one sunny afternoon, Mr. Corallo had been thrilled. Nickel Boron Enterprises was a household name, the leading oil company in the world. It was everywhere in the news and magazines. The man had read more about the company in books, impressed by how Brown Flores Boron had built an empire that could endure for generations, generating trillions each day.
After meeting with Flores, Mr. Corallo had eagerly signed the contract to tutor Samuel, fully aware of the boy's stubbornness.
"Sir, I don't think you realize how important it is for you to learn about—"
"The company," Samuel interrupted, finishing the sentence in a mockingly bored tone. "I'm sick and tired of hearing about it, and I'm tired of hearing you speak about it. You're fired."
Mr. Corallo stared at him, stunned. He quickly recovered, speaking in a measured tone.
"Only your father can fire me. Just so you know, I signed a contract."
Samuel's patience snapped. He stood up abruptly, his voice flat. "You're dismissed."
Without waiting for a response, he walked toward the staircase for his room.
"Your father won't be pleased if he hears about this," Mr. Corallo called after him, his voice trailing up the stairs.
Samuel didn't look back. "Shut up and leave. That's an order."
******
Vivian stared at her phone one more time and sighed. She couldn't stop thinking about the night she saw the boys everyone at school couldn't stop talking about at the bar where she worked. They were sitting together, drinking and laughing—so effortlessly handsome. Their laughter was deep and alluring. Vivian couldn't take her eyes off them while standing behind the counter. She had wished the bar manager had let her serve them instead of the red-haired girl, who was always busy and, to Vivian, a bit of a show-off. Vivian suspected that the girl, only 25, might be having an affair with the manager, but she didn't dare say anything. She didn't trust anyone at the bar; they all seemed eager to win Mr. Bobbins' favor. Bobbins was a very generous man—he could triple your pay if you pleased him even for a second. Vivian had seen Clata flirt with Harry, and while she felt a twinge of annoyance, she couldn't help but feel a little satisfaction when Harrison didn't even glance her way. She had watched Clata frown as her shift ended.
"Ugh, Harrison is just too much," she muttered, her lips curling into a half-smile.
Anna, her best friend since forever, glanced up. "Who?"
Vivian hadn't even realized Anna was sitting next to her until she spoke. The two were sitting cross-legged on the bed. Before Vivian could answer, Anna snatched the phone from her hands.
"Harrison? I'm not surprised," Anna smiled knowingly. "You stare at his picture all the time—at them," she added, handing the phone back. "Why don't you just walk up to him and tell him how you feel when you see him in school?"
Vivian shook her head. "I don't have the courage to do that. Do you think it's that easy?"
"I don't know. You tell me," Anna said, her attention already shifting to the papers with pictures and articles scattered across her lap. Her thoughts wandered to the incident earlier that day when she'd been leaving the university gates. A boy in a luxury car had thrown a plastic bottle at her, staring blankly at her as the car drove away. Anna couldn't help but notice the resemblance between the boy, Daniel, and his father, whose face was all over the magazines as one of the highest property owners in the world. She recognized the same sharp features and tailored white suit.
"Why do they have to be everything a girl wants?" Vivian asked, confiding in her friend. She couldn't stop talking about them. Vivian had developed feelings for all five of the golden boys the very first day she arrived at school. They were the talk of the entire campus and also in the country. Their families amassed wealth brought them all out to the public eye.
"I don't think they are. They seem… rude?" Anna replied thoughtfully.
"They're all handsome," Vivian reminded her, a dreamy look in her eyes.
"I heard they don't come top in the papers," Anna pointed out.
"They're rich. Who cares?" Vivian shrugged. "I don't come top either. You do, of course. Not everyone has to." She defended herself, knowing Anna was always the top of the class since nursery. Vivian swore it was supposed to be her birthright.
"Mum made apple pie before leaving," Anna suddenly changed the topic, knowing it was Vivian's favorite. Anna had her mother bake it every Saturday. Her mom worked as an auxiliary nurse at a hospital three hours away, only coming home after weekends. Anna had never known her father—he passed away before she was born. "It's in the kitchen," she added. "You want some?"
"Hell yes!" Vivian interrupted, grinning with excitement.
"Tomorrow is Sunday. We should go out," Vivian said, standing up from the bed. "You don't want to lay around all day doing nothing. Let's have some fun. Don't worry about the bills—this one's on me."
Anna sighed and looked at her. She knew it wasn't a bad idea to have some fun, especially since her mother would be away until Sunday. "Where are we going?"
Vivian thought for a moment. "We'll figure it out tomorrow. I'm already nervous," she said with a smile, trying to reassure Anna that the nervousness wasn't a big deal—it wasn't, really.