I always have my alarm set on the opposite side of my room. That way, when I hear it go off in the morning, I have no choice but to jump out of bed and turn it off.

Once I’m already up, there’s no point in getting back under those warm and cozy covers—that’s the mentality I live out each and every day.

I’m Molly Quinn, and if you know anything about me, it’s that I’m a work horse—a competitive woman just trying to carve a path of success for herself. I stop for no one, and I put every ounce of blood, sweat and tears into everything I do.

There’s no point in doing anything halfway, and that’s another one of my mottos.

It’s dark as I hit the button on my cell phone to silence the alarm. I yawn, stretch and turn on the bathroom light as it slowly creates a warm glow in my bedroom. The point is to adjust my eyes to the light before walking out to the kitchen.

I get dressed in my workout gear and head to my kitchen where I start a pot of coffee that I’ll drink after I have my workout.

I then walk to my living room where my electric bike sits proudly in front of the wall-to-wall panoramic window views of midtown Manhattan. I pick up the morning paper and proceed to read it after jumping on my bike for this morning’s spinning session.

You probably think I’m crazy for getting up before dawn just to ‘fake’ run on a stationary bike. You might ask why I don’t just jog the city streets.

Well, I feel more comfortable in my own house, collecting sweat while I do something enjoyable like reading the morning paper. Running on my electric bike is how a tightly-wound and virtually high-strung woman such as me gets her relaxing time in for the day.

I look around at my clean and orderly apartment. I can’t fucking stand for anything to be out of place. Not even a speck of dust or a single crumb is allowed to live on my floor.

The only things on my countertops are my coffee pot and toaster, and that’s only because I have no cabinet space to put them in—otherwise I would prefer the counters to be completely bare.

I’m what the male species refers to as ‘beauty and brains.’ I’m the hot nerdy chick, if you want to call it that. What an oxymoron right?

But yes, that’s totally me in a nutshell.

I’m also the only daughter of business tycoon Richard Quinn, owner of Quinn Industries. What does this enterprise do, you ask?

Well, let’s just say my father runs the ‘special entertainment’ clubs of Manhattan. His company is in charge of hiring, firing, and the overall general management of the talent for the most popular strip clubs in the city.

He’s a rich bastard, but I have to fucking love him because he’s my dad.

That doesn’t mean I have to actually like him, though, right?

My dad and I have a lot of the same qualities, which might be part of the reason why we butt heads so often. I consider myself to be a strong business-minded woman, much like my father thinks of himself, only from the male perspective.

There’s just one tiny glitch in this system that keeps it from operating smoothly, and it has a name. Or should I say, he has a name.

Yep, I’m not an only child.

My older brother Harry Quinn is my biggest competition. Not the other women out there trying to make a name for themselves in the business world of New York City. Nope, it’s my very own fucking older brother.

Harry and I are opposites in every way, even when it comes to our physical features. Harry has dark red hair, almost an auburn color, and it’s wavy. I have straight-as-a-board, long blonde hair.

Harry likes to remind me that if I’d stop being such an “uptight bitch with a stick up my ass” all the time, then maybe my father would give me the time of day and take me seriously.

Yes, that is a direct quote from Harry fucking Quinn himself. I know I’m tense; it doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure that out.

I’ll always be second when it comes to the beloved golden child Harry. He could fart and my father would praise him for doing it best. That’s just the way the fucking cookie crumbles in the Quinn family.

Meanwhile, my fancy mother just sits in the background, filing her nails and judging everything that moves or breathes.

We aren’t exactly the token family, and Dysfunctional should probably be our last name instead of Quinn, but take them or leave them, I know that they’re my only ticket to victory.

I jump off the bike, sweaty and with my heart pounding. I rode extra fast today, thinking about how angry my brother and father make me.

It’s just a fucking frustrating situation to be in, especially when all I want to do in life is make a name for myself and succeed.

I head back to my bathroom and draw myself a lukewarm bath. Yes, I’m a weirdo and prefer baths after my workouts as opposed to showers.

There’s something about lying in the water that makes my muscles relax, and I don’t feel as sore afterwards. Take notes, folks…I may be on to the top-secret workout tips of the world, you just never know.

As I lie there, submerging most of my body in the water, I think about how hard it is to be a woman in this society. I don’t just want to break the glass ceiling, I want to fucking shatter that motherfucker. Like with a sledgehammer, while all the glass rains down on all the men who tell women they can’t amount to anything.

Okay, maybe there’s a chance that’s slightly melodramatic, but I’m just trying to explain to you how difficult it is out there and how most of the time I feel like fucking shark bait.

The double standards exist, and the competitions are all one sided. I’m worlds smarter than my asshole brother Harry.

Growing up, who was in the gifted and talented programs at school? If you’re guessing me, then ding ding ding, you win the prize. Congratulations.

Harry never works hard unless he thinks someone’s watching him. The motivation isn’t driven by the actual desire to do an astounding job. He just wants to be lazy and get rich, living in the limelight of my father.

Yes, I’m sullen but I have a fucking right to be. I deserve as much, if not more, attention than Harry because I actually put effort into my work.

But all my trials are in vain, because in the end, Harry always gets the vote from my father. There’s got to be some secret to prove my worth to our dad, but I have yet to figure that one out.

Men can’t handle me, I already know that. I want to be superior, or on the same level as them at the very least, and they don’t like it, not one fucking bit.

They can’t deal with an alpha female. Guys need to feel in control all the time, and they won’t let some successful women grab them by the balls.

As I get dressed in my sexy A-line skirt and white blouse, I think about how tired I am of trying to get approval from men. I’m my own person, and I’m not going to answer to fucking anyone.

I walk to my front door and close it behind me, preparing for another day at the office and hoping for the best.