Chapter 7

Molly

My Porsche cuts through the traffic like nothing else can.

She’s my baby and I love to drive her to my parent’s manor outside the city.

Like I said, I work hard and I know that I deserve every luxury and extravagance, starting with this dream of a sports car that I’ve been wanting since I was a little girl.

My black on black model is way faster and better than anything on the market and it makes me fucking happy, so why not?

My parent’s house is situated far from the chaos and the bustle of the city. It’s noon and I’m on time, as per usual. It’s an accountability thing.

The long tree-lined avenue that leads to the manor fills me with nostalgia that warms my system.

Turning off the car, I take a second to check my makeup, and then I take a deep breath. Meeting with my parents always brings up an array of old emotions in me. It takes all my effort not to devolve into a child when I’m around them.

I have to hold my ground, today more than ever.

I stare up at Quinn Manor as I stand in the driveway, shielding my eyes from the sun.

My parents live out in the Hamptons, which should come as no surprise to you, or anyone who knows our family, for that matter. My mom loves to be by the coast where she can sit on the beach, drinking cocktails with her friends while they gossip about other rich housewives.

Once a week, I come out here to join my father for lunch.

And once a week, like always, my father doesn’t care.

The purpose of my arrival is to report on the company, its daily processes and how things are moving along.

My father never asks me to do this, and I’m sure he doesn’t fucking give two shits about what I have to say, but I do it anyway.

You probably want to know why I spend a tireless amount of effort to impress someone who doesn’t notice me. Yes, it hurts sometimes, but that just proves my devotion to not only my father, but to our family business as a whole.

The company is my life, and I care more about it than anyone involved―I just don’t get the recognition I deserve. I won’t let that little glitch derail me, though; I always start my day with driven purpose.

Think of it as a tradition of sorts. Yeah, that helps me not sound so crazy…right?

“Hey, Daddy.” I give Richard Quinn, a.k.a. my father, a polite smile and kiss the top of his head as I walk past him.

He’s already sitting at the head of the table, where he belongs, in the formal dining room of his mansion.

“Good afternoon, Molly.” He nods his head in a gesture of greeting.

I sigh and sit down directly next to him on the right-hand side. I glance around the room. My mother always makes sure there’s a giant bouquet of fresh roses in the center of the twenty-seater table.

Today is no exception, and they’re blooming with delight. I can smell their aroma and flowery fresh scent.

“You look good today, Daddy.” I smile at him again.

“Molly, can you do me a favor?” My dad briefly glances at me, ignoring my compliment.

“Sure,” I shrug. “What is it?”

“Can you sit on the other side?”

“You mean…over there?” I point across the table.

My father smiles with relief. “Yes, please, that will be perfect.”

I look at him with confusion. “Why? There’s no one in the room with you, Daddy.”

I know exactly why my dad is asking me to move, and it’s because of fucking Harry. Harry fucking Quinn, the rat bastard who I just so happen to share a blood relationship with because we came out of the same vagina.

That’s right; in case you are forgetting, allow me to catch you up to speed. Harry Quinn, my brother, is the heir to this ridiculous ‘throne’ of Quinn Industries and is currently acting as CEO of the company.

“Daddy, do you even see Harry in the room right now? He’s not coming to lunch today and he never will. He’s not dedicated like me.” I further plead my case. “I mean, come on, does he even care enough to come in here every week for lunch to give you the company rundown? Does he call you everyday and send you emails detailing every penny spent and every penny made? No Daddy. I do all that. I act as the CEO and Harry takes the credit.”

I’m screeching like a banshee at this point, and I’m sure my father has no patience for it, but right now I don’t even fucking care.

I have to move seats just in case the golden boy decides to show up.

It’s ridiculous and it’s the story of my life.

If I had been born a male, all of this would be different.

My father sighs, rolls his eyes, and places his napkin in his lap while he waits for his servant to come and place the food in front of his spoiled, pretentious white ass.

“I don’t ask you to come here and give me the company rundown, Molly. I’m up to speed every day, just like I tell you,” my father lectures.

“Whatever.” I scoff and dramatically move to the left seat, making sure to pout, huff and make a scene while I’m at it.

“Molly…” My father sighs again. “Don’t act like a sullen child.”

“Then don’t treat me like one, Daddy,” I hiss back.

My father and I have lunch together, sitting mainly in silence, but I drone on mechanically with my laptop, telling him of the most recent events that I think he might want to be abreast about with regards to the talent and new hires.

After we eat, my father stands to leave the room. He plants a kiss on my forehead. “As always, it’s lovely to have lunch with you, darling,” he says and starts to walk away.

“Daddy, wait,” I call back to him.

“Yes?” He turns around.

My father still has a thick head of dark hair that’s only now starting to grey in at the sides. He’s wearing a grey pinstriped suit, and I notice that he’s thinning from what used to be his heavyset body type.

“Why are you making Harry the CEO? It’s not fair.” I hate to stoop to this level of blaming, but I honestly can’t understand my father’s choices.

“Molly, you are too sheltered to understand why I’m going a different way with the company? Harry is just…” he shrugs. “You know, a better fit.” He grins sheepishly.

“I have all the time in the world, Daddy,” I cross my arms defiantly. “Please enlighten me on why you won’t give me a chance. I’m really fucking great at my job, and I’m the better choice. You know it, Daddy, deep down you do,” I argue.

“Harry knows the ins and outs of the company.” My father’s grasping at straws—at least that’s how it looks to me, whether he sees it or not. “He’s good with people, charming.”

I scoff. “Dad, you can’t be fucking serious right now,” I shout. “Um, let’s recount Harry’s perfect life, shall we?”

My father shifts his weight uncomfortably and rolls his eyes, but he’s silent. Apparently he’s going to let me grab the reins and roll off on this little tangent.

“Don’t forget, Daddy: Harry sleeps around, fucking anything that moves. He never comes here to sit in on these business meetings…”

Richard Quinn interrupts me. “These are lunches, not business meetings.”

“Stop!” I hold up a hand to hush him. “He sleeps on the job; he’s rarely spotted in his office…I mean, Daddy, the list goes on and on,” I state.

My father and I stare at each other for a few seconds, neither one of us having the balls to cave. Then my father roars in anger, sending shivers up my spine, once again trying to put me in my place.

“Molly, that’s enough,” he yells. “You have no right to speak to me this way or question my choices. I am your father,” he states firmly. “If you were better at decision-making and conflict-resolution, then I would have named you as the CEO, not Harry. It’s plain and simple Molly, black and white. There’s no grey line here.” He points a finger at me.

“Daddy,” I whisper softly and look at the floor.

“Another thing,” he belts out. “You never take risks. Harry lives for the adventure, and he’s always coming up with new ways to develop the company and knock it out of the ballpark. That’s Harry’s primary edge!” My father spouts.

“You really think I’m that pathetic?” I look up at my father.

My father scoffs. “Why would I ever want a boring person with a stick permanently up their ass to inherit my company? Molly, you would run it into the ground the second you got your hands on it. This is the entertainment business, and things have to be fast-paced all the time.”

Wow. That fucking hurts.

I push past my father, ready to run from the room and throw up the lunch currently forming a solid rock in my gut.

“Where are you going?” my father calls behind me.

“I’m asking to be excused, Daddy,” I say, hatred lacing my words, not looking back as I run out of the manor and into the blinding sunlight.