I'm a lazy snob. Well, that's what my dad called me last night, and honestly, he's not entirely wrong. In his world, taking a year off after high school is unthinkable. I mean, the guy built an empire from scratch—he runs one of the most successful oil companies on the East Coast, and he's the kind of person who doesn't believe in idle time. In his mind, a gap year is basically an invitation to ruin my future.
But here I am, freshly 18 and stubbornly clinging to the idea of a little freedom. I want a year to figure out what I actually want to do, without the constant pressure of career plans or college applications breathing down my neck. But according to my dad, "figuring things out" isn't a good enough reason to "waste time." So he gave me an ultimatum: Take the year off if you want, but only if you start working.
And that's how I ended up at this ridiculous launch event for some new phone, tagging along like a trophy daughter. I came to keep the peace—to keep him from adding "ungrateful" to his growing list of complaints. I don't actually care about the latest phone features. But tech events are the "place to be" for networking, apparently. So, we're here, in a sprawling, dimly lit hall with neon blue lighting and music pulsing just enough to make the whole thing feel like some high-tech nightclub. It's the kind of place where everyone seems to be somebody important, or at least acting like it.
I hang back, watching as my dad, in his usual tailored suit, glides through the room, shaking hands and laughing a little too loudly with other business people. I know he'd prefer I stay at his side, nodding politely and smiling when introduced as his daughter, but I needed a break. So I head to the bar and order a sparkling water, not really in the mood for anything stronger.
As I sip, I start to wander around, observing the crowd. I don't know anyone here—no surprise. These are his people, not mine. But then, a small group of people my age catches my eye. They're laughing and talking casually, without the stiff, buttoned-up demeanor that seems to fill the rest of the room.
I decide to make my way over, figuring they're probably as bored as I am. One of the guys in the group has this look about him that's hard to ignore—dark hair, a confident smirk, and this effortless style that's a little too put-together for someone who's just here for the free champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Except he's clearly drunk. His body sways slightly as he gestures animatedly, his glass almost sloshing over the rim as he laughs at something no one else seems to think is that funny.
And then, he notices me, his dark eyes narrowing in as if he's trying to focus.
"Hey, you look like you're here against your will," he slurs, though his voice has this British lilt that's kind of charming. Or, well, would be charming if he weren't about three drinks past his limit.
I roll my eyes, unable to stop myself. "Is it that obvious?"
"Kind of," he smirks, holding his glass up in a mock toast before downing what's left in one go. "Same here. Family dragged me. Bunch of hypocrites if you ask me."
"Hypocrites?" I ask, a little intrigued despite myself. "How so?"
He shrugs, the smirk becoming more of a sloppy grin. "You know... all the fancy tech, the flashing lights... pretending they're interested in anything other than looking important."
"Right," I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Because being forced to be here and guzzle free champagne is so irritating."
His expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as if I've struck a nerve. "Hey, I don't expect someone like you to get it," he says, his tone sharp.
"Someone like me?" I arch an eyebrow, already regretting engaging him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He chuckles darkly, glancing me up and down with an annoying sense of superiority. "Daddy's little princess," he says, raising his empty glass as if to toast me. "Let me guess. Here to keep Daddy happy, right?"
I take a deep breath, refusing to let him get to me. "I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Oh, touchy," he slurs, leaning a little too close as he speaks, his breath carrying the faint, sharp tang of whatever overpriced liquor he's been downing. "Just saying. It's obvious."
I cross my arms, glancing at his glass. "And it's obvious that you can't handle your alcohol."
He laughs, a loud, careless sound that makes me instantly regret every word I've said to him. "Yeah? Well, maybe I don't care what you think. You and everyone else here—too busy being self-righteous to have a good time."
Before I can respond, he reaches for a bottle of champagne on the table, aiming to refill his glass but missing entirely, spilling a wave of it directly onto my dress. I gasp, staring down at the mess soaking into the pale fabric, and feel a flare of anger bubbling up.
"Oh, great!" I snap, my voice dripping with irritation. "That's just what I needed tonight."
His eyes widen in a delayed reaction, and he tries to wipe at the stain, only making it worse. "Oops," he says, though there's no real apology in his tone. He's smiling—actually smiling—like this whole thing is some joke.
"UGHHH" I mutter, stepping back from him and shaking the champagne off my hands.
He chuckles, leaning back against the bar with a smug expression, not even bothering to apologize. "Hey, it's just a dress. Lighten up, Princess."
"Maybe I would if I didn't have to deal with people like you." I spin around, storming off before he can see the blush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. As I walk away, I catch a few people staring, some of them chuckling to themselves, and it only fuels my frustration. I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down, but the embarrassment and annoyance linger.
The audacity of it all lingers as I try to shake off the encounter. I came here to keep my dad happy, but somehow, tonight has only made me feel like an outsider—and a complete idiot for even entertaining a conversation with that smug, arrogant guy in the first place.
