Jada side-eyed the phone before lifting it back to her ear. “We’ve moved on to guilt, I see.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
Grams’s voice lightened. “Then I haven’t lost my touch.”
Jada shook her head. Like there was any chance of that happening. Her grandmother was the smartest, sharpest person she knew. Her parents and sister were all certified geniuses and Grams left them all in her dust. “You’re too much.”
“Thank you! You know I love a compliment. Since I know you feel the same, here’s one for you. I see your potential.”
Gratitude swept through Jada. Her grandmother often had a sixth sense for saying exactly what she needed to hear. “Thanks, Grams.”
“You’re welcome,” Grams said. “Remember what we talked about before you went on that show?”
At the indirect mention of her trust fund, Jada’s heart stuttered. She’d always counted on that money to act as her safety net if her parents ever went through with their threat to cut her off if she didn’t “grow up” and join their business. They’d asked one more time after the finale aired. She’d turned down the offer because a., working for her parents sounded like hell on earth, and b., she knew she could always ask Grams for early access to her trust fund if it came to that. They’d informed her that on the first of the month, a mere ten days away, they would close her credit card accounts and no longer pay her bills.
She was supposed to take control of her trust fund at age twenty-six, but only if her grandmother deemed her ready. She’d planned to ask if she could receive it early, but now … She swallowed. “Yes.”
Grams sighed. “I want you to see the potential inside of you. You’re smart.”
Her grandmother was the only person to say that. Jada was used to being described as fun. Unpredictable, too. But smart? Nope. “Thanks.”
“Have you thought about your next steps?” her grandmother continued.
“Yes.” She just hadn’t come up with anything. She was twenty-five years old and had no idea what she wanted to be when she grew up. Awesome.
School had been hard. Not impossible, but hard. Most people would think it would get easier once she was diagnosed with dyslexia. Her parents had seen it as their personal failing. They’d overcompensated with tutors and doctors galore, which did help her academically, at least.
Even if she didn’t have dyslexia, the odds still hadn’t been in her favor that she could keep up with her genius parents and sister. She thought quickly on her feet but making scientific breakthroughs like her parents and sister did would never be her calling.
That didn’t mean she didn’t want to please her parents, which led to an unfortunate detour into a legal studies major in college. They’d been thrilled. She hated it. She graduated with a degree in humanities—by the skin of her teeth, but she’d done it out of sheer stubbornness, if nothing else.
Her parents had not been pleased. Their practical, scientific minds couldn’t fathom majoring in something as “flimsy” as humanities. They’d pressured her to join their medical research firm. According to them, she could work as a receptionist, and they would hire the best tutors available if she went to grad school and got a “real degree.” She’d escaped to Europe instead.
“So you’ve found a job?”
The eagerness in her grandmother’s voice yanked Jada out of her trip down hellacious memory lane. She cleared her throat. “Not yet.”
There was no point in lying to her grandmother. Grams always saw right through her. But Grams didn’t know what her parents had done, and she didn’t want to come in between her mother and her grandmother.
“That’s okay,” Grams replied immediately, ever supportive. “I don’t expect you to have your dream career picked out, and I understand you don’t want to work for me or your parents.”
Jada’s stomach fluttered with nerves. Why did she sense a “but” coming?
“But you do need some direction,” Grams continued.
Something that had eluded Jada since graduation. While in Europe, after traveling a bit, she’d dabbled in deejaying. Who didn’t like dancing in the club to fun music? Except it wasn’t as glamorous as she’d imagined it to be. Weird hours. Unfamiliar, sometimes unsafe, settings. Unsteady, unreliable pay. She’d quit after being grabbed by one too many sweaty, sleazy, gross club owners who thought she was using the job to meet them. The last guy had gotten a nice knee in the balls for his trouble. He’d also badmouthed her to every owner of every noteworthy club throughout Europe.