Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)(23)

“Look, there’s the College of Commerce and Business Administration,” Dad said, pointing as if I didn’t already know the sandstone-colored brick building with majestic arches. “I spent many hours there becoming the man I am today. Let’s go peek inside.”

On the lawn out front, a small group of students had arranged rubber mats into rows. They were dressed casually in shorts and tanks. A couple of them sat picking blades of grass. One read a book. None of them spoke to each other.

My dad held open a door, and we walked down the hall. He tried some handles. “Maybe there’s a summer school lecture we can sit in on.”

“What was your favorite class?”

“I don’t know if I had a favorite,” he said. “I enjoyed learning about strategy and operations. How to minimize costs and maximize profits.” He peered into a window on one of the doors before continuing on. “You know what I hated? Advanced statistics. It’s an important class, don’t get me wrong, but it was damn hard.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor. “You hated a class?”

“Of course I did. You think I enjoyed learning to calculate standard deviation or worrying about variance and outliers?” He looked over his shoulder, saw my expression and said, “Oh, Lake. You do think that, don’t you?”

The way he talked about college and what was ahead of me, I didn’t think there was anything he didn’t miss about it. “Kind of.”

He laughed. “I know you think I’m fanatical about this stuff, but I just want to give you opportunities. Do you think I work as hard as I do for any other reason than to take care of you girls?”

The truth was, I never really thought about it. I just assumed he worked all the time because he loved it. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t realize . . . thank you.”

He chuckled, took my face, and kissed my forehead. “I’m not asking for a thank you. I’m just trying to explain that if I’m hard on you, it’s because I want the best for you. I’m proud of you, Lake. You have so much potential. I want to give you every chance to realize it.”

My throat thickened. I knew he was proud, but it felt good to hear him say it once in a while. “I will,” I said. I had no idea how, but I’d always been a good student, always put in the time to do better, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon. “I promise.”

One of the locked doors opened, and a blonde woman who looked a little older than Tiffany leaned out. “Can I help you?”

Dad turned. “Oh. Sorry if we disturbed you. We were just checking things out.” He put his arm around my shoulder. “My daughter’s a prospective student.”

She smiled at me. “Welcome. Will you be applying to business school?”

Dad had told me a few times that in business and in life, it was important to act confident, especially when you weren’t. I straightened my shoulders. “Yes.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder.

“Well, I’m an assistant professor in the Business Economics department. Maybe by the time you get here, I’ll have my doctorate and you’ll be in my class.”

“How about that, Lake?” He winked at the woman. “You already know a professor.”

She laughed. “Well, not yet . . .”

“Maybe I’ll come with my daughter, sit in on your class,” he said. “Who knows? I might learn something.”

“And what do you do?”

“COO of a little company called Ainsley-Bushner Pharmaceuticals. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

She gaped at him. “Of course I have. Forget sitting in on my class—I’ll be shamelessly begging you for a guest lecture.”

I might as well have left the room. My dad had a weird look on his face he didn’t get around Mom, something I thought might border on flirtatious. Whatever he was doing, I didn’t think I wanted to witness it. “I’m going to go outside and explore a little,” I said.

“Don’t go too far,” Dad said, releasing me. “We have to leave soon to get home in time for dinner.”

“So I know all about CEOs and CFOs,” she said as I walked away, “but COO’s are a bit more mysterious. What exactly do you do?”

Dad had a standard answer to that question, but his tone changed depending on who was asking. Sometimes it was meant to end a conversation. Other times, like this one, it was an invitation to ask more. “A little of this, a little of that.”

I left them in the hallway and headed outside. The sun was beginning to sink into late afternoon, turning the sky orange. The students I’d seen earlier were lying on their backs on the lawn as a bearded man wove through the maze of mats. Each had one hand on their stomach and the other on their chest.

“We’ll begin each session by consulting with our bodies,” he said. “Breathe from your diaphragm. Don’t know how? The hand on your stomach should rise higher than the one on your chest. Inhale. Keep your eyes closed.” He looked at me. “Now, exhale for eight counts and expel everything from your body that doesn’t belong in this class.” He looked around, nodding. “Just breathe. Your life depends on it. So does your grade.”

A few people laughed. I’d gotten closer than I’d meant, but they looked so at peace.

“Want to join?”