Fake It Till You Bake It(9)

“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.

After her overseas adventures, she’d spent the last few years in L.A. trying to make it as an actress. Everyone said she was dramatic, so why not tap into her natural state of being? Unfortunately, wanting to be an actress and making a living at it were two entirely different things. There had also been her brief stint as a stylist’s assistant, but the less said about that, the better.

The reality TV dating show, My One and Only, had been a last-ditch effort to gain a potential career. At the very least, she thought she’d emerge from the show with certified credentials as a social media influencer, like so many of the show’s previous contestants. Instead, she’d panicked and broken Dr. John’s heart on the season finale because her gut was screaming that something wasn’t right about their relationship. In the process, she’d become public enemy number one. You couldn’t influence anything if the people you were supposed to be influencing hated your guts.

“I expect you to be able to hold a job for a decent amount of time,” Grams continued. “If you can do so for six months until your birthday and get rave reviews from your supervisor, the trust fund is yours.”

Six months?

There it was. The ultimatum she’d been dreading and avoiding. Jada pressed a shaky hand to her roiling stomach. If she couldn’t keep a job for six months, Grams wouldn’t hesitate to follow through with her decision not to give Jada her trust fund. She wasn’t a bullshitter. Then Jada would truly be on her own, her only options to go crawling back to her parents or end up on Olivia’s couch, which Olivia would be okay with, but Jada would not.