Chapter 1

That day, my "poor country boy" act imploded with the whole company witnessing my epic humiliation. Wanda sneered, "Thought you were a penniless backwoods cowherd?"

Now, I, the Prince of the Carroll Empire, am kneeling by her feet for forgiveness. "Honey, take every damn ox! Just unblock my black card?"

*****

I stared at the photo sitting across the conference table, tapping my fingers on the solid wood. I looked up at my dad. "This is it? You want me to marry her?"

The woman in the picture had this elegant, dignified smile. And that emerald necklace around her neck? Looked even pricier than my grandma's whole collection.

"She's from the Wise family. A perfect match for you," my dad said, slamming his cup down. "The engagement party's next month—"

"I'm not going." I cut him off without hesitation.

"Your son isn't so useless that he needs a political marriage to keep the family business afloat."

The room went dead silent. One could hear the hum of the central air conditioner.

My uncles around the table looked like they were watching a car crash. Uncle Frank was trying so hard not to laugh, his mouth was twitching all the way to his ears.

My dad's face went livid. "Grayson! Do you even know what real life is like? Ever since you were a kid..."

"Oh, is that so?" I shot up from my chair, and a button on my suit went flying. "Guess I'll go see what this 'real life' is all about."

The leather chair screeched loudly as I shoved it back.

As I slammed the door behind me, I could hear my dad bellowing, "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back!"

*****

Three hours later, I was sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window in my apartment, on the phone with my assistant. "Set me up with an entry-level job, just like any new grad."

"Mr. Carroll, which branch do you want to check out? I'll let them know you're coming—"

"No need."

I swirled my wine glass. "This time, I'm going undercover as a regular employee."

There was a loud clatter on the other end of the line, like a pen had just hit the floor.

*****

The next morning, at 8:15, I walked into Star Ad Agency.

Grover Bell, the HR director, was waiting for me at the elevator, beads of sweat practically dripping into his eyes. He stammered, "Mr. Car—"

I cut him off with a quick handshake. "Mr. Bell, right? Just call me Grayson. I'm a regular employee now."

His hand was shaking so badly, it looked like he had Parkinson's. "We've got you set up in the planning department, just like you asked, but the department head insisted on bringing in a new hire..."

"Works for me." I straightened my bargain 100-dollar suit, despite the lining costing several tens of thousands.

Something suddenly occurred to me. "By the way, which branch is this?"

Grover looked like he'd just swallowed a live frog. "It's... It's Star Ad Agency—the one you signed off on acquiring last month."

Perfect.

Of all places, I'd randomly picked the company I bought myself.

*****

In the planning department, even through the glass door, I could hear someone smashing a keyboard.

"Is the client out of their mind? 'Colorful black'? Why not just ask for a flying pig while they're at it!"

The woman at the desk had her hair thrown up in a messy high ponytail, the blue light from her monitor highlighting the dark circles under her eyes.

Her coffee mug read "Survival Juice for Office Drones," and next to it sat a half-eaten box of cookies.

Grover swallowed hard. "That's Ms. Wanda Tillery—she's your leader now."

Before I could even react, a crumpled ball of paper shot out from inside and smacked me right in the chest.

"Hey you! How long are you planning to stand there just watching?" She spun around and shot me a glare, her eyes sweeping over my bare resume. "Are you the new guy?"

I put on my best sincere face. "Good morning, Ms. Tillery. I'm Grayson Carroll."

She snatched up my resume and gave a cold, mocking laugh. "No internships, no experience... and your one 'special skill' is horseback riding? What do you think this is, a ranch? This is an ad agency!"

"Oops, typo." I kept a straight face. "Yeah, I meant electric bike. I'm just a country boy. My family only had cows."

Her mouth twitched, and then she suddenly grabbed my wrist.

My heart sank.

Damn, I forgot to take off my Patek Philippe Sky Moon!

"Look at these baby-soft hands..." She ran her thumb over my palm, then dropped my hand with a look of disgust. "Not a single callus. So, what, your family's cow does all the plowing by itself?"

Behind me, Grover let out a choked cough.

"Go make some coffee." She tossed me a mug. "Don't tell me you don't even know how to work the coffee machine."

I grabbed the mug and made my way to the break room.

I overheard her muttering to a coworker, "How'd this connected candidate even get in? His CV's got more blank space than a kindergartener's coloring book."

The coworker whispered back, "Heard Mr. Bell himself dropped him off this morning."

I spun the mug in my hand.

On the bottom, in tiny letters, it said: "Overtime kills, refill for slackers."

Interesting.