MAXIMUS

B o r i n g. B o r i n g. B o r i n g g g g. . .

That’s what I’ve been chanting in my head for the past two hours while I endured this endless discussion about our company’s new project. It’s like being trapped in a meeting about paint drying—except, somehow, less exciting.

Unfortunately, I’m actually here at the company, sitting in the farthest right corner, right next to Dad, who’s at the center of the action. I showed up at 9:00 a.m. sharp, and now it’s 11:30 a.m. How did I end up here? Well, Dad called me earlier, sounding furious, so I thought I had no choice but to show up. Turns out, he wasn’t even mad. He just used his booming voice and a little dramatic flair to trick me into thinking I was in trouble. Classic Dad. He knows if he had mentioned there was a meeting, I’d have ghosted it entirely.

Business stuff? Yeah, no thanks. It’s my worst nightmare. Ever. I don’t understand a single thing they’re talking about, and honestly? I don’t care. I'm a nepo kid so basically, I know nothing about business. I’m just here serving them my handsome, unblemished face, riding on my father’s fame, using his influence to intimidate people and pretend I have some sort of power. That’s my job. End of story.

I have no clue what they’re talking about. Real estate, taxes, government policies, law, beneficiaries, target market—blah, blah, blah. It’s all just noise to me. And guess what? I don’t give a fuck. I need to get out of here. A.S.A.P.

I need some fresh air—anything to escape this corporate prison. My number-one handsome face in the whole world is literally starting to wrinkle from all this business talk. I only signed up to serve them my godly looks, and this was *not* part of the deal. 

“And that’s our plan for the new hotel project,” one of the presenters finally concluded, bowing as if he’d just finished giving a lecture to the class.

“Do you think your plan will meet the corresponding percentages as presented?” Dad asked seriously, resting his clasped hands on the table right below his chin.

“Yes, sir,” the presenters stammered, clearly intimidated by Dad’s steely gaze.

“Are you sure?” Dad’s eyebrows shot up.

Without waiting for a response (because he knew he wouldn’t get one), Dad turned to the board of directors. “Any suggestions or ideas to improve this plan?”

The presenters looks like they have just been handed a one-way ticket to the corporate gallows. Meanwhile, im mentally drafting my escape route.

They talked for a good 30 minutes and that's Great. Now, where’s the nearest exit?

I am about to make my escape when Dad stopped me. Seriously annoying.

“Where are you going? STAY,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

He’s so bossy and strict. Ugh, all I want is a drink and to call it a day.Reluctantly, I stayed as commanded, plopping down on the couch. I watched him approach with a mix of dread and confusion. I haven’t done anything wrong, so why is he suddenly flexing his dominance?

“Do you remember your mistake, son?” Dad asked with a smile that was more vicious than kind, settling beside me with a noticeable gap of space between us.

“What mistake? As far as I remember, I only do great things, Dad,” lie. I reply with a force grin, knowing full well what he’s hinting at. 

“It seems you’ve forgotten. Anyways, I want you to lead this project. You’re 21 already —old enough to manage a business. This one’s easy-peasy.” He tapped my shoulder with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

His smile is seriously irritating. Is this really my dad? Why does it feel like he’s trying to scare me? Sure, I did mess up, but it wasn’t that bad. It was just my usual cat fights with strangers when they get under my skin.

I sighed, realizing it was better to come clean. Lying any further wouldn’t end well. I’ll just polish my image a bit so he’ll be on my side, hehehe.

“I only punched that Chinese guy, Ma, because he insulted me,” I admitted, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “He called me names and used slurs, so I punched him. It’s not my fault; he was just soooo ugly that time so my fist landed. Im just trying to beautify it, no hidden intention intended" 

"Also, his mouth smelled fishy like—Ewwwwww~” I made a disgusted face, waving my hand theatrically to emphasize the terrible smell.

“So, you did punch Mr. Ma’s son. Maximus, do you even realize that Mr. Ma is the second-largest stockholder in our company, right after us?” Dad informed me.

Guess what? I couldn't care less.

“Looks like its really decided. You’ll be the one to manage the project,” Dad continued, his tone final.

“You were listening earlier, right? If you did, it should be easy to execute the project since I’ll give you an assistant who’ll be a huge help. Just make sure you deliver a complete outcome, son. I believe in you.” He stood up and made a dismissive gesture to me, signaling the end of his lecture.

I am baffled. Why does he think this is the best punishment? Outcome? I don’t even know how to manage my own money, let alone build a freakin’ hotel! This is absolutely ridiculous.

“I can’t lead the project!” I blurted out. “Please, Dad, I’m begging you. I only punched Ace Ma twice. Please, just not this project!”

I dropped to my knees, clutching at his thighs in a dramatic plea. “And by the way, it’s Ace Ma, not Asthma,” I added with a chuckle, correcting my earlier slip-up.

Dad laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so silly.”

“But are you sure it was only twice, son?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I hissed, trying to recall my usual fights. The only difference this time was that it was some other guy again. "I probably punched him three times?" I mumbled, counting on my fingers.

“Maybe four.”

“Or five.”

“No, six times!”

"But I punched him again after he called me stupid, so that makes it SEVEN TIMES. Yes, SEVEN TIMES. I punched him seven times," I declared proudly, still kneeling and clinging to his legs. Who wouldn't? Ace Ma is a troublesome rich kid at my prestigious academy, acting like a king and bullying everyone. I really can't stand people like that. He's lucky I don't take things too far; otherwise, he'd be in a coma right now.

“Seven?” Dad smirked.

“Maybe a dozen times. But the fight was intense. I even have scratches and bruises. Look father,” I showed off adorably my almost-healed scratches and bruises on my face, shoulder, and even on my knuckles.

Dad touch the scars gently, his tone softening. “Look at your handsome face, all scratched up,” he cooed, while I whimpered like a defeated puppy seeking comfort.

Dad always knows all my shenanigans, my different levels of craziness—the whole me.  He knows me better than I know myself, which is why I can’t lie to him. I’m terrible at it, and he always catches me in the act. It’s so irritating, but I guess next time I’ll have to step up my game, he he he.

"So ill see you in two weeks? " Father grinned rather mischievously.

A look of shock spread across my face after Dad said those triggering words. I thought I was doing a great job of playing the victim, hoping he’d think twice about whether to hand me the new project to lead.

"Dad, please, you can't do this to your handsome son! It's child abuse!" I protested. I really thought he’d at least lighten up, given how he acts like he cares. I guess I’m just not a family member anymore.

"Whether you punch mr. Ma's son or not, the project is bound to fall for you and lead it. Im getting old, and I want you to learn and experience it" Dad tried to help me up, but I refused to stand. I won't budge until he reduce my punishment.

This is pure torture!