Cat Treats
After eight generations, the Kingsley family finally had a daughter, and everyone treasured me like I was made of glass.
Unfortunately, my brain didn't seem to work all that well, especially with a genius childhood friend right beside me for comparison.
At three, he was reciting poetry. I was sucking my thumb.
At fourteen, he was accepted early into an elite university. I was still learning addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.
My parents couldn't stop worrying, so they hired the childhood friend I'd been close to since we were little to help out at the company.
He attended meetings, went on business trips, and read the financial reports for me. I ate, shopped, and collected dividends.
Over time, everyone started saying the Kingsley heiress couldn't function without him.
Then he hired a young Gen Z assistant.
She picked fights with everyone and everything, even thin air. She even stormed into my office, jabbed a finger in my face, and shouted, "Ms. Kingsley, could you have a little dignity? Just because you've known Mr. Frost since you were kids doesn't mean you get to cling to him for the rest of your life! You can't even read a financial report. What makes an idiot like you think you deserve to hang on to Mr. Frost?"
My childhood friend sighed and shielded his little assistant behind him.
"She's young and new to the workforce. Don't hold it against her."
He thought that would be the end of it.
I may be slow, and it's true I can't make sense of those complicated financial reports.
But there's one thing my parents taught me growing up that I've never forgotten.
"There are plenty of people who can make money for the Kingsleys.
"If someone rubs you the wrong way, fire them."