Baby for the Bosshole

I arch an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to elaborate.

–Me: Calm down before you do something you’ll regret. Probably nobody noticed. It isn’t like anybody goes to office hours after the first month.

Not because Griffin’s class is easy. But when a subject is too far beyond your comprehension, you can’t even ask a question because you know so little. Plus, girls who have the hots for him tend to give up after about four to five weeks because he never sleeps with his students.

–Griffin: WRONG! I had a bunch of econ majors outside my office to protest their midterm grades.

–Grant: Does it matter? You’re the envy of all the frat boys.

Grant and my phones ring. It’s Huxley, doing a group call.

“Griff, I know you’re mad. But you’re tenured, so who cares?” he says in a feeble attempt to cheer our brother up.

Griffin is seething. If Dad were in his office, he’d give him a flying knee to the face. Although he’s a professor of a subject as unexciting as econometrics, he’s done years of kickboxing.

“He’s right,” I say. “It isn’t like you hired her.”

“The fucking head of the department cares, that’s who. He wants me to, quote, ‘restore the dignity of the economics department,’ unquote, by doing some bullshit case he couldn’t get anybody else to do because it’s stupid. It’s a tech firm that couldn’t make it in Silicon Valley.” If Griffin were a cat, all his hair would be raised. “It’s a failing company with poor capitalization and cash flow.”

“It’ll be fine,” Grant says. “Just go through the motions. It isn’t like anybody expects you to work a miracle. Shoddily run companies fail all the time.”

I nod. “Exactly.”

Grant leans backs in his seat. His gaze flicks to the tower of pregnancy-related books on my desk, and a smirk tugs at his mouth. “By the way, guys, guess what Emmett’s reading now?”

“How to Anal-Rape Wall Street for Profit in Three Easy Steps?” Noah says.

“Pregnancy and baby books.”

My brothers erupt. I give Grant a dry look. “They’re for market research,” I say, while Grant snickers.

“He wants to know about morning sickness,” Grant says.

“Yeah, I hear there’s a booming market for pregnancy puke,” Sebastian says.

I sigh. They clearly don’t believe me about the market research, not even a little. Excess protest on my part would only cement their disbelief.

“Just make sure she stays near a toilet,” says Huxley, Mr. Practical. “But the real problem isn’t morning sickness, it’s the weird cravings. One of the assistants in my office got knocked up a little while back. She ate canned tuna mixed with mustard and chopped green olives for three months.”

“That sounds disgusting.” Hopefully Amy will like something a bit more normal and dignified. Like tacos or pizza. “But the books really are for an industry analysis. Grant doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Time for a change of topic. “How’s the birthday gift coming along?”

“All good,” Sebastian says. “But you know Dad’s going to whine that it isn’t what he asked for.”

Nicholas mimics Dad: “‘What does a man need to do to get the birthday gift he wants?’”

“He needs to get over it. We’re going to show up, aren’t we?” Huxley says.

“Exactly,” I say. “Besides, you don’t get what you want when you give almost zero notice. The party’s only two weeks away.”

“Are you guys bringing anybody to the party?” Noah asks. “I’m bringing a date.”

“Are you trying to break up with her?” Huxley says.

“She wants to get into movies,” Noah says. “And insisted.”

“I have nobody,” Griffin says. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me either. There