Faith Washington #3
“Faith.” He gasped my name. His response caught me off guard. I expected to catch him off guard; instead, I was the one off my square a little bit. “You are absolutely gorgeous, my love. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you after all this time?” he asked, crooking his head.
“How does it feel to be back on the public’s good side after everything that happened here? Everyone seems to have forgotten all about the scandals that took place here just a few months ago,” I mentioned. Reed’s easy smile threatened to unnerve me, but I stood firm as I waited for his answer.
“I’m not sure if it works like that.”
“Are we expected to believe that the business is suddenly squeaky clean?” I asked.
“Trust isn’t something you win back over night. You earn it day by day, Ms. Washington. It is still Ms. Washington, isn’t it?”
A well-polished answer was expected but not respected. Instead of taking his words at face value, I pushed. He could try to control the conversation all he wanted to. I was the one asking the questions around here.
“Even with the systems that tarnished that trust still in place to this very day?”
The question came out more sharply than I intended.
The last thing I wanted was for him to shut down.
Well, actually, the last thing I wanted was to talk to him in the first place, but since we were here, I might as well go for it.
For a moment, everything stood still. Reed’s full attention was on me, but his facial expression didn’t give anything away.
“Can you clarify your question?” he requested, lifting his brows slightly.
I took a step, closing the space between us. I needed to go in for the kill while I had the chance.
“There have been patterns of financial activity that mirror the suspicious pre-scandal operations. I’ll come out and ask you directly. How can the public be sure that Cashville isn’t still operating under the same structure just more discreetly?”
A murmur of conversation erupted behind me. I had asked the question everyone wanted to avoid out of politeness. Reed didn’t flinch at my question. Instead, he took a step closer, further closing the space between us. I resisted the urge to step back and reclaim my personal space.
“If that were true, we wouldn’t constantly invite public scrutiny. We don’t have anything to hide,” he stated evenly.
“Inviting scrutiny doesn’t exactly equate to transparency. It’s performative at best.”
Something flickered behind his eyes before he replied. “Do you have an invite to the gala?”
For the second time, I was caught off guard. I tried not to let my apprehension show as I answered.
“Yes, my company got a press invite.”
He nodded slowly. “Right, you work for The Daily Word now,” he noted.
How did he know that? Was he keeping up with me?
I didn’t want or need him keeping up with me.
I worked behind the scenes for a reason.
I didn’t want to gain notoriety from being in the public eye.
My work would speak for itself. His awareness of my career caused my spine to stiffen. I didn’t like being on the defensive.
“Right.” I confirmed anyway.
“You’ve built your reputation on asking the questions most people refuse to ask. I respect that, my love.”
His attempt to further knock me off my square didn’t quite work. “Respect usually garners clear answers. I’m not sure I’ve gotten one of those yet.”
“And assumptions usually come from incomplete or false information.”
His challenge caused a shift in the air. It seemed to fall silent around us. I wasn’t sure if all eyes were on us because I was locked in on him, and I had his undivided attention.
“How can one gain a full picture when so much of it is hidden?”
“There’s nothing to hide. If there was something to find, I’m sure you would be the one to find it,” he said in a voice so quiet that it felt like a private conversation.
I searched his face for any sign of hesitation or that calculation that I noticed connected to each of his responses. There was nothing but the steady, disarming confidence that he exuded. That irritated me a little more than it should have.
“You can count on it,” I assured him.
For a beat, neither of us budged. His eyes dropped to my lips before drifting back up to meet my eyes. Someone called his name, breaking the spell tethering us together. Suddenly, everything was moving again, everything but us.
Reed took a step back, but his eyes lingered on me. He looked like he wanted to say something. I hoped that he wanted to expound on my question, but instead, he smoothed his jacket and held up a finger to someone in the distance.
“See you around, gorgeous,” he said, winking before rounding me to head inside.
I shuffled away, dedicating my focus back to my notes and the reason I was there in the first place, to get Nicholas talking. He had refused all interviews and used his well-dressed, well-spoken watch dog to keep the press at bay. They couldn’t manipulate me into forgetting the facts.
There was a pattern. People lied, but patterns didn’t lie, no matter how suave or convincing Reed and Nicholas thought they were under scrutiny. I would get my story, if it was the last thing I did.