Six
TRISTAN
“Do I get a say in that?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I groaned, frustrated that I couldn’t blow it off as a joke this time. Ezra kept saying no, and he would continue to do so. I needed to accept that. The thing was, I didn’t really want a hookup anyway.
I wanted more.
I wanted everything.
I’d been in love with him for longer than I cared to admit, and I didn’t want to settle for just a hookup again. We’d done that a decade ago.
I didn’t regret one second of being with him that night.
The decisions I’d made afterward were terrible.
They’d damaged me irrevocably. I’d learned some hard lessons and, frankly, was lucky that things hadn’t gone far worse for me or anyone else.
But I’d paid the price. I’d lost family and friends over what happened.
I’d also paid my debt. Since then, I’d changed.
I’d grown up a lot and worked every day to become a better person—I still did.
Thankfully, my life looked nothing like the train wreck it was when we’d met.
I tried to make a difference in the world now.
But I still wasn’t worthy of Ezra.
He was the epitome of a golden child. More beautiful than any man had a right to be, he had caramel-coloured hair and golden skin. His tan was natural, and it made me want to lick him all over. He wore his suits like a second skin, his comfort and confidence so appealing.
More importantly, though, Ezra was a good man. I looked up to him. He was the kind of man I’d worked hard to become.
Loyal to a fault, Ez would put others ahead of his own interests every time.
I was sure it was one of the many reasons why he’d never said yes to me again.
He was as painfully single as I was, and our chemistry was incendiary, addictive, and all-consuming.
On paper we were perfect for each other, but I knew the truth.
I wasn’t good for him, and it had nothing to do with my worthiness or not.
I was a demanding bastard. He was no wallflower, but we both knew his giving nature would work against him. He would be the one making sacrifices to bend to my will. He would always accommodate me. It was as inevitable as it was unfair.
Until I could change that, until I could become good for him, we couldn’t happen.
One day.
One day I might even believe it myself.
I needed to move past the rut I’d been stuck in for far too long. At least I had other things in my life—I wasn’t pining pathetically for a man I couldn’t have.
Much.
I had a job I loved. Being a professor was rewarding.
I still pinched myself when I walked across campus.
The energy was infectious, and I loved the intellectual banter with my colleagues.
Teaching gave me a high. The countless hours of background work were worth it every time I saw the moment my words resonated with my students.
They walked away from my classes looking for the deeper meaning of what they saw in the media.
I taught them to dig, to look past the facade to the deeper underbelly and at the way stories were pitched to appeal to certain audiences and the political agenda pushed online.
But I also taught them how the media in general framed stories as “crises” and “disasters” when most of the time they were far less.
News spread fast. Bad news spread faster.
I was an investigative journalist to the marrow of my bones. I prided myself on giving an unbiased viewpoint and reporting current affairs without the overexaggeration that many mainstream journalists thrived on. My latest research project would test my ability to the limit.
I’d come across it by chance. I was examining data, but my search had turned into a dead end.
Then I’d found an obscure reference to ReimagINC and its director, an investment prodigy.
On the face of it, the company had been, at least for a short while, a success story.
But then it had collapsed, yet very little had even been reported about it.
In all fairness, the media was more concerned with the ruin of entire economies during the Global Financial Crisis to worry too much about one company.
Rosa Weatherall, ReimagINC’s director, was known as the Investment Queen. But her life had come to a tragic end, and soon after, her company had quietly folded. Investors had lost over one hundred million dollars.
It was as if the loss of the company’s captain had sunk the whole ship.
The corporate regulator was overwhelmed at the time.
The whole economy had been on rocky ground, and companies were struggling in every corner of the country.
During the economic upheaval, entire industries folded practically overnight.
It was no surprise that an investment firm like Weatherall’s, without the benefit of decades of experience riding out economic cycles, had fallen.
The auditor had ruled the company a victim of the times, and the regulator shelved the investigation.
But my gut was telling me there was something more to the story.
Something about the whole situation just didn’t sit right. Maybe it was my cynicism, or maybe I was looking for problems, but when I scratched away the shiny veneer, I discovered just how tarnished ReimagINC was underneath.
I was going to uncover the truth.
Except that I needed more than a gut feeling—I needed hard evidence. The only way forward was to get funding so I could do the research and find what wasn’t being reported. Then I’d blow it all wide open.
I had an idea for a podcast—one a lot like Teacher’s Pet.
“Tris…,” Ezra groaned, and I snapped back to attention.
What had I asked? Do I get a say in what I wanted, whether it was a partner or a hookup? I reminded myself.
Asking that hadn’t even been the point of my call, which was genuinely work related. I wanted Ezra’s opinion on ReimagINC. Was I on a wild goose chase? Was I lining up unfortunate coincidences, thinking they were causal?
That was what had prompted me to call Ezra. As much as I wanted to be with him, my motivations were entirely innocent. For once.
I waved my hand even though he couldn’t see me. “Forget about the hookup. I was giving you shit. Let me buy you dinner. It’s purely work related,” I said, then clarified, “I need your thoughts on my research project. My office—definitely not a date,” before he could object.
He hesitated, and I held my breath, waiting for his answer. Not being dismissed immediately was a win in my books, but he hadn’t yet agreed.
“Why?” Ez asked slowly.
“Like I said, I’m working on a project. I think there was some serious mismanagement before this company went bust. I’m not sure if it was incompetence or negligence, but there’s something there. I can feel it.”
“So you want me to do what?” he asked dubiously.
“I need someone who thinks like an investigator to look at what I have. I need a devil’s advocate, not someone who’ll blow smoke up my arse.”
He chuckled, leaving the obvious pun alone. “Okay. I can do that.”