“Yep.”Fuck. He knows how to wind me up. “It’s fine.” It’s Lexi. I’ll figure it out.
“Still think going into fish was the right choice, Tristan?”
Now I have a pulsing vein in my temple, ready to pop. “Yes, Dad. I’ll use my trust fund, if it comes to that. Seems like a fair exchange. Listen, I’ve got to go. I have fish to feed. Catch you later.”
I cut the call before he can make any more comments about my career choices and fall back on my pillow. Tossing his trust fund back at him for his own legal fees will be fine retribution, and I’ll do it with a smile if it helps Lexi.
Lexi. I owe her proper face time. She must be on pins and needles. Since I got back to Miami, things have been intense at the university lab, but at least we’re done now. I crawled into bed at four this morning, feeling like roadkill. And then I couldn’t sleep. Yesterday, on top of everything else, I got a call from my agent, Nick Mallett, reminding me that my deadline for submitting the rest of my documentary is coming up fast andwondering if I have new work for him to look at? “Where are you, exactly?”he asked.
“I’m at the corner of Fucked and Fuck Off,” I’d wanted to reply.“So pick me up on your way to We’re Screwedville.”
I managed to stall him with a short story of time-sensitive experiments and told him I’d call back later. And then the interview call came in and, I don’t know, there was hope?
I’ve yet to call Nick back.
“Tristan?”
A knock on my door follows, and I stifle a groan in my pillow.
“Tristan?” Lexi asks again. “Are you awake? I heard you talking.”
“Yep. Just gimme a minute.” I get up, pull on a T-shirt and some sweatpants, and drag my fingers through my bedhead. Ideally, I would like to shower and all that before I see anybody in the morning, but life on a boat at close quarters makes you forgo formalities rather quickly. I’ve been in that zone for years now.
I find her in the kitchen, making coffee.Oof…She looks hot in that business suit with its pencil skirt, form-fitting jacket, and white button-down shirt. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and as she glances up, I do a double take. This isn’t the Lexi I have burned into my mind. She looks professional and in charge. And older. Thank God for that.
“You had your interview?” I step up to the kitchen island and settle on a barstool. “How did it go?”
“It was good,” she says as she takes the half-and-half from the fridge. “Nathan Beaumont was there as well.”
“Uh-huh.” Lexi will clearly lick this guy’s ass if he offered it.
“Tristan! He’s the oldest great-grandson of Louis Beaumont, who started Beaumont Hotels between the wars. He’s the next-generation CEO and is expanding their business into the States!”
I hitch my eyebrows. “Making friends in high places?”
“Ha, I plan to,” Lexi says as she offers me a mug of coffee. “This is my one chance to impress.”
“I’ll hold your hand all the way, Lexi.”
She chuckles. “You might have to. Did he ask about us? About being employed as a couple? Whether we’re engaged?”
“Nope.” We stare at each other. The tension in the room twists tighter. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the deciding factor. Do you think they’ll offer us the position?”
“I’m not sure that’s true, but my position is easy to fill. I’m replaceable?—”
“Don’t say that, Lexi.” Her revelation the other night about how she felt when I left still eats at me. How could this girl—this woman—who meant so much to me, think she’s beneath me andreplaceable?
“It’s true. If we get an offer, it will be because of your skills, not mine. That was clear in my interview.”
“But they’ll want us both. The question is whetheryouwant to do this.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “I’m feeling the pressure, Lexi. Ineedthis.”
“You can solve your problem so easily. Just ask your dad?—”
“No.” The word comes out snappy, and I immediately regret my tone. I’m too tired to have this conversation. My head’s hardly out of its sleepy bog, and to ask Dad for money afterthatphone call? “Sorry, I…” Residual anger sits on my chest, and I shake my head, not knowing how to make her understand.
“I see,” she says softly. “You’re trying to prove something to him? And taking his money would be like?—”
“Failure. Yeah.” I rub a hand down my face. “He never wanted me to go into marine sciences. He wanted me to go into law and join his firm. He doesn’t get my love for the ocean—or for conservation, for that matter.”
