“What?” I say, shaking my head.
“I want to go to Las Vegas.”
“Goodnight.” I hang up on her.
Maya needs to get a damn job and stop living off my money. She’s a grown-ass woman, but anytime I mention her working, she uses her illness to tug on my heartstrings. She has a weak heart, and while it was touch-and-go for a bit, lately she’s been healthy. So, I’m hoping, even though she’s annoying sometimes, that it stays that way. I adore my sister, but at times I wish she would live her own life, instead of intruding on mine.
THREE
CRESSIDA
My job isto investigate things that the everyday person could never even fathom. I interview some of the worst people who have ever lived. And I love it. I understand this job isn’t for everyone—it’s fucked-up, some of the stuff I uncover. It also makes me extremely paranoid and even more protective of my son.
I went to college for journalism, but working for a local newspaper is worlds apart from being in the chaos of a big media corporation. Thankfully, my ex was well-connected, and when I first started out, he pulled some strings to get me an internship at one of the big digital news outlets. I clawed my way up from there, one late-night deadline at a time. A few years later, they gave me my first big lead, and I have been addicted to the chase ever since. And it’s what I love.
A lot of my stories go viral, which keeps me comfortably paid. My boss wants to keep his golden goose happy and on his staff.
I was at a work event when I first saw Soren. He’s pretty well known in media circles. He owns and operates a large corporation and is the media mogul of many news channels. Not the one I work for, which I think he hates because no matter how much he tries to stop me, it won’t work.
“Soren called.” I lift my head to find my boss, Michael, at my office door as I’m packing up to leave for the day.
“And?” I pull my bag strap over my shoulder. The damn thing is heavy, with my laptop weighing it down.
“He said you’ve been harassing him.”
“There’s a big story there. Do younotwant to be the first to drop it?” I ask.
“You weren’t meant to go after him. We have discussed this. Soren is powerful. I want you to remember that.” Michael isn’t telling me to stop, but his warning is clear. He understands what I’m doing, even if he disagrees with it.
“I get it, and I’ll be careful.” I smile at him. I didn’t tell him about going to the fight last night because I don’t have to share the details of my investigation with him. I only have to show him the outcome of my research, which works well for both of us because he doesn’t have to lecture me about how I shouldn’t be doing certain things, and I don’t have to listen to the lecture and then ignore whatever he’s said. I like to investigate stories on my own because I feel like I have a more personal connection when I do it myself.
I catch the train back to my place. Noah is already inside with Oliver when I open the door. We both have a key to each other’s homes. Though we’re no longer together, we’re still good friends. We understand that we don’t use the keys unless it involves our son, and the other person has to approve it first.
“Mom, you’re home.” Oliver, who is seven, looks up from where he and Noah sit with a pizza between them on the kitchen table.
“I see you cooked.” I waggle my brows at them.
“I got in late… pizza was the easiest choice,” Noah says, then stands. He wipes his hands on his blue trousers. He looks good, though he never really looks bad.
“Got a hot date tonight?” I ask him as I walk over and kiss his cheek. He kisses mine back and then shakes his head.
“No, just working late.”
Noah’s a banker, and he’s a good one. His family owns a lot of commercial property, so he’s always been well off. I come from a more modest background, but we didn’t do badly for ourselves either. Still, I wouldn’t be where I am today without his help or the influence of his family.
“Can I chat with you outside?” Noah asks and nods toward the door. I kiss Oliver’s head as I put my bag down, then I follow Noah out. I shut the door so our voices won’t carry back to Oliver.
“I had a visitor today,” he tells me, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Okay,” I reply, confused as to what that has to do with me.
“Soren Nixon was waiting outside my building today when I left to pick up Oliver.” I bite my lip at that information. Of course, he was. “He mentioned he knows you.”
“He doesn’t know me,” I bite back, harder than I intended.
Noah lifts his hand and runs it through his blond hair. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to say, if you’re doing a story on him?—”
“What?”
