“So.” I press harder against the sun-warmed bricks at my back. “I have a Minnesota client I’m doing an audit for, and they mentioned wanting to improve the benefits they offer their employees. When they asked what to look for in a new administrator, I obviously thought of Sounder, but I wasn’t sure how fund selections work for you guys these days.”
Please buy this story and answer without fighting me on it.
His face reveals nothing when he says, ”Retirement Products isn’t my division.”
I laugh drily. “Believe me, I know. I’m just asking in general. Six years ago, the senior RP team made recommendations, but Howard had final say. Is that still the case?”
Was that casual enough? Hopefully so. Wyatt doesn’t look defensive or alarmed, just slightly annoyed.
“Yeah, that’s still Howard.” He flattens his lips, then says, “Reese has actually complained that he overrules the senior staff to make his own selections pretty often.”
“Yep, that sounds like my favorite CEO,” I say, my mind is racing. It’s what I was hoping to confirm. If Howard’s the one ultimately steering client companies toward investment funds that provide Sounder with kickbacks, it means Howard could very well be the only person hiding all that money and stealing from people’s retirement accounts. If I find enough evidence to submit an SEC complaint, it’ll probably implicate Howard and nobody else.
Wyatt’s watching me curiously, and I pivot to get the conversation back on track. “How about those rumors that he wants to take the company public? Confirm or deny?”
He pauses for a beat, then says, “That’s the rumor. We’ll see where we are with that in a year or so. Howard always talks a big game, but his follow-through’s as shaky as his golf game.”
I wrinkle my nose, so relieved at our friendly conversation—so far, anyway—that I risk a tiny joke. “Let’s pretend you didn’t just make a sports reference in my presence.”
“Right.” His smile’s faint, but it’s there. “You hate that as much as you hate the word ointment.”
The air leaves my lungs. “You remembered?”
“I remember everything about you.” His voice is as steady as his gaze.
“The better to hate me with?”
I offer him the out, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he just looks at me, and I take the opportunity to do the same.
I don’t like what I see.
He looks—shit. He looks bad. His skin is sallow, and he’s thinner than I’ve ever seen him. Unlike last December’s Wyatt, I’m not sure this guy could carry me to the end of a race. Lines bracket his mouth, and he’s got bruise-dark circles under his eyes. This is not the man I’ve sparred with for the past half a decade, and as far as I can tell, it happened fast.
“Wy, is everything okay with you?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. He stiffens, and his face, which moments before had been warm and open, turns to stone.
“I’m fine,” he says shortly.
“It’s just that—” I cast around for something to change the subject, hoping to avoid a fight, if only this once. I end up gesturing at his thighs. “These are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.”
He chuckles, pivoting away from his dark mood and surprising the hell out of me by striking a pose to show off the baggy red-and-white-striped shorts.
“Yeah, my buddy Gabe’s brother-in-law insisted that I wear them. Says they’re full-festival Bermudas. I don’t know what that means, but it was important to him that I have them on my body for Christmas in July. So here I am.”
“Here you are.” My eyes flick to his legs and back to his face. “I had no idea you had kneecaps.”
He glances down as if to double-check that they’re still there, then slides his eyes over to me. “Not true. You saw them after you gave me your robe.”
My robe. The polar bear plunge. One of my worst temper tantrums ever.
“I didn’t actually look at them that day,” I say quickly.
“Sure,” he says with a lazy grin. “Just like I didn’t have my hands all over your kneecaps once upon a time.”
His mouth slams shut when he realizes what he just said, and I run my suddenly sweaty palms down the sides of my dress. Not thirty feet away from where we’re standing, a younger Wyatt once touched way more than the kneecaps of a younger CJ.
I can’t believe he brought it up.
