Page 4 of Puppy on a Leash

“On what?”

“Politics.” I swallowed. “International politics.”

There were the facts that I was terrible at marketing, knew nothing about launching a business, and podcasts didn’t make that much money, but it was the thing I could see myself doing. The second dream would be international reporter, but no one would hire me for that, given I couldn’t safely travel to a large number of countries. It wasn’t even about the suspects that homonationalists loved to list to defend their racist views. Most of the European countries around us were going far right. Italy had been the only country outside of Eastern Europe thatrefused to sign an EU bill to guarantee LGBTQ+ rights, only because there was a bit too much focus on the T.

Also, I was self-aware enough to know I wouldn’t last two days at any traditional newspaper the second someone tried to tell me a story wasn’t worth pursuing or a particular angle wasn’t what they were looking for.

So.

“My point stands, then.”

“Huh?” I frowned.

Had he said something while I was deep in my head?

“If you run a podcast on politics, you’re gonna have to learn how to respond to your fair share of trolls.” Tony was now looking at me as if he was wondering if I’d hit my head as a child. I grunted. “It’s good practice.”

“Will it also be good practice when he fails me and I lose my scholarship?”

Trolls were just trolls. A professor was supposed to know better.

“If he fails you, as you put it, that’s when you file a complaint and get a committee to look into it.”

“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “A committee made up of professors from his same department or the departments he goes out to have a glass of wine with after class. I’m sure they’ll be so helpful.”

“You’d be surprised.” Tony snickered to himself. I didn’t know what was so funny, and I didn’t ask. He seemed to catch on quick, his expression sobering once more. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to help me. He won’t listen to me even if I regurgitate this entire book to him, but he can’t just not listen to you.”

“And that’s because…?” Tony rolled back the sleeves of the crisp shirt he wore as he asked.

Brain, focus.

“Because you’re a respected figure?” I loosened the hold on my knees. “You hold the record for the youngest person to get tenure. You are invited to speak in the EU Parliament at least once a year. Your papers actually make it beyond academic journals half of the time.”

I stopped myself, but I could list more things. I might have developed a slight case of hero worship. It had been tainted when I’d learned about his history with Sergio—and when I saw the way he sometimes behaved at the club—but I couldn’t deny some of that worship still lingered.

Maybe it was the reason why I was here, despite every rational argument that said this was not a good idea.

“Did you prepare all that data before you came here?”

“What?” I frowned. “No. I read all your papers. And interviews. And… yeah. Everything.”

“Unexpected.” Tony spoke slowly. There was a second before his gaze darted to the screen again. “I really can’t help you, Jaime.”

I—

Way to give someone whiplash. I’d been holding my breath, convinced helpingwaswhat he was about to do.

“Why?”

“Because there’s this little thing called reactance. If I interfere, he’ll see it as an attack, and he’ll just double down and make things even worse for you.”

“But you could…”

Yeah, no idea. I groaned.

As my anxiety grew, I rubbed my fingers on the couch. I had no idea what kind of fabric covered the couch. It looked like tweed, but it felt softer.

---