Page 4 of Chasing Hope

‘Can’t. I’m busy doing stuff.’ Her condescending smile raised his hackles. And by stuff, she meant watching Game Of Thrones. Her back stiffened and her hands tightened against her iPad

‘Hope, that wasn’t a request.’ She had the gall to lift an eyebrow at him. That toying smile still plastered to her face. Hope pushed back her chair and got to her feet, taking her own sweet time doing it. Ethan’s jaw hurt with the restrained pressure. She stepped before him, making him follow her lead. Her palms slid into the back pockets of her jeans and she whistled as she glided along the corridor.

Calm the fuck down,Ethan ordered himself.

He was forced to slow down his lengthy strides to match her shorter ones. Hope halted abruptly and his chest slammed into her back.

‘Oops.’ Hope threw him a glance over her shoulder, provoking him. ‘Just looking for the fire extinguisher. It appears you're going to blow up in flames.’ Ethan felt like that fish in the water who knew the worm was bait but still couldn’t help himself. She was picking a fight. His eyes tightened and he captured her burning gaze. A mischievous blend of roses and something similar to his favourite vodka drifted past his nostrils. His pulse pounded and he barged ahead. Once in his office, Ethan slammed his door shut. The walls vibrated with the intense force. Fuck, he hated not being able to control his fury.

‘Sit,’ he said, in a no-nonsense tone. Her eyes flashed at his order. To rustle his jimmies, her toe tapped a staccato rhythm.

Breathe,he reminded himself as he advanced to stand behind his massive glass desk. His shrewd gaze fixed appraisingly upon her. The cool air from the aircon glided over his heated face. A strong hand sailed over his squared projected chin and well-defined jawline.

‘No thanks. I intend to make this quick.’ Hope stationed herself by the door and crossed her arms before her. ‘And there’s only so much I can take of your… dare I saynot so pleasantcompany.’ Her curt tone only propelled his temper to the brink. There was a slight tremble in his hand as he undid the buttons of his coat. In order to muster an ounce of patience he busied himself to get rid of his coat and waistcoat. Deliberately slowing his pace he uncuffed his cufflinks and neatly folded up his sleeve. All the while holding onto Hope’s unwavering fiery gaze. The aircon was doing a poor job of cooling the now sweltering room. Gentle like a lover's hand, Ethan’s fingers trailed along his silk tie unknotting it. Hope darted a quick glance at his tanned, exposed neck and her face turned scarlet as Ethan flashed his dimples at her.

‘Those dimples are wasted on you, you know that. Seriously. It’s ironic you were the sperm that won.’ Her insults clearly missed their mark as Ethan's smile widened. He took to his seat and dropped one booted foot on his knee.

‘How long did it take you to come up with that one?’

‘It’s pointless to make fun of you because I don’t intend to stick around till you finally figure it out.’

‘I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person. I’m extremely considerate that way.’

That did it. Colour rushed up her neck, making her go all red in the face. A satisfied smirk crept up his face. He had yet to decide if their sparring excited or annoyed him.

‘Your dad might own the newsroom, Hope. But I run things around here. And last time I checked I’m still yourboss.’ Ethan hated that he was patronising her by pulling rank. On the other hand, he was out of options trying to reason with her. It was out of sheer respect for Brian Pereira, Hope’s dad, that Ethan tolerated her. Everything Ethan knew about journalism was all thanks to Brian. Brian took Ethan under his wing when every other broadcasting network refused to employ him owing to his dreadful past. Brian realised Ethan’s potential and helped him reach the pinnacle of success. Ethan owed him his entire career. In comparison, working alongside his belligerent daughter was a small price to pay.

‘Why did you air the piece on Himesh Choudhary?’ Ethan asked, keeping his tone levelled. Hope’s eyes sparked and a muscle in her rounded chin twitched.

‘That bastard deserves to be dragged through muck and flogged at the Gateway of India for the world to see,’ Hope said, surging ahead. The expanse of the table separated them. ‘Although short-lived, the cheap son of a bitch deserved the public humiliation.’ Her voice was close to a shout. Her chest heaved with angry breaths. She slapped her small palms on the desk and pitched forward. She raised her chin, challenging him to speak otherwise.

The shiny gold cross suspended by a slender chain slipped out of her t-shirt and twinkled under the overhead light. For reasons beyond his control, Ethan’s eyes were riveted on the cross for a long moment. He had repudiated all his spiritual beliefs the day he lowered his mother’s coffin to the ground. Ethan’s next breath stumbled in his chest and he tore his gaze from the cross. He slowly dragged his eyes up, the brown flecks in her compelling eyes flashed in temper. He clasped his palms tight, turning his knuckles white.

‘Hope, there is no denying that Himesh is a fucking coward who hides behind the face of wrongful power. Unfortunately, facts govern the news and not our feelings.’ Ethan’s blood roared and his voice rose several decibels. ‘I can think of much gruesome shit we could do to Himesh. But we do not take the law into our hands. Nor do we run our mouths on live television without attribution. I had very specifically asked you to make the story bulletproof before airing it. Himesh had slapped us with a defamation suit. Do you have any idea the number of strings I had to pull to get him to withdraw the case? And all thanks to you, I now owe too many people. You have singlehandedly managed to exhaust our lawsuit budget. You can’t go after a minister without concrete evidence. There—’

‘The evidence – a fifteen-year-old boy, might I remind you – is lying on a hospital bed with one arm and a leg in a cast. Frightened to death, his family refused to let us take his statement. You know what the innocent boy’s mother said…’ Hope’s eyes were wet and there was a catch in her voice. ‘She said… at least my son is alive.’ Hope showed a moment of vulnerability before swatting at her angry tears.

Ethan’s heart ached for the poor child who was put in the hospital at the hands of the child-beating motherfucker. He hated that he had to squash the story. He hated it with every fibre in his body. The piece of shit deserved to rot in prison for his ruthless acts. Unfortunately, his hands were tied behind his back. If Ethan intended to keep this news channel running, he had to trash the story.

Ethan drew in a long breath and rose to his feet. A series of veins in his forearms angrily stuck out as he flattened his palms on his desk. He leaned into Hope. Both breathing hard and fast. Silence like the inside of a tomb enveloped the room. Their eyes gripped each other, refusing to let go.

‘Hope, you have my word. Get me a statement or proof, even if it's the tiniest bit, and I will make it my primetime headlines. I will give the fucking asshole a royal lashing, showing the world his true criminal self. Sadly, until then I can’t do much.’ His regretful tone failed to douse her fury.

‘This is just preposterous. It’s just fucking not fair.’

‘Life isn’t fair, Hope.’

‘Fine. I’ll get you the goddamn proof. It will be so clean that you can eat off the damn sheet.’ Hope inhaled deeply and massaged the back of her neck. It did not take Ethan too long to learn how Hope’s mind operated. He had deciphered her workings soon after she joined them a year ago after attaining her Masters in journalism from Columbia University. Impulsive and reckless, she didn’t care two hoots about the consequences of her actions. Her intentions were honourable, he’d give her that. Regrettably, she’d been going about it hot-headed and packed with a punch. She knew no other way. Ethan was up to his neck covering her tracks and he was done making amends for her misguided efforts. ‘Just giving you a heads-up. I’m working on an angle to unmask the ‘Modern Day Batman’.

‘Sorry, what?’ Ethan dragged himself out of his intangible worries and concentrated on the most tangible one. His brain sent out warning signals. He thought he’d heard her say ‘Modern Day Batman’.

Hope snarled at him. ‘I said I’m going after ‘Modern Day Batman’ aka ‘Masked Man’. Yup, he had heard it right.

Although Ethan’s heart raced like a bloodhound. He kept his voice even and suppressed every sign of surprise. ‘To the best of my recollection, I did mention at our previous staff meeting that going on this manhunt is a futile endeavour.’ His biceps bunched as he enfolded his arms over his broad chest. The police haven’t been able to catch this enigma in five whole years. How do you propose to do it?’ He liked calling himself an enigma. He was mysterious after all.

‘I have my sources.’ Her face was a hard mask of determination.

‘I don’t like that look.’

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