Misconduct

As my professor, my father didn’t treat me with any gentler a hand at school than he had at home. He’d said I must be ancient to have such a cynical world view, and I’d absolutely hated having him as my teacher.

Until, of course, nearly the last week of the course, when his advice had changed my life forever.

I understood then that, despite the old money and Marek family expectations, my father had been right to follow his calling to academics. He knew a thing or two.

I pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose. “I’ll let you know once this day is over.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, they all start melting together eventually,” he agreed. “And judging by that gray” – he ruffled my hair – “I’d say time is moving faster than you.”

“Bite me,” I grumbled, smoothing my hair back down. “My hair is as black as yours was thirty years ago.”

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and I did the same, both of us watching Christian run back and forth on the field.

I quickly scanned the rest of the area, finally spotting Easton at the small concession stand, filling containers of popcorn.

I lingered on her, and the temptation of her bright smile as she exchanged snacks for cash was absolutely brutal. I bit the corner of my mouth to stifle the desire running hot in my veins.

She looked gorgeous. Her tan pants were tight, not inappropriate but definitely becoming, and showed off her form very well. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned up to the neck, and her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

I loved her teacher clothes. They gave a false impression of innocence and purity, like her lips weren’t wrapped around my cock two nights ago when I’d called her at midnight, telling her to open her front door for me.

“I checked out your recent developments with Marek Industries,” my father said. “Hiring local workers in the East with the same pay they would’ve made in the United States. That’s positive change, Tyler.”

I continued watching Christian as I spoke. “And in the meantime, my competitors are paying slave wages in those third-world countries and spending three times less.”

“How much money does a man need?” he shot back.

I glanced over at Easton, her hands on her hips, chatting and smiling with Ms. Meyer.

“There’s always more world to conquer,” I said in a low voice. “Always things I want. There’s never enough money.”

“And that pursuit will take you away from everything that truly matters,” he retorted.

He was always the teacher and never just my father. I faced the field again, barely seeing Christian as I braced myself.

“You still fight that battle,” he went on. “Your conscience knows what’s right, Tyler, but your ego keeps telling you to advance. It’s not about speed. It’s about direction. Clarify your goals.”

“I want everything.” I turned back, shooting him a cocky grin. “Those are my goals.”

“But it’s not about getting what you want.” He shook his head. “It’s about wanting what you get. In the end, is it going to make you happier? Was it worth it?” he asked. “You’ve got a thriving corporation that employs thousands of people worldwide. You’ve got a healthy son, but for some reason you’re not content.”

I gritted my teeth, seeing Christian score a goal, but it didn’t even register, and I didn’t clap.

Why did everyone want to fuck with me?

I managed real estate and relationships, dealt with banks and thousands of workers around the world, and I did a damn good job.

And I had noble intentions for the Senate. It wasn’t some scheme to further my business interests.

I did my best. I managed everything to the best of my ability.

I just wanted more. I didn’t want to have to live up to anyone else’s expectations but my own.

“I just…” I searched for the words. “After all these years, I still feel like… like I haven’t proven anything. I still feel like I’m twenty-two.”

My father loved me, and I always knew that. But I guess, growing up, I resented the teacher in him. The one who couldn’t say “Good job” or “That’s okay; you did your best.” No, the teacher always expected better, and after years of giving up and giving in to mediocrity, because I was afraid to fail him, he’d finally told me off in front of the whole class when I was forced to have him as a professor during my last year in college.

He’d handed me my ass and told me that success is earned and not given. A winner fights for it, and I’d been a loser.

“I know I can do better,” I said, my voice turning thick.

I felt his eyes on me and then his hand on my shoulder. “Which is exactly why you have my vote if you ever get there,” he added.

He turned and walked back to his friends, who’d probably invited him, knowing his grandson was playing today, but then I heard his voice again.

“Tyler, try to remember one thing,” he insisted, and I kept my back to him but listened.

“You can do a couple things and succeed,” he pointed out, “or you can try to do fifteen things and fail at all of them. Clarify your goals. What are you doing? And why are you doing it?”

And then I heard him walk away, leaving me with his rhetorical questions.

He was right. Every ounce of me knew that something had to give, and I’d end up having to let go of something I very much wanted just so everything else in my life didn’t suffer. I was one person with limited hours in a day and too much desire to fill it.