Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“This is my passion,” Raven confides, continuing when I don’t shut her down, “It’s not an interest or a job that pays well. It’s honestly not even about the money. The dollars kind of become meaningless when you focus on the percentages up or down, the points here, the gains there. It’s not a game, and I certainly don’t treat it as such when I’m handling people’s livelihoods, but it’s the power of beating… myself. It’s what I obsess over, what I look at before bed and the first thing I check when I wake up. I love the industry, the fight of it, the grueling gives and takes. I’m prepared for all of it. In fact, I can’t wait, which is why I’ve already been doing so much for my own portfolio.”
Her eyes read an intensity that I’ve seen before. In several of my own employees. Her answer is spot-on to what I usually look for. Someone who loves the process as much as the result. Not to mention, she did a great job of answering my question and guiding me right back to her strengths. She’d be adept with client conversations, I bet.
We’re momentarily interrupted by a waiter who refills her water and takes our orders of coffee, mine black, and hers with both cream and sugar.
“I’m glad you understand that it’s not a game,” I warn. “The stakes with your own investments are quite different from those at firms like mine. You cannot avoid falls, and those drops can be devastating when you’re dealing with hundreds of millions.”
Raven nods. “I’m more than aware.” Her voice is strident, her words low and passionate, and I can’t help but feel drawn to her.
Professionally speaking. But this is more than that, too. The sparkle in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks that’s more than her makeup, those soft, pillowy lips that would feel perfect wrapped around…
“I see,” I reply, clearing my throat. I tap my thumb on the table, considering how much to tell her as the coffees are set down on the table and the waiter leaves.
“I have a confession for you, Miss Hill. I was here,” —I gesture to the corner— “just over there before our meeting. I was watching you.” She swallows thickly, no doubt knowing where this is going. To her credit, she doesn’t rush to explain… or lie, as many would. “I feel that finding the right fit, person-wise, is more than paper achievements. Unfortunately, that also means I have to know what happened between you and Evan Faulkner. You two are a thing? Were a thing?”
“Correct,” she answers, her voice tight. “Were,” Raven says coldly but doesn’t offer more.
A beat passes while I wait to see what she does, but she stays steady, simply returning my gaze. That’s when I know it’s time to test her further.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try and name drop him on your way up the interview ladder.”
“I want to earn my position on my own merits,” Raven says matter-of-factly.
“I could know nothing about you and tell you that you’re much better off, professionally and personally, without him.”
Her gaze slips for a moment, down to the table, and I wonder what she’s thinking. It’s not too hard to guess that she’s coming to the conclusion that this position is lost to her. It should be. If I could contain my desire to fuck over that prick, I would more than likely send her away, simply because of the connection. However, I am a prick myself.
And not one to throw away opportunities such as this.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” I tell her evenly, watching closely for her reaction. Raven lifts narrowed eyes back to mine, and then one brow arches mere millimeters as she considers my words, seemingly unsure what to think. “He and I have history.”
There’s more to that story. So much more. But now is not the time, nor the place, to explain. Besides, Raven doesn’t need the background to help with the plan I’m considering her for.
“I see,” she says, prepared for the polite dismissal she should be receiving.
Instead, I cut her off. “I have an idea.” That gets her attention quickly, reigniting the fire of hope in her eyes. Oh, she still has some fight in her. That’s good, she’ll need it. “Are you aware of the Faulkner Estate event this upcoming Friday?” I speak barely above a murmur.
“Of course,” she says, and her expression softens. It’s the first glimpse through her façade to a different—and deeper—side of her. “I had hoped to go with Evan. Guess that won’t matter now,” she scoffs.
"Why don't you come with me instead?" I suggest, leaning back in the chair. I’m already celebrating the events unveiling themselves in my head and my well-deserved triumph over Evan as I dangle a tantalizing carrot in front of her. "I have a friend who might be able to use you in his firm."