Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Soon we’re so deep in the market analysis weeds I don’t have time to think of anything except scrambling to contribute as best I can.
“How is biotech reacting?” I lean back in my chair and spread my legs like I’ve seen the other guys do during these meetings. “If they’re holding steady, we might be able to balance out some of the tech losses in that sector. We can also look at the foreign markets.”
Jack holds my gaze a moment, and I try not to squirm beneath his intense green eyes. “You think this merger news will sink tech for the next quarter?”
“Not at all,” I say confidently, surprised at how easily all of this is coming back to me. Just like riding a bike. Or kissing. Or kissing Jack…
Focus, Ellie. Focus!
“But this was a major merger,” I continue, “and before today we had no reason to think it wouldn’t sail through the regulatory proceedings. The market needs time to stabilize, and not all of your—our—clients have the patience for that.”
Jack nods, though I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. I suppose he just wants to show the rest of the team I’ve got the chops to be here. “What do you suggest?”
“I have a few ideas for emerging stocks we can pitch the nervous investors,” I say, “and I’m sure our client relations team can finesse the language on an email to ease everyone’s minds. I don’t anticipate S and H taking a big hit over this.”
“You seem pretty confident,” Rictor says. “For a guy who’s been here all of a week.”
I shrug. “There’s an old saying about the stock market, Rictor. And at the end of the day, every one of our clients embodies it.” I let out a low chuckle, gently stroking my mustache. “If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the Street.”
Okay, I totally made that up, but most of my colleagues are laughing, including Jack. Even Rictor’s got a grin on his otherwise smarmy face.
“Agreed, Mr. Webb. Thanks for your, ah, poetic insights.” Jack’s lips twitch with a smile so subtle I wonder if I’m imagining it, before he turns his attention back to the room at large. “All right, people. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Jack is so confident and commanding, steering this ship through the uncertain waters of triple-dip recessions and market instability, that I’m hanging on his every word. There’s something about a man in a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up, his strong forearms flexing as he writes on the whiteboard, taking control in a crisis.
I’m so sucked in that I don’t budge from my seat until we’re dismissed with our assignments. The moment I rise from my chair, the effects of the coffee Hannah so graciously kept flowing hit me all at once.
Note to self: don’t underestimate the power of a bold French Roast on your microscopic bladder.
I cruise into the men’s room only to stop dead at the sign hanging on the one and only stall—Out of Order.
“Shoot,” I hiss, eyeing the three urinals on the wall, trying to imagine any way I might be able to make that happen.
I’m considering locking the main door to the bathroom when Frame and Wallace, two other junior account execs, push through it, talking animatedly as they head for the urinals. I turn toward the sinks, washing my hands as if I’ve already finished my business.
But I haven’t finished, and the warm water rushing over my hands only intensifies the urgency building to critical levels behind my zipper. Trusting my gut—which says contorting myself into some insane position to align female anatomy with a male toilet isn’t the best call—I make a break for my brother’s office.
Yes, it’s risky, but Ryan has a private bathroom, and right now privacy is of the utmost importance.
But when I reach Ryan’s office, I nearly crash into the person rushing out of it.
Blair.
Her mouth presses into a firm line of pseudo-authority, but not before I catch the flicker of surprise—and guilt—in her eyes.
“Something I can help you with, Mr. Webb?” She quips, narrowing her eyes in suspicion as if I’m the one who just got caught sneaking out of my superior’s office.
I’m dying to know what she’s up to, but I don’t have time for her power games. One more minute and I’m literally going to explode.
“Just doing a few laps around the office to keep the heart pumping,” I say, breezing past her with a chipper smile. “Sitting is the new smoking, Blair.”
Jaw clenched and sweat breaking out on my forehead, I wiggle around the corner toward the senior executive lounge. There’s a bathroom in there, and Eric is new enough to pretend he has no idea he isn’t supposed to be trespassing in SeniorExecVille, right? I near the door and am about to reach for the handle when an older gentleman I vaguely recognize emerges with a delectable-looking sandwich.