Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“I know what I want.” I keep my voice low. Even. “It isn’t Margaux.”
People have started filtering onto the floor. Dad looks up and straightens, adjusting his belt. “I’m doing the right thing here. I hope you will too.”
He pastes on a smile and heads off the floor, greeting people as he goes.
@WSBathroom 5/30
Seen on the trading floor at Atlas & Teton: a father/son duo duking it out over coffee and muffins.
@WSBathroom 5/30
We can’t confirm details, but James Huntley, A&T’s Investment Banking head, was seen having a tense conversation with his son, Brooks, otherwise known as our favorite hot math nerd #youplusmeequalslove
@WSBathroom 5/30
We can’t help but wonder what the altercation was about. The continued slide of A&T’s stock price? Or perhaps it was the losses trading desks everywhere have experienced thanks to the turmoil in the banking sector . . .
@WSBathroom 5/30
Surely it wasn’t over the woman our math nerd was seen with? Whatever the case, we’d hate to see Erotic Einstein make an exit. Trading floors are sorely lacking in eye candy for the ladies, and this guy is one of the sweetest treats we’ve seen in a while #bunsforbreakfast
Chapter Twenty-Two
GREER
Dustin stares at the hand I’m holding up like I’m about to slap him.
“I swear, I’ve been telling the truth the whole time.” He slowly backs up. “Just ask Hannah.”
“I’ve confirmed it with his counselor,” Hannah yells over the noise of the mixer she’s using. “Turns out she’s not into guys anyway.”
I drop my hand and sigh. “I was just trying to give y’all high-fives.”
Hannah turns off the mixer. “Because Dustin doesn’t have syphilis?”
Blinking, I sputter, “Well—”
“I’d only ever want to get syphilis from you, baby,” Dustin says to Hannah.
Her expression softens. “Aw. That’s gross. But also kinda sweet?”
I clear my throat. “So. I was trying to say I wanted to give y’all high-fives because you did an amazing job this weekend keeping things afloat here while I was away. I appreciate that.”
Dustin grins. “Our pleasure. It was busy, but that made the days fly by. We found a good rhythm, didn’t we, Hannah?”
“Sure did. And then we found our rhythm rhythm. If you know what I mean.”
“Please God tell me it wasn’t in the bakery.”
“Ha! No.” Dustin rubs his hands together. “It was in the parking deck.”
Hannah nods, mouth curling upwards at the ends. “Public sex is so hot. You ever tried it, boss?”
“Um—”
“’Cause you should,” Dustin says. “It’s not exactly comfortable, but—”
“Would you guys be up for maybe taking on more responsibility at Drury Lane?” I practically shout over him. “I need the help, and y’all proved you’re up to the task. Thoughts?”
Hannah blinks. Dustin looks at Hannah. She looks at him.
Then they look at me.
“What kind of responsibility?” Hannah asks.
“I’d promote y’all to manager”—I nod at her, then at Dustin—“and pastry chef. Yes, both come with modest pay increases. If we keep doing as well as we have been, then we’ll need to hire some more employees that would work underneath you. But for right now, I need more of a manageable schedule. I’d love to maybe, you know, start working less than seventy hours a week. And that would mean y’all will be taking on more tasks.”
I can’t help noticing how much more confident and smooth my delivery is this time around. When I asked Dustin and Hannah to cover my shifts just days ago, I could barely get the words out.
Now I’m asking for what I need, and I only uttered one you know and two maybes. Not great, but certainly an improvement.
I just said what I needed to say.
Go figure, practice really does make perfect.
“I’m game,” Hannah says.
Dustin nods. “Me too.”
As instructed, I let myself into Brooks’s condo.
And promptly let out a laugh of disbelief as an alarm chirps to announce my arrival.
“Of fucking course you live in the penthouse,” I say to the silence. Brooks texted me a little while ago saying he’d been tied up on a call, so he’s not home yet.
My overnight bag slung over my shoulder, I toe off my shoes and walk into the hushed expanse of the condo. I gape at the gorgeousness that surrounds me. Ceilings soar two stories in height. A massive kitchen on my left opens up to a massive living area on my right. The penthouse takes up the entire floor, and the enormous windows offer a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the city. Fading sunlight slants through the space, bathing the modern, masculine furniture in an early evening glow.
It’s breathtaking.
It also smells like Brooks. Clean. Crisp. Sexy.
He told me to make myself at home, so I wander around until I find the primary bedroom—one of three bedrooms—on the far corner of the penthouse. It occupies the spot with the best view I’ve seen yet. The baseball field, where Charlotte’s AAA-team plays, is a stone’s throw away. Beyond that, there’s the football stadium, its Atlas & Teton sign illuminated in green and white. Even farther away, I can see the lights in South End come on; traffic snakes along a tangle of interstate beside it.