Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Oh, of course.
Since my grandparents read the article, they know Marcus is a billionaire. And not just any billionaire, but a Wall Street titan whose fund has almost a hundred billion under management.
Actually, they must’ve known that even before the article, since Gramps set up those Google alerts. He probably looked up Marcus at some point after our Skype session, and this is the result.
My grandparents might not show it, but they’re at least somewhat intimidated by their guest’s wealth. Why else would Grandma downplay the awesomeness of her Colombian elixir?
“Here you go,” she says, handing Marcus a cup, and he thanks her before taking a big sip.
Immediately, his eyes widen, and he looks at the cup, then at my grandmother. “Mary, this is amazing coffee. Where on earth did you get it?”
Grandma lights up like a Christmas tree. “You like it? I order it from this one small farm in Colombia, near the Amazon rainforest…” She launches into her usual spiel about the farm’s fair-trade practices, and I tune her out to study my new boyfriend—or whatever Marcus is to me now.
Needless to say, my plan of pretending to be together for my grandparents’ sake while keeping him at a distance failed miserably. I still have no intention of moving in with him, but I can’t deny that we are, at the very least, dating again.
Or rather, sleeping together and spending Thanksgiving with my family.
Speaking of which, Marcus seems exceedingly comfortable with my grandparents. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after the way he jumped at a chance to meet them on Skype, but it’s still quite impressive to me. My college ex had always been so stiff around them, so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. To Jim, my grandparents had been dinosaurs, so ancient and strange that he never bothered getting to know them as individuals—or paying them much attention. Marcus, however, is not only listening to my grandmother with total concentration, he’s asking follow-up questions, interacting with her as he would with me.
To him, my family isn’t unwelcome baggage that comes along with dating me; they’re people. And judging by his demeanor, people he likes and respects.
Grandma and Gramps have already had breakfast—despite going to bed late, they woke up early, as usual—but they keep us company as we devour the leftovers: zucchini-pumpkin pancakes with homemade yogurt and local honey. As we eat, Grandma tells Marcus all about the tomatoes she’s growing in her garden, and Gramps asks Marcus a zillion questions about the market and which stocks to invest in.
“Gramps, he can’t just tell you that,” I chide when my grandfather first gets on the topic. “That’s like insider trading or frontrunning or something.”
“Only if I’m disclosing material nonpublic information or telling him about a trade my fund’s about to make,” Marcus says, smiling at me warmly. “There’s nothing wrong with your grandfather asking my opinion on various investments.”
“Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure,” I mumble, forking a piece of pancake into my mouth. “In that case, carry on.”
And they do. By the time breakfast is over, I feel like I’ve sat through an hour of CNBC, only with vastly smarter talking heads. My grandfather must’ve gotten even more into investing in the past year, because he seems to know all the right things to ask. Or maybe it just feels that way to me because Marcus answers all of his questions without the slightest hint of condescension. Either way, all the stock talk leaves Gramps so pumped up that as soon as we get up and thank Grandma for the delicious pancakes, he runs straight for his laptop—presumably to buy some of the investments he and Marcus have discussed.
“Thank you for that,” I tell Marcus as we walk back to our room. “You made him so happy.”
“Did I?” He gives me a sidelong look. “What about you, kitten?”
“Me?”
“Did I bore you with all the investment chatter?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” And to my surprise, it’s true. Though the topic isn’t something I’m interested in, observing Marcus in his element had been fascinating. Not only does he possess bottomless knowledge about the stock market and many publicly traded companies, he has a way of conveying it that makes the normally dull-to-me subject come alive. Partially, it’s the way he speaks, with a kind of quiet authority that commands attention. Mostly, though, it’s how he seamlessly weaves the human element into the numbers, talking about investor psychology and CEO personalities in the same breath as profit margins and valuation metrics.
Listening to him, I understood why my grandfather and so many others fall into stock investing as a hobby—and why Marcus himself is so passionate about what he does.
He smiles warmly. “I’m glad. You didn’t look bored, but you were very quiet.”
“Nope, not bored at all.” Entering the guestroom, I stop and turn to face him. “So, what are your plans for today? I mean, do you have some ideas for what you want to do before our Thanksgiving dinner?” Marcus’s gaze instantly strays to the bed, and I clarify, “Besides that.”