None of this has been helped since Rich openly declared to having a particular hard-on for me at our team meeting Wednesday morning.
“Excellent. A lot of them are green. Wet behind the ears. It’s all well and good but if we want this branch to become one of the top earners then we need more guys like you.”
I don’t reply. He went from throwing team mentality bullshit at me and charging me with not ‘hotdogging around’—his term—to practically sucking my dick every time I walk in the door.
“Well, listen. I know it’s late, but I wanted to have a quick chat if I could, friend to friend. I think at this point I can call you my friend.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Not so much, but whatever.
“Glad to hear it. I feel like we’re the same, you and I,” he continues, wiggling his finger back and forth between us. “Both cut from the same cloth as it is. You might not be aware, but I was sent here as a punishment once too. Then my wife decided she liked Boston better than New York.” He rolls his eyes. “For the kids. Living or commuting to the city is rough. Or at least that’s the bullshit she claimed.”
There are so many things to focus on I hardly know where to begin. First, I had no idea he had been banished up here as well. And second, I had no clue he had a wife since he doesn’t wear a wedding band and chases Luccia and the other women on the floor around like a horny teenager.
Men who disrespect their wives get zero respect from me.
It makes me like him even less.
“Well, you’ve certainly made Boston your own.”
He grins broadly at my non-compliment, completely misreading me, considering it’s still a place the punished are sent. “You don’t suffer fools, Davenport, and I think that’s what I like about you. You’re a no-bullshit guy.” Again, I don’t answer. “Come here.”
My eyebrows knit until he clamors out of his chair, standing in front of his window, staring out at the cityscape. I join him, but the view is pretty much the same from his office as it is from mine and in any event, it’s practically dark out.
Truth, I have zero patience for him.
“Boston might not be as glamorous as New York, but it’s an easier place to live, work, and raise a family. You might not be there yet, but I have to imagine such things have hit your radar.”
“Hmmm,” I hum noncommittally.
“I know Alexander said it was only a year, but I’m hoping you’ll reconsider and decide to stay. I know you’ve already pulled in a few new clients, big clients in the few days you’ve been here. We need you in Boston, Breck. Permanently.”
I step back away from the window, staring incredulously at him as he returns to his desk. “Rich. It’s been a week. All due respect man, you don’t know me well enough to make that determination. Hell, I don’t know this place well enough yet to make that determination.”
He waves me away as he slides open his top desk drawer, reading something off a piece of paper and then typing it in. “I can never remember my password,” he grumbles. “Why they have us change it every thirty days is beyond me. Anyway, I know your kind because it’s exactly who I was at your age…”
He continues droning on, but my eyes have affixed themselves to the left side of his left screen since it’s almost directly in front of my face as I stand here talking to him. What caught my attention is the unusual nature of the document. It appears to be a pasted email chain featuring a biotech logo under the signatures.
Astrid Pharmaceuticals.
I scroll through it quickly, whether I should be or not, and discover it’s an internal conversation between two top officials within Astrid discussing the acquisition of their company by another prominent biotech in Boston. And as part of the purchase agreement, they’re going to get their drug that’s been hovering on the cusp, but stalled, pushed through the FDA. The takeover is set to be announced next month.
I blink, reading it again and then step back, already feeling beyond uncomfortable that something like this, something that is clearly privileged and nonpublic information is sitting right here on his computer screen.
Someone within Astrid copied and pasted the emails onto a word doc and sent it to Rich.
I have no idea if he’s used it or not for trading, but if he has…
What. The. Fuck?
“I won’t say anything else about it. For now,” he drones on, completely unaware I just saw something I shouldn’t have. Something he shouldn’t have. He winks at me, smiling his slimy fucking smile.
“Right. It’s a hell of a pitch, Rich. I’d be lying if I said it isn’t tempting. But it’s really too soon for me to consider such an offer.”
“Just a word of advice from someone who’s been there before. Guys like us never rebound. I tried, but Alexander has kept me on a tight leash, and he’ll do the same with you. He’ll tell you you can come back after your year. He’ll tell you you’ll be his golden boy again. It’s all fucking lies,” he spits, venom dripping from his tongue. “Trust me on that. We have to look out for ourselves.”
Ho. Lee. Fuck.
I nod, doing my best to keep my expression even. “I hear you.” And I do. Because what I think he could possibly be talking about… I can’t even with how illegal what I just saw potentially is. “Thank you for calling that to my attention. It’s certainly something to keep in mind.”
Did he leave it there on purpose for me to see? Is that why he called me into his office and over to his window before returning to his computer with me in the room? Is he trying to set me up? Bait me into being a greedy bastard and make a trade based on what I saw? Get me arrested and have me lose my trading license?
Or is he that fucking stupid that he would do something like that without even realizing it?
There is a chance someone just sent it to him and he’s not using it.
But then why does he have it in the first place? And open on his computer like that? Why was something like that copied, pasted, and emailed to an investment banker if it’s not intended to be used?
My gut tells me he has every intention of using that information.
That something is very wrong with this man and this situation. Especially given the locker room speech I just heard.
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
I force a half smile to my lips, my heart racing through my chest. “I’m gonna get going. It’s late.”
“Hot date tonight?”
I chuckle the way he expects me to. I even smirk impishly. “You know how it is.”
“I do.” He laughs, leaning back in his chair with his hands on his round stomach. “Even when I’m not supposed to, if you know what I mean.” He gives me another wink.
Fucking pig.
More conspiratorial laughs and then I turn to leave, hardly able to catch my breath after that. Even worse, having no idea what to do about it.
10
brecken
I somehow made my way here. A small pizza and sub joint that faces Congress street. I didn’t go home. I couldn’t go home. I needed to think, and sitting in my apartment in this life was not going to help me with that.