But why talk of retiring now? Why push off clients onto me specifically? Why drop these specific trades right in my lap? Yeah. Something isn’t right.
Unless Rich really doesn’t know that I saw the original document. That I read it as quickly as I did. Maybe he was that distracted with his pent-up vitriol about his life and his job. His animosity with Alexander.
Scrubbing a hand along my jaw, the fingers of my other hand tap along the keys of my laptop. Of my laptop. My laptop. Not my work laptop that I use to make the actual trades and business deals. Because I don’t use that laptop except here in the office where I leave it, always. I only use my personal laptop for basic things like checking email because after what happened with Dean stealing that IPO from me, I don’t take chances with my work laptop.
Jesus.
Opening my desk drawer, I tug out my work laptop, opening it up and searching through absolutely everything on it and coming up empty.
Everything is as it should be. No files out of place. No random portfolios. Not even an email… wait.
I click on my trash folder and there it is.
The original document with the insider information of the two biotechs.
I stare at it for I don’t even know how long, my heart thundering in my chest. Yup. Rich is most definitely trying to set me up. And he thinks I have no clue what he’s doing.
But why me? I’m new here. I’m transient. I pose no threat.
Alexander’s golden boy. You know he calls twice a week to check up on you.
There it is. Years of bitterness and jealousy. Years of hating how he was sent here, never to return. Forgotten by Alexander who has most certainly not forgotten about me.
Now what?
Even if I empty my trash folder, there will be a record of it on my hard drive. That’s how the feds and the SEC have gotten people before. I could wipe it, but something tells me it won’t be that easy. Something tells me a man like Rich covers multiple angles and if he wants to take me down, he’ll stop at nothing to do it.
Does he know I was on his computer? Is this a leverage play or is he setting me up to take the fall instead of him? Or does he think I’m this stupid and greedy? And who is James Darcy? How does he, this new ‘client’ with no real identity enter into this?
I think the answer to that is obvious. Especially with what I suspect Rich is trying to do with me.
Staring at the screen of my work laptop, I type out an email, introducing myself and letting Mr. Darcy know that I will have his trades made by the end of the business day. Then I quickly type out a text and wait.
26
Brecken
Me: Hey, I happen to be by the hospital. You wanna grab a drink or dinner?
Angel: It’s not Friday. We agreed on Friday.
Me: But I’m already here. What’s the harm? If you’re that hard up for me, we can do both nights.
Angel: Not a good time. I’m running late with my patient and I still haven’t given report yet.
Me: That’s cool, I’ll wait.
Actually, I won’t. Bonus of having your BFF work in the hospital. I tuck my phone in my pocket, feeling it vibrate, but not bothering to check her putting me off. I know what she’s doing. I’m just not going to let her do it.
“Dude, you’re fucking breaking my ass here. If Aria finds out—”
“I’ll never tell her you knew.”
“She’s going to be my wife though, Breck. My wife. I love her.”
I punch my friend in the arm. In that friendly guy way we do when we want it to hurt just a little without coming off as aggressive. “And I’m your lifelong best friend. You betrayed me by screwing my sister when I told you not to. I think you owe me. Hell, I think she owes me for being such a hypocrite.”
He growls. Then curses. But by this point, we’re already in the elevator, so I don’t know why he’s putting up such pretenses. “You really like her?”
I give him a look. “Would I be in a hospital on my way to the ICU while not being a patient if I didn’t?” I hate hospitals. I think most anyone who doesn’t work here does.
Wes who has the haggard appearance and exhausted demeanor of a man seeing the end of a very long shift sighs. Then he leans back against the elevator wall, I think in resignation. His agitated hands are all over his face and hair, making him look ridiculous in a matter of seconds.
“She’ll seriously put me out on the streets for this.”
I slap his shoulder as the elevator slows. “You can come live with me, but I get the side of the bed closer to the window.” He raises an unimpressed eyebrow and I throw my hands up, so done with Aria’s crap on this. “Aria needs to chill her shit when it comes to me and her friends. That was high school. This is now.”
“And now is different?” He looks far too anxious for a man who deals with life and death on a minute-to-minute basis.
“It is,” I assure him.
“Then come on.” He doesn’t sound too happy about that but I follow after him, down the stark white halls, past doctors and nurses and transport people all in varying colored scrubs. We reach a set of double doors, the stench of death, sickness, and antiseptic making me want to hurl as he swipes his badge on a keypad. The doors swing open like the gates of hell and here we are.
The surgical intensive care unit.
Rina floats between here and the medical ICU, but Wes said he saw her in here today, so I’m trusting him on this.
“Go in there.” Wes points to a door that says staff lounge, but I’m not given the option as he shoves me in. “Wait for either me or her to come get you. Do not move or touch anything.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Put on scrubs and pretend I’m a doctor?”
Wes crosses himself and I roll my eyes. But I still do what I’m told, dropping onto the bench of the locker room or whatever this actually is. There are two dining tables each surrounded by four ratty chairs, a fridge that looks older than what my parents had when they bought their first house, and a microwave that is visibly stained with so much food I’m shocked they allow this sort of biohazard in a hospital.
Tonight is Thursday. Not Friday. But it’s been a week. Or, more aptly, a couple of days. I’m a dude on the edge and I need my girl. I just need to see her. Even if she tells me to scram and fuck off and throws something large and heavy at me.
I don’t care.
My world is falling apart.
Quite literally at the seams. Soon I will likely either be unemployed or arrested for insider trading. To say I’m on borrowed time isn’t a joke. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.
I’m trying for the whole carpe diem Margaritaville way of thinking.
If I could get away with hauling her off to an island, I would. But in the interim, I’ll settle for some time. That’s all I want. I’m also trying not to be creepy about it given her past, but I just literally broke into her work, so I think I’m pushing all kinds of boundaries. She’ll likely be pissed at me for this.
Searching around the room, I start to have second thoughts.
Maybe this was stupid. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this. Pushed her this far when she told me no. Christ, she’s going to think I’m a stalker just like—