When she’d said that she wanted to give her girl the best, I’d had a flashback to those difficult years after Dad had left, when Mom had worked herself to the bone until late into the night to make ends meet. I’d be damned if I’d let Heather go through that. I wouldn’t allow it. No way. No how.
“Owen, do you have a few minutes?” I asked, stepping through the open door.
“Five until my next call. Shoot.” He ran a hand over his bald head.
“I’ve been thinking about the scandal... ways to do some damage control in the press.”
“I’m listening.”
“How about an in-depth spread about the team? An article that highlights the human side of venture capitalism. Showing that we’re not all just greedy bastards.”
Owen leaned back in his chair. “That could work. You know anyone willing to do that? Everyone I’ve talked to just wants a scandalous angle.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have a contact at the New York Reports.”
He scoffed. “I was hoping for the Times. Or a freelancer with a huge platform.”
“As you said... no one’s willing to say anything nice about us right now. Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll give you her number. She’s a good friend.”
Owen ran a hand over his bald head again. It was his thing when he was nervous. “A good female friend? I hope this isn’t one of your hookups.”
I straightened up, training my eyes on him.
“My personal life is none of your concern.”
“Sure... except your personal life also had you walk in here with a bruised cheek.”
“That was one time in eight years.”
I leveled him with a stare. Owen and I had some history. He’d always thought I wouldn’t make it, that I didn’t have what it took to survive on Wall Street. He’d taken it personally when I was made director, because I was so laid-back about everything. It was just my style, but Owen was among the crowd that thought if you didn’t have a stick up your ass all the time, you didn’t belong in the building. I never let anyone give me shit, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Seven
Heather
“Who’s got interviews for a kick-ass story? Who’s going to absolutely nail it? That’s right. I will.”
I couldn’t believe Ryker had moved so fast. We’d only spoken about the article on Monday, and three days later, I already had interviews scheduled.
I was dancing around in my bathroom while fixing my hair in a bun, admiring my classic suit in the mirror. I usually wore jeans and sweaters when I was on field assignments, gathering stories, and pajamas when I was at home, editing articles. I could write everywhere—on the subway, in cabs, in coffee shops, but I needed absolute silence for editing. Writing was more like a stream of consciousness, whereas editing was where I shaped the content into a coherent article. Truthfully, I tried to work from home as often as possible so I could spend time with Avery, who’d learned from an early age that when Momma had her headphones on, she needed quiet.
Typically, Avery would grab her coloring book and just sit next to me, drawing in silence.
Right now, Avery was at school though, so I’d pick her up after my appointment. Pity, I’d wanted to snuggle her a little, share my happiness. If this worked out, we wouldn’t have to move. I’d spoken to my landlord this morning, letting him know there was a possibility for my bonus to be paid out early.
“Look, Heather, I’m willing to wait a few months for you to sort out the bonus situation and give me proof you can afford this if you can cover the rent in advance.”
I bit my lip. “I can do it for two months.”
I didn’t want to dip into our emergency fund too much.
“Okay. We’ll take it from there.” I felt better knowing I didn’t have to move us right away, but we weren’t out of hot water yet. Sorting out my bonus would take some time. Big corporations moved slowly, but I was happy that at least for now, we didn’t have to move.
I left the apartment with a huge grin on my face and was in an even more excellent mood when I reached the building that housed the Pearman Fund offices on floors twenty-seven, eight, and nine. It was a staple in the New York landscape. A behemoth of glass and steel, it towered even over the rest of the buildings surrounding it. The energy on Wall Street was markedly different than the rest of Manhattan. Suits walked everywhere, almost all with headphones on, engaged in continuous conversations.
When I walked through the double doors of the bank, I was so excited that I was practically bursting with energy. Not that my excitement was entirely due to the opportunity at hand... I also couldn’t wait to see a certain sexy guitarist in a suit.
I admired the enormous entrance and waiting area with wrought iron chandeliers and white leather couches. The mix of traditional and modern was right on trend. The half a dozen receptionists talked on their headphones while typing even faster than I did—not to brag, but I could type over a hundred words per minute. Combined with the sound of heels clicking on the marble floors, the background noise was infernal.
To my astonishment, it wasn’t Ryker who picked me up from the reception, but Owen, the man I’d spoken with on the phone three times already.
“Thank you for coming here on such short notice, Ms. Prescott. We appreciate it. You said that you need at least four or five interviews to pull quotes from, is that correct?” Owen said as we entered one of the nine elevators. He pressed the button to the twenty-seventh floor.
“Yes. The more, the better. That way I can interweave multiple personal stories into the article. I’d say if we can get ten or fifteen, that would be just great. A mix of men and women is also important.”
His mouth quirked up. “Wouldn’t want all the feminists on our ass for only hiring men, right?”
I disliked Owen instantly based on that comment alone. It sent shivers down my spine. Odd how on the phone calls this tone was not evident. Disturbing as it was, I forced the corners of my mouth in a smile.
“This is Ryker’s floor,” Owen announced when the doors opened.
The tips of my fingers instantly tingled. It was as if my entire body was on alert just because Ryker was somewhere close. And when I heard the deep baritone of his voice, my breath caught.
Holy hell. If I reacted like this when he wasn’t even in my line of vision, how was I going to fare in his presence?
I didn’t have to wait too long to get my answer, because Ryker appeared at the end of the hallway the next second and walked right toward us.
Yum. Hot, hot damn. To be honest, until this very moment, I couldn’t imagine Ryker working as a venture capitalist. But that crisp white shirt and the modern cut of his navy suit fit him perfectly. Everything from the way he walked to the way his colleagues greeted him spoke of self-confidence and power.
He stopped right in front of us.
“Heather, you made it. I’ve got a few colleagues who are more than happy to talk to you about their stories.”
Wait, what? I wasn’t going to interview him? I hadn’t expected that.
“Perfect.”
“Do you want to begin right away?” he asked.
Something was awry. Ryker lacked his usual charm. He was so serious. He seemed like a different person at work.