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As I swallow the last of the whiskey, I genuinely feel sorry for the young woman. Or maybe not sorry. This feels like kinship, which would make sense considering Evan fucked me over too. No one was there to help me at the time, but perhaps I could help Miss Hill?
And in turn, help myself to a bit of cold revenge.
The little spark of an idea invites an asymmetrical grin to play at my lips. A mere instant later, the plan is fully plotted out in my mind—a way to use the information I’ve gleaned before our meeting and maximize the resource I’ve been gifted in the beautiful and surprising Miss Raven Hill.
There’s a reason Evan’s one of the best at making enemies in this industry. And you know what they say, the enemy of my enemy is… well, I’d take Raven as more than just my friend.
Standing up, I approach the table, a minute late but still close to our appointment. “Raven Hill? Good afternoon, I’m Dylan Sharpe.”
She looks up, and I’m struck by how unusual her green eyes are. Now I’m sure of it. Evan’s a dumb fuck. How could any man who has a woman this gorgeous with him be tempted by anyone else?
“Mr. Sharpe,” Raven says, and while there’s tension in her voice, it’s nothing that couldn’t be explained by simple nervesover this meeting. In fact, if I hadn’t just observed her break-up with Evan, I’d have written off the tension as exactly that.
I’m impressed by her strength and resilience and have to remind myself that though a small mercy is kind, I need to be careful here. My assumptions are most likely correct, but there’s still a chance this whole display is one of Evan’s machinations.
She stands to greet me, stretching out her hand. I expect her skin to be cold, or maybe clammy, after the emotional upheaval, but it’s simply warm in mine as we shake professionally. Her touch, though… is like fire. My heart races, and heat surges through me as I release her and unbutton my jacket.
“May I sit?” I ask wryly, and Raven blinks and smiles while tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Her smile is even more enchanting, and as I take my seat, I can feel myself falling under her spell. “Tell me about yourself. Not what I can read on your resume, but tell me about you.” I should mean professionally. I absolutely mean personally… intimately.
Thankfully, she has her wits about her and keeps us on track, seeming unaware of my visceral response to her. “I’m interested in your firm because I can fill a role for you in a way no other candidate can. I have an uncanny ability to find extra percentage points of profit in the market news and?—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, rudely holding up a hand to test her reaction. “I know all that. I read your resume, compared your personal portfolio info to mine and my colleagues’. I know your professional qualifications, and I’ve heard a thousand people tell me that they’re bloodhounds when it comes to sniffing out profit.” Her expression doesn’t fall at the chastisement. In fact, she leans in, nodding slightly, as if she’s hanging on every word I say. “They all tell me that they’re the next star of the stock market. I said, tell me aboutyou. Why do you want to bust your ass so hard for a position at my firm?”
“This is my passion,” Raven confides, continuing when I don’t shut her down, “It’s not an interest or ajob that pays well. It’s honestly not even about the money. The dollars kind of become meaningless when you focus on the percentages up or down, the points here, the gains there. It’s not a game, and I certainly don’t treat it as such when I’m handling people’s livelihoods, but it’s the power of beating… myself. It’s what I obsess over, what I look at before bed and the first thing I check when I wake up. I love the industry, the fight of it, the grueling gives and takes. I’m prepared for all of it. In fact, I can’t wait, which is why I’ve already been doing so much for my own portfolio.”
Her eyes read an intensity that I’ve seen before. In several of my own employees. Her answer is spot-on to what I usually look for. Someone who loves the process as much as the result. Not to mention, she did a great job of answering my question and guiding me right back to her strengths. She’d be adept with client conversations, I bet.
We’re momentarily interrupted by a waiter who refills her water and takes our orders of coffee, mine black, and hers with both cream and sugar.
“I’m glad you understand that it’s not a game,” I warn. “The stakes with your own investments are quite different from those at firms like mine. You cannot avoid falls, and those drops can be devastating when you’re dealing with hundreds of millions.”
Raven nods. “I’m more than aware.” Her voice is strident, her words low and passionate, and I can’t help but feel drawn to her.
Professionally speaking. But this is more than that, too. The sparkle in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks that’s more than her makeup, those soft, pillowy lips that would feel perfect wrapped around…
“I see,” I reply, clearing my throat. I tap my thumb on the table, considering how much to tell her as the coffees are set down on the table and the waiter leaves.
“I have a confession for you, Miss Hill. I was here,” —I gesture to the corner— “just over there before our meeting. I waswatching you.” She swallows thickly, no doubt knowing where this is going. To her credit, she doesn’t rush to explain… or lie, as many would. “I feel that finding the right fit, person-wise, is more than paper achievements. Unfortunately, that also means I have to know what happened between you and Evan Faulkner. You two are a thing?Werea thing?”
“Correct,” she answers, her voice tight. “Were,” Raven says coldly but doesn’t offer more.
A beat passes while I wait to see what she does, but she stays steady, simply returning my gaze. That’s when I know it’s time to test her further.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try and name drop him on your way up the interview ladder.”
“I want to earn my position on my own merits,” Raven says matter-of-factly.
“I could know nothing about you and tell you that you’re much better off, professionally and personally, without him.”
Her gaze slips for a moment, down to the table, and I wonder what she’s thinking. It’s not too hard to guess that she’s coming to the conclusion that this position is lost to her. It should be. If I could contain my desire to fuck over that prick, I would more than likely send her away, simply because of the connection. However, I am a prick myself.
And not one to throw away opportunities such as this.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” I tell her evenly, watching closely for her reaction. Raven lifts narrowed eyes back to mine, and then one brow arches mere millimeters as she considers my words, seemingly unsure what to think. “He and I have history.”
There’s more to that story. So much more. But now is not the time, nor the place, to explain. Besides, Raven doesn’t need the background to help with the plan I’m considering her for.
“I see,” she says, prepared for the polite dismissal she should be receiving.
