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Tamara snorts. “Mr. Sharpe, there’s three kinds of secrets in this company. There’s secrets that you and I keep. There’s secrets I keep. And there are secrets you think you keep. And when you’ve ‘kept’ information from me…” She pauses, doing tiny air quotes around ‘kept’ to let me know that it’s in appearance only. “I’ve trusted your decision making. I understand why you’ve done it, usually for my own plausible deniability.”
“I’m not going to hang you out to dry,” I point out.
“But you don’t need to hang out there alone, either,” she says, her tone lowering. “Look, Mr. Sharpe. Truth is, I haven’t heard anything through my network about you, at least in the past few weeks.”
“The past few weeks?” I ask, and she nods. “Before that?”
“Mr. Sharpe, it’s not my place to say, but your hiring of Miss Hill so soon after the charity event? With what I heard?” She tilts her head, giving me what I suspect is akin to her Disappointed Mother look. It’s weak at best, given her daughter is a good kid who needs little correction.
“I see,” I say flatly, warning her.
Tamara likely thinks I have a blind spot where Raven is concerned and that the rumors she heard are the only reason I hired Raven. If that’s the case, she’s dead wrong. She may even wonder if, like many other men in positions of power, I’m getting played by a younger, pretty woman who sees me as a shortcut to Easy Street. She’d be wrong there too.
Tamara can read my face, and she rushesto reassure me that my concerns are unwarranted. “You have never, and I truly mean never, given me reason to question one of your business decisions,” she says. “You might have had ulterior reasons for hiring Miss Hill. But I’ve heard the talk around the office about her being some sort of investment phenom, and I’ve seen her work and how she works with people in the office. She seems to be a good fit here. The research she was assigned…”
I nod, and she continues, “Her report hit my inbox this morning. In my opinion, it was excellent. In two and a half days, she produced work that we expect a freshman hire to take a week or more to complete. I’ve only known a handful of people who can produce quality work as quickly, and I’m sitting in the room with one of them.”
“Why, thank you.” I keep my tone tamed, although her decision to question Miss Hill’s presence has me on edge.
Tamara and I have a professionally interwoven relationship based on keeping the firm afloat and steering toward the best heading. We don’t often give each other compliments or atta-boys. Neither of us is accustomed to them or comfortable with it. But I do appreciate it this time… so long as it’s followed by leaving Raven alone.
“Word is, she’s making you money nearly hand over fist, putting pressure on more senior investors to improve their margins,” Tamara says. “Her resume had no fluff, her references are impressive, and she seems to have found a place without ruffling too many feathers, which is a delicate balance with finance types.”
I chuckle, acknowledging that ‘finance bro’ is a stereotype for a reason. We’re not all ambitious, greedy, numbers types with egos the size of a BMW, but it’s also, sadly, not too far off.
“So, do you think I should give her more responsibilities?” I ask. “If she’s this good.”
Tamara sits back, tapping the edge of her tablet as she thinks. “My father,” she says, “is a baseball fan. Loves the game, loves the complexities of it. He gets into the layers ofmanagement, the farm system teams have, the stats, all of it. He would talk your ear off if you’d give him half a chance, but what I remember most was his uncanny ability to tell when a pitcher had been brought up from the minors too quickly. He didn’t even need to look at the game. He’d tell me beforehand. ‘Kid’s gonna have a rough day’ or ‘he needs more seasoning.’ Like a pitcher was a steak or something. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.”
“You think Raven needs more seasoning,” I note, and Tamara shrugs. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that if you just want someone who’s going to make you a ton of money, I’d say step things up,” Tamara explains. “Use her talents to pad your bottom line as aggressively as possible before someone else snatches her away.”
I frown at that, thinking no one is taking Raven anywhere, much less away from me or my firm. Tamara smiles as though I’ve let her into my thoughts unwittingly.
“However, if you want what I suspect you do, you may want to make sure Miss Hill has time to learn, grow, and truly be prepared for what’s ahead… when and if things change.”
“And what do you suspect I want?” I can barely get the question out before another comes, “and exactly what do you think is going to change?”
“That, Mr. Sharpe, is something I can’t answer for you,” Tamara says as she closes the cover over her tablet and stands up. “I’ll get these reports ready for you by tomorrow morning. If that’ll be all?”
I nod, and Tamara leaves. Rather than giving me answers, she’s left me with a mind filled with questions.
What is it I want from Raven Hill?
After this weekend, an explanation, perhaps.
I’d spoken to her at McGinty’s on Friday, keeping things surface-level and then moving away to speak with another group. Later, when I scanned the bar,I discovered she’d left without a word. I was worried until Hector had climbed on the stage for a bit of impromptu karaoke, dedicating his song to the company newcomers and mentioning that Raven had headed home early and would miss his much-anticipated return to the spotlight. I’d been disappointed because while we hadn’t had plans, exactly, I’d hoped to see her after the get-together. Not a text. Not a word from her. It was unexpected.
And then, the last two days were essentially hell. I didn’t hear from her at all apart from one-word answers and ‘I can’t. I’m busy.’, and I had been on the edge of showing up at her apartment.
She’s feltoff. Like something happened, although I can’t imagine what.
The only thing that stopped me was the recognition that my control where she is concerned is no longer slipping. Any semblance of control has slipped completely out of my reach, and that is unfamiliar territory.
So, I waited, using the weekend to turn her behavior, and my own, over and over again in my mind, all the while, wondering why I was concerned with her when she didn’t appear to be interested. My thumb rubs against the pad of my pointer as I remind myself. It’s business. And I’m Dylan Sharpe. I don’t chase anyone. Although, for an answer… I’ll allow it.
Glancing at the clock, I see that I only have a little longer to wait until I get my answer. Because right at six, I hear her high heels and their muffled click on the floor of the carpet of my outer office.
