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“Thai it is,” I reply, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Go kick some ass, Mr. Sharpe.”
“You too… Mrs. Sharpe,” he says in that ‘boss’ tone that he knows makes my panties damp even after months of being married. Just hearing that I’m Mrs. Raven Sharpe makes my heart speed up a little bit, and having my husband in the same office with me?
It’s all my dreams come true.
Going into my cubicle, I have to grin. When the news spread that Dylan and I were engaged, in other words about five minutes after I walked into the office with him the Monday after the governor’s event while wearing my new ring, people were wondering how long it was going to be before I was going to get moved into one of the senior executive offices.
Months later, here I am, in the same cubicle I’ve had the entire time. That’s the way I like it, though, because I’m still learning and I don’t want preferential treatment. I’ll earn my way. I know damn well that I will, and my husband will respect that. Dylan and I made it very clear to everyone, in a company-wide meeting done right in the middle of the floor, that while we were going to be a couple and the rumor mongers could fuck off, I’m going to earn my way up the ladder in the firm.
The only change? I’ve picked up a habit from Dylan of reading the morning paper before I start trading. In fact, as I check my clock, I see I’ve still got some time before the morning markets open, so I decide to take a quick look.
And right there, on top of the business page, I see something that makes me smile ironically.
The Faulkner family fall from grace following investigation by SEC
By: Vanna Nicholson
“Guess you didn’t forget that little slight, did you?” I murmur as I give the article a quick read.
As it turns out, Vanna was telling the truth. Evan was the one who wrote the scathing article about me and joyfully applied the pressure to the editor to print his version of events. I guess he thought Vanna was another person he could squash beneath his thumb. Her revenge wasn’t a tit-for-tat gossip situation, though. She went more scorched earth, took her proof of every dirty deed straight to the feds, and now, the Faulkners are weeks into an SEC investigation that will be their ultimate downfall. It’s not the first time he’s done something untoward, and apparently, a number of accusations, some with proof and some without, have been made.
Word is, the Faulkner patriarchy is furious that Evan’s dick-measuring contest and poor behavior is the downfall of them all, and they’ve threatened to cut him off from theoffshore accounts the SEC can’t touch. If that happens, he’ll have to get an actual job on his own merits. As if he has any.
Oh, I can only wish Karma would be that good.
Vanna was clearly happy to write about the latest update to the investigation, sparing no punches in her description of the Faulkners, with phrases such as,The once untouchable family, now reduced to being fading bit players in the Financial District’s power structure, has yet to make public comment about the latest embarrassment.
“Note to self,” I comment as I turn the page. “Vanna Nicholson’s not someone you want to piss off. Fuck around and find out at your own risk.”
The rest of the business news is relatively mundane, but there is one part that catches my attention. It’s half-buried in the morning roundup section, a sort of bullet-point story that covers events in the Financial District in quick fashion, with a bit of gossip speculation thrown in. Not something I put too much stock in after what happened to Dylan and me, but still, it makes me smile.
The Financial District’sreigning power couple, Dylan and Raven Sharpe, once again made social waves with their appearance at last night’s basketball game. Sitting courtside, the Sharpes cheered on our local heroes while being seen chatting it up with both the mayor and the city’s most influential celebs. Could the Sharpes be looking at expanding their empire beyond the Financial District? Mayor Sharpe has a pretty good sound to it.
The last linemakes me laugh because I know that’s not on Dylan’s plan anytime soon. But maybe one day. Closing the paper, I jump onto the computer, getting into the market. I use the combination of guts, research, and feel that I’ve developed over the past year to guide my account.
My account. It feels amazing, thinkingabout the amount of money at my fingertips. I’ve still got my personal account. Dylan and I love seeing it grow too, but helping the firm’s clients grow is even more important to me. I was just recently given control of an entire school district’s retirement fund, and while it’s a small district, it’s important to me. People’s lives, their futures are in my hands, and that means a lot to me.
I’m so into my work that I barely notice the knock on my door, and Dylan comes in. “Mrs. Sharpe.”
I look up from my research, smiling as I do. “Mr. Sharpe. How goes the dragon slaying this morning?”
“More than well,” he says, coming around to rub my shoulders. “Did you read the paper?”
“I did. What did you think of the Mayor Sharpe comment?”
Dylan chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “I think the governor is putting that in their ear as another way to pressure me.”
He might be right. We’ve had dinner with the governor and his wife several times now, and with his term limit coming up, he’s looking for a protégé to mentor into the office.
“And while he may have plans for me, I’m not interested. I’ve got three things that I love. The market, you… and family.” Dylan runs his hand down, resting it on my belly, which isn’t growing yet, but will be soon. “Expansion’s a good thing.”
I place my hand over his, thinking of the day when we’ll soon be able to sit like this and feel a little Sharpe kicking back. “A very good thing. When are we going to announce it?”
He turns around, perching on the edge of my desk, his lips twisted up uncertainly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
His cheeks go a shade pinker. “I already told a few people. I couldn’t help it. I’m too excited.” We agreed to wait until I was through my first trimester, but that’s been harder than expected. For both of us, apparently.
