It’s Just Business

One of the benefits of being a silent partner in Lionfish is having my own private table. It’s in the corner of the luxurious bar, a table that’s slightly cloaked in shadow and allows me the chance to observe the social world of finance without having to be seen. Wealth certainly has its perks in this city.

I chose to invest in Lionfish because of its location. Within walking distance of my penthouse and my office, it’s one of the most exclusive spots in the Financial District. I’m often here late into the night, watching those who are celebrating and those who are commiserating. I wouldn’t call it insider trading, but seeing a certain fund manager sit at the bar and down shot after shot of bottom-shelf whiskey one night led to my putting in a massive short call on his biggest client the next day… and netted me thirty million dollars.

Checking my phone, I see a message from my executive assistant, telling me I’ve got a meeting at two o’clock after this interview is finished.

Like I’d forget, but that’s her job, and she does it well. Every detail of my day is scheduled, including arriving early to review Raven Hill’s resume and refresh myself on the details.

It ticks all the boxes. Then again, every resume that reaches my desk ticks all the right boxes, has all the right qualifications.

What I want to know is if Raven will be a good fit for my company in motivation, morale, achievement, and longevity. Can she really handle the bullshit of the day to day and the demanding hours and clientele? The clientele, especially. It takes thick skin to succeed here. Many think they have what it takes… and to be blunt, they don’t. Plain and simple, they can’t handle the pressure, nor the abuse and greed that come with it. And secondarily, can she work in those questionable conditions while creating a revenue stream worthy of the Sharpe name?

Successful interviewees must possess both sides of the coin—toughness and shrewdness.

I want hard chargers, yes. But not those who will literally do anything for a buck. They are all too frequent, and with my reputation, they think they’ll find a common ground with me. But while I might be seen as somewhat of a Machiavellian asshole, and that admittedly isn’t too far off the mark, I’m definitely better than some of the players in this game.

Cold, calculating, all business? That’s who I am, who I’ve had to become to succeed. And though I play dirty, I ensure my clients’ names stay pristine.

And of course, my team is nothing but professional.

Taking another swig, I prepare to move to my reserved table when I hear a familiar voice. Evan Faulkner is a longtime colleague and friend turned enemy turned rival. At one point, I would have considered him one of my closest confidants. He was someone to lean on when I first got started. Someone who went out of his way to make me feel like I belonged. Someone I shouldn’t have trusted. But even that was a lesson in itself, and fuck, did I learn from it.

I don’t mind a cutthroat shark. After all, this is business. But Evan exists on an entirely different level of deceit and disgust. Despite his family’s generational wealth, he’s one of the ‘anything for a buck’ types and would throw his grandmother out of her home if there were profit in it. I hate him for what he’s done and what he represents. And that’s barely the start of his assholery.

I watch Evan approach a table, my fucking table, right as a beautiful woman sits down. Raven Hill. Anger rises as I watch what I think is him poaching a potential new hire, only to see something entirely different develop.

She included her social media links in her resume submission, as is required, so I’ve seen what Raven looks like, but the camera doesn’t do her justice. She’s beautiful, stunning in a way that draws attention without her seemingly being aware of it. Her surprise at seeing Evan is gone in a flash, replaced with a warm smile. Despite being a keen observer of others, I don’t need any special skills to deduce that they know each other… intimately.

I narrow my eyes, compiling what I’ve seen of Miss Hill’s resume and online persona into a more complete image with what’s in front of me. She’s too good for him. He’s wealthy and charming in a cobra’s kiss type of way, but surely, she sees through that?

If not, this interview might be over before it begins.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Still looking from my hidden table, I can’t help but feel drawn to her. Curiosity isn’t something I’m accustomed to feeling, but it’s there now, at the back of my consciousness.

I sit back, sipping the finger of my personal stock of Glenfiddich they keep at the bar, and watch while I consider my options. Every possibility runs through my mind.

The most obvious answer is that she’s a plant, spying on my firm for Evan. But if that’s the case, he knows better than to be seen with her, so I dismiss that outright. Evan’s evil, but he’s not stupid.

So what the fuck is he doing with her, and more importantly, what’s he doing with her right now, only minutes before our meeting?

If they’re as close as it initially looked, there isn’t a shot in hell of her joining my firm. I can’t trust Evan to not try and use any relationship with Raven to either one-up me or hamstring me. I would do the same thing if I had a valuable resource in his inner circle, so he wouldn’t give that a moment’s hesitation.

I’m thinking of further alternatives when everything changes.

Evan says something, and I can see Raven blink in shock. While she hides it well, her eyes flash with outrage. It’s as if someone just slapped her in the face. Probably Evan, by the way those emerald eyes are burning right now.

I’m surprised by my own reaction to watching their exchange play out because I feel pulled to intervene, perhaps even to help her, which is an odd sensation, given I’m far from a white knight. Instead, I absently swirl the whiskey as intrigue settles in.

While I’m no expert at reading lips, Raven’s mouth is in clear view, and I can read one of the words she says. Elise. Elise Draeger is Evan’s assistant and has been seen with him at a handful of meetings. It’s always seemed professional, but perhaps not?

The picture becomes sharply clear in a flash. Raven’s reaction going from warm to icy, her stunned expression, and the anger building beneath her serene guise at the mention of another woman.

Evan truly is an idiot. What makes it worse is that he chose now, in Lionfish, to break up with Raven. He has to know the importance of this meeting, and to choose now…

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. He really is a callous asshole.

It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s gone.

I watch closely, waiting to see what she does. Will she leave, or stay? Can she put together a sentence after that humiliating experience? The answers to those questions will tell me more about Raven Hill than the piece of paper in front of me.

Her stern expression slowly fades into professionalism, but the haunted look in her eyes doesn’t change. When she takes a sip of water, her hand trembles, but she doesn’t spill a drop. Perhaps she’s made of sturdier stuff than Evan thought. Maybe that was the problem?

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 nerves over 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 about you. 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 a job 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 was watching 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? Were a 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.

Instead, I cut her off. “I have an idea.” That gets her attention quickly, reigniting the fire of hope in her eyes. Oh, she still has some fight in her. That’s good, she’ll need it. “Are you aware of the Faulkner Estate event this upcoming Friday?” I speak barely above a murmur.

“Of course,” she says, and her expression softens. It’s the first glimpse through her façade to a different—and deeper—side of her. “I had hoped to go with Evan. Guess that won’t matter now,” she scoffs.

‘Why don’t you come with me instead?’ I suggest, leaning back in the chair. I’m already celebrating the events unveiling themselves in my head and my well-deserved triumph over Evan as I dangle a tantalizing carrot in front of her. ‘I have a friend who might be able to use you in his firm.’

Raven considers me, her gaze searching my face. I can clearly see the pain and sadness in her eyes as she understands the unsaid truth. She can’t work for me. Not after a relationship with Evan Faulkner. As beautiful as she is, I’m not that rash. Or stupid.

‘I don’t have the job at Sharpe.” It’s not a question, but rather a blunt statement of the facts as she sees them. “So, why are you asking me to the fundraiser?”

Clever girl. She knows that her brains are not all she brings to the table. The question is… is she willing to use her beauty as a door-opener so that her brilliant mind has a chance to shine?

I hesitate. The truth is, after talking with her, I think she’s someone who could fit in with my firm. But all of this between her and Evan is something I can’t overlook. “No,” I agree coldly, “but coming with me will help you make connections you couldn’t make otherwise. Your resume’s good. Better than good. You’ll be a good fit somewhere, but not with my firm.”

I stare into her eyes, feeling more alive than I have in ages. I’m on the cusp of a revenge I should’ve had long ago but was too young and too green to enact at the time. That’s no longer the case, and Raven’s appearance today is an opportunity I couldn’t have scripted to be more perfect.

I was barely even considering going to the Faulkner event Friday night. These fundraisers are mostly a chance for rich men and their trophy wives to pat each other on the backs under the guise of do-gooding, which is something I neither want nor need.

In truth, along with all the ass-kissing, there’s a fair amount of networking. Not something I worry about, but Raven? It’s a rare invitation to the big table. If she wants it.

If she turns me down, it’s not going to hurt me in the slightest. Really, it’s her own demise.

She nods tersely, not quite trusting me. “What’s in it for you?” she asks, obviously recognizing that my invitation comes with an ulterior motive. “Is that all? Just attending the event?”

Many women would make that sound like a proposition of their own, offering much more than an evening with them on my arm at the slightest promise of something in return. Raven does no such thing. She’s clarifying that she’s not interested in that sort of arrangement without spelling it out.

She rises another notch in my estimation.

“If that’s what you prefer,” I reply with a gentlemanly nod, despite not being one, and giving her the appearance of being in charge though we both know that’s not the case. “As for me, I will get to attend a function with a beautiful, intelligent woman at my side. One who was recently involved with someone I would enjoy knocking off his pedestal.” I measure the way her eyes flare at my blunt statement and offer a victoriously feral smile. “Is your answer yes, then?”

“I’ll think about it and let you know by tomorrow,” she answers. “Email?”

“No,” I reply, reaching into my pocket and taking out my phone. She takes out her own, and within seconds, I have her contact information, and she has mine.

There’s no way in fucking hell I’m giving her a business card. Though I’m playing it cool, I want this too much.

Revenge? Raven? Perhaps both? Surprisingly, that feels most accurate.

Standing up, she picks up her purse and outstretches her hand. “I’ll call you. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Dylan,” I correct as we shake. She blinks twice, her lashes fluttering as if she’s shocked at the concept of using my actual name.

With that, she leaves me questioning everything I’ve just said and done. The only thing I know for sure is… fuck Evan Faulkner.