I have a choice—I always have a choice. And my choice is not to live that way.
Not ever again.
“I think he’s probably done now, anyway,” he adds. “You’re out of his reach. His little range.”
And under Matt’s arm. At least, metaphorically.
“He’s tried his best.” Matt sighs. “And I’m sure his mother still loves his disappointing face.”
“I hope Annabelle has an affair with her personal trainer,” I say, swiping up my glass. So it seems I’m notquitedone with ugliness, though I’ve tried to ignore the fact that he was at the bottom of my unanswered emails and calls that rang out.Low-life bastard.
“You can do better than that.”
My head jerks up, as though Matt heard. “I am doing better than that,” I retort. “Let him live in the past and plot revenge. I don’t dwell, and I don’t think of him.”
“That’s something I’d raise a toast to.” He toys with his glass but doesn’t lift it yet. “And the other ... my proposition?”
I put down my wine and roll my lips together as I allow myself a moment to look long into his play. There are pitfalls, sure. Emotional ones. He’s already offered me so much, but at what cost? To me? To him? On the financial side, the worst that could happen is I underperform—which I won’t—and he takes his investment elsewhere. Which would leave me right where I started.
Across the table, he cants his head, his eyes so gold right now. He’s like a cat watching a mouse tread carefully around a pretty cheese-laden trap.
“You invest for yourself. Why not for me?”
“It’s not the same. I’m just doing it to make up for lost salary.” And to keep myself sane.
“What are your numbers like? I heard you saydouble figures, but what’s the exact number?”
“I’m up twenty-three percent since I started.”
“Those are good numbers,” he says, with an impressed tilt of his head.
“I know” comes my somewhat cocky answer. “But my track record isn’t long. If you want to know how I did at Dreyland—”
“That I already know.” He taps the side of his nose. “Due diligence.”
If he knew the real me, knew what I’ve done in my life to be where I am, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“Twenty-three percent,” he repeats. “Reckon you can do that for me?”
“Matt, please.” Stop tempting me with your pretty words and your pretty mouth.
“We’ll start with an initial investment of two million.”
“I haven’t invested two mill of my own,” I say quickly. Because I don’t have that kind of money available.Is that like pocket change to him?
“But you’ve done it for clients.”
“Clients of a hedge fund. That’s a different game. A different kind of investing—rarely is it personal wealth.”
“But if you had two million of your own to invest, would you let someone else run those plays?”
“No,” I answer immediately as my palms begin to itch. God, I want this, the old Ryan pushing at me. The girl with an instinct for a good deal.
“That’s because you know no one can do it like you.”
“With the backup, the office systems, the quants and stuff. But this? It’s a lot of money, a lot to gamble with, which is essentially what you’re asking me to do.”
“At a rate of twenty-three percent? I’ll take that gamble. Let me invest two million with you.”
