It’s Just Business

My heart hammers, excitement and fear course through my veins, and my nerves tingle as I step into the Baxter building, the skyscraper that houses Dylan’s hedge fund. Any other time I’ve visited buildings like this before, it’s always been for interviews. And it’s always the same—sign in at the front desk, take a seat in the lobby, and get the side eye from everyone as if they can sense I don’t belong. Or at least, that’s what my mind tells me they’re thinking.

This time, there’s more than a little something different about being surrounded by the polished floors, pristine glass walls, and sleek chrome accents. This time, I know that it’s going to become my building, and as I approach the modern reception area, I’m impressed by every little detail, from the architecture to the decor.

“Hi there, you can sign in here.” A petite woman with an upbeat tone and wide smile cuts through my thoughts from her seat behind the large desk that spans at least ten feet.

“Hi. I’m Raven Hill. I’m starting at Sharpe Fund Management,” I tell her. I didn’t realize how incredible it would feel to say that out loud. I have to resist the urge to pump my fist and do a little happy dance after scribbling my name down. “First day.”

“Welcome,” the young woman says, giving me my temporary badge for the elevator as she points across the lobby to it. “They should get you an official employee badge today, so just drop this one off on the way out.”

“Thank you very much.” I answer her smile with one of my own and then nod. “I will do that.”

Swallowing down my nerves, I focus on only the positives and not my clammy hands and racing heart.

I’m starting my new job. This is the moment I’ve worked for.

I clip the badge to the waistband of the skirt I obsessed over last night when I was getting ready. I needed something conservative, professional, and that says ‘trust me with your money.’ And after way too long, I finally decided on a knee-length black pencil skirt. A classic. I stuck with the theme, choosing a tailored button-down blouse that’s a baby’s breath of blue above white, and black high heels. A tasteful watch, stud earrings, and my leather bag complete my outfit.

I even woke up a super-grumpy Maggie at dark-thirty this morning to confirm that I look perfect. I’m walking into the lion’s den, but I’m certainly not going to give them ammunition by showing up in something less than beyond reproach.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

The elevator up to the forty-second floor is whisper quiet, with no music and barely even the hum of the elevator’s mechanics audible inside the large, well-lit car. It makes the cargo elevator at my apartment look like a death trap… which it honestly might be, if I remember when the last inspection sticker was dated.

Taking a deep breath as the numbers tick upward, I steady myself. This is an unparalleled opportunity for me, and I can’t afford to ruin it. I know there’s more to Dylan’s offer than just business, or a healthy amount of greed. I know that he wants me, and honestly, he was right on Saturday night. I want him too. I was still hot and bothered when I got back to my apartment, and I was only able to get myself to sleep with the help of my vibrator.

It doesn’t matter. I’m going to prove myself. Stay focused on the mission, Raven.

All of the confidence I manage to delude myself into thinking I have is lost the moment I think about everyone else I’ll meet on the forty-second floor. If America runs on Dunkin, offices run on gossip, and the idea that everyone is going to accept me based on my performance is pretty much a fairy tale.

I’m sure that people at the firm will know I was on Dylan’s arm at the Faulkner charity event, and some have probably heard that Dylan and I fucked. My stomach dropping has nothing to do with the speed of the elevator’s rise.

But I’m going to prove myself, starting with them.

I repeat the mantra to myself, letting my fears move into the background, replaced by steely determination and excitement about the chance I get today. When the elevator doors open, revealing a spacious and bustling office with employees moving about without even sparing a newcomer a glance, I’m awestruck.

I’m here.

One deep breath in, and I force my giddy grin to morph into a professional smile as I approach the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi, Raven Hill,” I greet the receptionist, and a few minutes later, I’m introduced to Juliana Reed, the head of Human Resources. “Thank you for helping me this morning.”

“Actually, I won’t be doing much,” Juliana says, leading me past a line of desks.

The furniture is all high-end and expensive, with sleek but comfortable looking leather chairs, dark wood desks, and massive computer monitors. The walls are adorned with various awards and accolades, along with photos of Dylan and other high-profile figures.

Juliana is tall and thin, with long pin-straight, dark hair. “I’ve got a state comptroller inspection today, and the SEC will be stopping by later this week. So you’ll be doing most of your onboarding yourself.” She talks while walking and hardly looks my way as she leads me to what’s apparently my space. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you logged on and set up, though.”

It’s essentially a cubicle, but my reaction is as though it’s a corner office on the top floor. At least inside, where I’m basically doing backflips. Outside, I smile politely at Juliana as I scan the small area. The desk is L-shaped, clearly designed to be functional and make the most of the space, with a pair of computer screens on top of it. There’s a large, comfortable looking ‘executive’ style office chair pushed beneath the desk, but looking around, I don’t see anything else. “Where’s the computer?”

“You’d be amazed at how small a work computer can be nowadays,” Juliana says, tapping a box not much larger than my fist underneath the monitor in the corner. “This’ll handle everything you need. Try out your chair.”

The leather chair might as well be a throne as far as I’m concerned.

“Okay, here’s your username, but you need to pick out your password,” Juliana says, taking a wireless keyboard out of the desk drawer and sliding it over to me. I put in my chosen password, and Juliana takes the keyboard back. “There’s a wireless mouse in here too, but this keyboard’s got a trackpad in it if it breaks.”

Juliana points to my larger computer screen.

“All of what you need to know will be here. Just follow along with the website I’m pulling up. It’s an internal one that doesn’t connect outside the firm,” she says as she clicks on the screen, and I watch carefully, not wanting to miss a thing. “Once you complete onboarding, you’ll get wider permissions.”

She looks at me expectantly, making sure I’m following along with her rapid-fire pace, and I nod.

“Good. Next, lockers.”

Juliana walks away, and I rush to follow her over to the wall opposite my cubicle. She taps on an inlaid door, where a card scanner is set into the panel.

“Every cubicle and office has one of these,” she explains, handing me an employee badge with my name already printed on it. “You can keep your purse, snacks, or whatever in it and it’s secure. Although if you want to bring your own lunch, there’s a fridge down the hall. You hold your card up to the scanner, wait for the chimes, and it unlocks.” I do as she instructs and hear the lock disengage. “Your card won’t work on any door but your own,” she says, gesturing toward the other lockers on the wall, “but the head of Security, me, and Mr. Sharpe have all-access to any locker, at any time.”

I nod, but she doesn’t notice because she looks at the smartwatch on her wrist, reading a message. “Shoot, the inspector’s early.” She glances back at me. “You good? I showed you your locker, work on your onboarding, and the bathroom is down the hall to the left, which will be covered in the Unit One building introduction. Yeah?” she looks at me hopefully.

I smile, thinking I’m going to like Juliana. She’s busy, but no-nonsense. “I’m good. I’ll check in with the receptionist if I have any problems.”

She walks away at a fast clip, and I realize I’m an actual employee of Sharpe Fund Management.

Internally, I squeal in delighted excitement. Once more, I hold my card up to the scanner, wait for the chimes and the lock to disengage, and then open it, expecting it to be empty.

I’m surprised when I see a small white box on the upper shelf, right above the bar that’s meant for a coat or my bag. Open me.

My heart does that racing, pounding thing again… and I look to my left and right as if someone may be watching. And though there are people at their own desks, and in their cubicles and offices, everyone is heads-down, working. Curiously, I take the box out of my locker and return to my desk. As soon as I flip open the top, I have to smile.

The note on the underside of the lid reads,

A little congratulations. I’m looking forward to working with you.—Dylan

It’s a single, fancy chocolate. A truffle, maybe? I wonder if he does this for every new employee. I could see that, considering how much attention he seems to have paid to everything, from comfort to security. But deep down, I know he doesn’t do this for everyone. He did it for me.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. It feels almost as though he’s testing the waters with me already. Or maybe it’s an olive branch, I tell myself.

With a smile firmly in place, I put the box of chocolate and my bag on the desk—no, not the desk—on my desk and get to work, letting the excitement outweigh everything else.

I quickly put the rest of my personal things away. I didn’t bring much, just a tiny little potted plant that’s in a coffee mug, which fits perfectly next to one of my monitors. A simple notepad, and set of skinny black luxe pens. And that’s it for the moment. The rest of my desk I’m keeping bare. I don’t want to settle in until I’ve earned it.

And I get to work.

“Knock, knock.”

I look up, and I can’t help the heat that rises from the tips of my toes all the way up to my cheeks when I see Dylan standing in the doorway of my cubicle, his wide shoulders filling most of the open space.

He really is devilishly handsome. His suit is on point, as I expect, a well-fitting gray that makes him look approachable but still powerful. His patterned blue tie is knotted perfectly at the neck, and it definitely gives him sexy boss vibes. Swallowing down the emotions brewing, and the desire that’s instantly ignited by his presence, I greet him professionally but warmly.

“Good morning, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Miss Hill, how are things going this morning?”

“Very well,” I answer, feeling like there’s more to the question than there should be. “I met Juliana, who walked me through onboarding, which is what I’ve been working on. If I maintain my pace, I should be finished in about thirty minutes. I thought I could check in on the Chicago commodities market? Unless there’s something else?”

Business only. Nothing weird or personal or intimate happening here.

Other than the CEO of the company stopping by my desk on my first day. And the tension cracking between us as he grins at my desperate attempt to give a concise report of the last two hours of my morning. And my heart racing when he offers me an asymmetrical smile.

“That’s fine,” Dylan says. “Tell you what, do some starter trading for me and we’ll see how you do. What do you say we start you with… a million dollars?”

I gawk, nearly choking on my tongue. “Mr. Sharpe, I know that this firm controls a lot and it’s numbers on a screen, but… are you sure?”

Dylan stares at me, his eyes warm but hard.

This is a challenge, a test.

“I am. That nervousness shows me you understand the weight of your responsibilities. Too many new hires come into the business thinking that they’re just doing a big boy version of fantasy stock market trading. To them, it’s like playing online poker for free, or fantasy football.”

“This isn’t a nickel ante game, though,” I point out, and Dylan nods.

I understand, and that’s part of the test. On one hand, this is just like playing around on the fantasy markets. The goal is to get ‘points’. And I need to relax in order to make the most points. On the other hand, these points are real dollars. There are consequences for fucking around. This million dollars could mean multiple people’s life savings. I could help them retire early or put them into an early grave with losses.

This is the exact reason I want to be in this business. I want to make a meaningful difference for people who put their hard-earned dollars in my hands. One steadying breath in, and I wipe my palms on my skirt.

“Okay, I’ll do my best,” I tell him.

Dylan steps back, giving me an evaluating look. “Good. I expect nothing less. How about you stop by my office at the end of the day, then? Say, six o’clock. I would like an update on your gains and losses.”

His professional tone never changes. If anyone overheard him, they wouldn’t think an inappropriate thing about it. But I see the fire in his eyes and can see the smirk pulling at his lips. And I definitely don’t miss the way his gaze scans my face, lingering on my lips when I lick them, suddenly feeling very dry in some places and very wet in others.

Six o’clock will likely be after most people have left, but it could still be seen as a professional meeting. But I don’t think it will be.

My heart rampages in my chest, and it has nothing to do with the million dollars he’s letting me play with. I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist him if he wants more. I don’t know if I want to resist him.

“Yes, sir. Six o’clock. I’ll have the figures for you,” I agree. “Thank you,” I say, touching the corner of the box of chocolate, so he knows I’m thanking him for the opportunity, the trust, as well as the gift.

“Till then,” Dylan says before leaving me to get back to work.

I finish up my onboarding, and as soon as I do, my system reboots. When it comes up this time, I’ve got a full, real-time connection to multiple markets, and under my unique account identifier, I see the figure. $1,000,000.

A million dollars.

It’s madness. It’s too much. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

Swallowing thickly, I pull up the Chicago commodities market and get to work. Luckily, I’ve kept my finger on the pulse of the market even when it was just ‘fantasy stock trading’, and I have some personal investments already in place, but this is different in more than mere scale.

Clicking through options, I look for what I want—stable for most, but some risks. Not too risky, though. I’ve never liked to gamble, really, which some might consider odd, given what I want to do. But this isn’t gambling if you know what you’re doing, or it shouldn’t be. It should be about using research, experience, and knowledge more than your gut instincts or hopeful hunches.

And though I work hard, my gaze keeps flicking to the clock… counting down the hours until I’m in Mr. Sharpe’s office.