𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 2

HAVE I MENTIONED that I love my job?

If my firm were Major League Baseball, I'd be MVP. I'm a partner at one of the top investment banks in New York City, specializing in media and technology. Yes, yes, my father and his two closest friends started the firm. But that doesn't mean I didn't bust my ass to get where I am—because I did. It also doesn't mean I don't eat, breathe, and sleep work to earn the reputation I have, because I do.

What does an I-banker do, you ask? Well, you know in Pretty Woman, when Richard Gere tells Julia Roberts that his company buys up other ones and sells them off piece by piece? I'm the guy who helps him do that. I negotiate the deals, draw up the contracts, manage due diligence, draft credit agreements, and many other things I'm sure you have no interest hearing about.

Now you're probably asking yourself why a guy like me is quoting a chick flick like Pretty Woman?

The answer is simple: Growing up, my mother forced "family movie night" on her young children every single week. The Bitch got to choose the featured presentation every other week. She went through this whole Julia Roberts obsession and forced it down my throat for, like, a year. I could recite the goddamn thing verbatim. Though I have to admit—Richard Gere. He's fucking cool.

Now back to my job.

The best part about it is the high I feel when I close a deal, a really good deal. It's like getting blackjack in a Vegas casino. It's like being picked by Jenna Jameson to be in her next porno. There is nothing—and I mean nothing—better.

I do the prospecting for my clients, recommend what moves they should make. I know which companies are dying to be bought and which ones need a hostile takeover. I'm the one with the inside information about which media mogul is ready to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge because he spent too much of the company's profits on high-priced hookers.

Competition for clients is fierce. You have to entice them, make them want you, make them believe no one else can do for them what you can. It's kind of like getting laid. But instead of getting a piece of ass at the end of the day, I get a big, fat check. I make money for myself and my clients—lots of it.

The sons of my father's partners also work here, Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. Yes, that Blaise—The Bitch's husband. Like our fathers, the three of us grew up together, went to school together, and now work at the firm together. The old men leave the real work to us. They check in from time to time, to feel like they're still running things, and then head on out to the country club to get in an afternoon game of golf.

Harry and Blaise are good at the job too—don't get me wrong. But I'm the star. I'm the shark. I'm the one clients ask for and drowning companies fear. They know it and so do I.

Monday morning I'm in my office at nine a.m., same as always. My secretary—the smoking little blond with the nice rack—is already there, ready with my schedule for the day, my messages from the weekend, and the best damn cup of coffee in the tri-state area.

No, I haven't fucked her.

Not that I wouldn't love to. Trust me, if she didn't work for me, I'd hit that harder than Mohammed Ali.

But I have rules—standards, you might say. One of them is no screwing around at the office. I don't shit where I eat, I don't fuck where I work. Never mind the sexual harassment issues it would bring up; it's just not good business. It's unprofessional.

So, because Astoria is the only woman besides my blood relatives that I have platonic interactions with, she is also the only member of the opposite sex I've ever considered a friend. We have a great working relationship. Astoria is simply...awesome.