𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 5

AND SO IT BEGAN—the Olympic Games of investment banking. I'd like to say it was a mature contest between two professional and highly intelligent colleagues. I'd like to say it was friendly.

I'd like to...but I won't. 'Cause I'd be lying.

Remember my father's comment? The one about Hermione being the first one in the office and the last to leave? It stuck in my mind that whole night.

See, getting Riddle wasn't just about putting on the best presentation, coming up with the best ideas. That's what Hermione thought—but I knew better. The man is my father, after all; we share the same DNA. It was also about reward. Who was more dedicated. Who had earned it. And I was determined to show my father that I was that "who."

oOoOoOo

So, the next day I come in an hour early. Later that morning when Hermione arrives, I don't look up from my desk, but I feel it when she walks past my door.

See the look on her face? The slight pause in her step as she sees me? The scowl that comes when she realizes she's the second to come in? See the fire in her eyes?

Obviously, I'm not the only one playing for keeps.

oOoOoOo

On Wednesday, then, I arrive at the same time to find Hermione typing away at her desk. She looks up when she sees me. She smiles cheerily. And waves.

I. Don't. Think. So.

oOoOoOo

The day after that, I come in another half-hour earlier...and so on. Are you seeing the pattern here? By the time the next Friday rolls around, I find myself walking up to the front of the building at four thirty.

Four-fucking-thirty!

It's still dark. And as I get to the door of the building, guess who I see across from me, arriving at the exact same time?

Hermione.

Can you hear the hiss in my voice? I hope you can. We stand there looking each other in the eyes, clutching our extra-large caffeine-filled double-mocha cappuccinos in our hands.

Kind of reminds you of one of those old westerns, doesn't it? You know the ones I'm talking about—where the two guys walk down the empty street at high noon for a shootout. If you listen hard, you can probably hear the lonely call of a vulture in the background.

At the same moment, Hermione and I drop our beverages and make a mad dash for the door. In the lobby, she pushes the elevator button furiously while I head for the stairs. Genius that I am, I figure I can take them three at a time. I'm six-feet, possibly even more—long legs. The only problem with this, of course, is that my office is on the fortieth floor.

Idiot.

As I finally reach our floor, panting and sweating, I see Hermione leisurely leaning against her office door, coat off, a glass of water in hand. She offers it to me, along with that breathtaking smile of hers.

It makes me want to kiss her and strangle her at the same time. I've never been into BDSM. But I'm beginning to see its benefits.

"Here you go. You look like you could use this, Draco." She hands me the glass and flounces away. "Have a nice day."

Right.

Sure, I'll do that.

'Cause it's just starting out great so far.

oOoOoOo

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I'll go over it again just so we're clear. For me, work trumps sex. Every time. Always.