“Five until my next call. Shoot.” He ran a hand over his bald head.
“I’ve been thinking about the scandal... ways to do some damage control in the press.”
“I’m listening.”
“How about an in-depth spread about the team? An article that highlights the human side of venture capitalism. Showing that we’re not all just greedy bastards.”
Owen leaned back in his chair. “That could work. You know anyone willing to do that? Everyone I’ve talked to just wants a scandalous angle.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have a contact at the New York Reports.”
He scoffed. “I was hoping for the Times. Or a freelancer with a huge platform.”
“As you said... no one’s willing to say anything nice about us right now. Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll give you her number. She’s a good friend.”
Owen ran a hand over his bald head again. It was his thing when he was nervous. “A good female friend? I hope this isn’t one of your hookups.”
I straightened up, training my eyes on him.
“My personal life is none of your concern.”
“Sure... except your personal life also had you walk in here with a bruised cheek.”
“That was one time in eight years.”
I leveled him with a stare. Owen and I had some history. He’d always thought I wouldn’t make it, that I didn’t have what it took to survive on Wall Street. He’d taken it personally when I was made director, because I was so laid-back about everything. It was just my style, but Owen was among the crowd that thought if you didn’t have a stick up your ass all the time, you didn’t belong in the building. I never let anyone give me shit, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Seven
Heather
?
?Who’s got interviews for a kick-ass story? Who’s going to absolutely nail it? That’s right. I will.”
I couldn’t believe Ryker had moved so fast. We’d only spoken about the article on Monday, and three days later, I already had interviews scheduled.
I was dancing around in my bathroom while fixing my hair in a bun, admiring my classic suit in the mirror. I usually wore jeans and sweaters when I was on field assignments, gathering stories, and pajamas when I was at home, editing articles. I could write everywhere—on the subway, in cabs, in coffee shops, but I needed absolute silence for editing. Writing was more like a stream of consciousness, whereas editing was where I shaped the content into a coherent article. Truthfully, I tried to work from home as often as possible so I could spend time with Avery, who’d learned from an early age that when Momma had her headphones on, she needed quiet.
Typically, Avery would grab her coloring book and just sit next to me, drawing in silence.
Right now, Avery was at school though, so I’d pick her up after my appointment. Pity, I’d wanted to snuggle her a little, share my happiness. If this worked out, we wouldn’t have to move. I’d spoken to my landlord this morning, letting him know there was a possibility for my bonus to be paid out early.
“Look, Heather, I’m willing to wait a few months for you to sort out the bonus situation and give me proof you can afford this if you can cover the rent in advance.”
I bit my lip. “I can do it for two months.”
I didn’t want to dip into our emergency fund too much.
“Okay. We’ll take it from there.” I felt better knowing I didn’t have to move us right away, but we weren’t out of hot water yet. Sorting out my bonus would take some time. Big corporations moved slowly, but I was happy that at least for now, we didn’t have to move.
I left the apartment with a huge grin on my face and was in an even more excellent mood when I reached the building that housed the Pearman Fund offices on floors twenty-seven, eight, and nine. It was a staple in the New York landscape. A behemoth of glass and steel, it towered even over the rest of the buildings surrounding it. The energy on Wall Street was markedly different than the rest of Manhattan. Suits walked everywhere, almost all with headphones on, engaged in continuous conversations.
When I walked through the double doors of the bank, I was so excited that I was practically bursting with energy. Not that my excitement was entirely due to the opportunity at hand... I also couldn’t wait to see a certain sexy guitarist in a suit.
I admired the enormous entrance and waiting area with wrought iron chandeliers and white leather couches. The mix of traditional and modern was right on trend. The half a dozen receptionists talked on their headphones while typing even faster than I did—not to brag, but I could type over a hundred words per minute. Combined with the sound of heels clicking on the marble floors, the background noise was infernal.
To my astonishment, it wasn’t Ryker who picked me up from the reception, but Owen, the man I’d spoken with on the phone three times already.