Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Chapter 32
Ryan
Equal responsibility. Can he really mean it?
“And I’m thinking the easiest way for you to help me, and for me to help you, is by proprietary investment.”
“Um, what?” Weren’t we just talking about babies, not business?
If he knew about the past, he wouldn’t trust me with his money.
He wouldn’t trust me with his child.
I push those thoughts away as he slants me a look that’s pure indulgence.
“I know you don’t need me to explain the term to you.”
“I know what it is,” I retort. “They’re kind of the cowboys of the finance world.”
“Some might say so. But I generally don’t give a fuck for the opinions of others, especially where money is concerned. Besides, I won’t have to worry about reputations with you at the helm.”
“At the . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He seemed so sincere about parenting. And now this? It’s not baby brain that’s making it hard to keep up with him.
“I thought about setting up a hedge fund. But honestly, the regulations here in the UK are tough. The whole process would be a total ball ache. A lot of paperwork, and hoops to jump through. Headaches and legalities. Plus, these things take forever to set up. And you’re at a loose end now.” He opens his hands. “This is the right way forward, I think.”
“The right way forward is a prop fund? Right for who?”
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll work. For now. As for who, this will be a prop fund with me as your only investor.”
“Matt, I can’t take your money—you can’t do this.” He’s already done way too much for me.
“Let me shoulder some of the responsibility in the ways I can.”
Is that what this is? Or is it an act of charity?
“I think you’ll find I can. I know I can. Have, in fact. I’ve been working on this for weeks.”
“But why?” I press my hands to my cheeks as though their burning doesn’t answer that question loudly enough.
“It’s good for a portfolio to have diversity. You don’t think I have all my money in Maven, do you?”
“I don’t know.” I heard Maven mostly deals in real estate. Big deals. Billion-dollar stakes. Stately homes, phallic towers, and vast urban developments. Not daily trading. That’s small potatoes. Isn’t it? “I don’t know what you do with your money, but I do know you’re no rube. You must already have reams of people investing on your behalf.”
“Not in the field I want you to invest in. On my behalf.”
“So get someone with a track record,” I answer. “Don’t do this for me.”
“For you. For me.” He pauses, his expression hardening. “Do you think I haven’t checked you out? That I haven’t done my due diligence? We’re having a baby together, sure. But that’s not why I’m investing. Shit, Ryan, you should be asking why not you.”
“I don’t need you to tell me I’m good—I know I’m good. Which is why it’s been so hard to accept my situation. Why won’t those fuckers return my calls?”
“Come on,” he almost cajoles. “You know why.”
“I don’t. But I can surmise.” And I have surmised. I just didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. Because it feels like one more thing out of my control.
“Stinky Pete.” Matt lifts his whiskey as though in a toast. But he’s not toasting Pete, so what could he be . . . “Shall we fuck him up?”
“For revenge?” Something blooms instantly inside me. Is it excitement or alarm?
“We could do it just for shits and giggles. Or we could do it because he’s a misogynistic twat who deserves what’s coming to him.”
“There’s more than just him to consider.” There’s Annabelle. Why would I hurt her?
“And if we really want to do it well, we could get the SEC involved.”
“Then you’d be ruining livelihoods.” But he’d do that for me, make Annabelle lose her standing and her town house. But the people I worked with would also lose.
“Maybe, but not mine. And not yours,” he says casually.
“This isn’t you, Matt.”
“Because I’m a nice guy?” His jaw tautens and his gaze turns flinty, but the change is fleeting, as his expression clears and he adds, “It’s just food for thought. Of course, you might want to do it yourself someday.”
“Do I strike you as the vengeful type?” I ask him quietly.
He gives a shrug, and ugliness bubbles up inside me. Because I have ugly. There’s a side of me that no one sees. A part of me I keep on a very short leash. But the joys of retribution are short lived. Revenge might be sweet, but it weighs heavy on the soul, I know.
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.”