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)
And under Matt’s arm. At least, metaphorically.
“He’s tried his best.” Matt sighs. “And I’m sure his mother still loves his disappointing face.”
“I hope Annabelle has an affair with her personal trainer,” I say, swiping up my glass. So it seems I’m not quite done with ugliness, though I’ve tried to ignore the fact that he was at the bottom of my unanswered emails and calls that rang out. Low-life bastard.
“You can do better than that.”
My head jerks up, as though Matt heard. “I am doing better than that,” I retort. “Let him live in the past and plot revenge. I don’t dwell, and I don’t think of him.”
“That’s something I’d raise a toast to.” He toys with his glass but doesn’t lift it yet. “And the other . . . my proposition?”
I put down my wine and roll my lips together as I allow myself a moment to look long into his play. There are pitfalls, sure. Emotional ones. He’s already offered me so much, but at what cost? To me? To him? On the financial side, the worst that could happen is I underperform—which I won’t—and he takes his investment elsewhere. Which would leave me right where I started.
Across the table, he cants his head, his eyes so gold right now. He’s like a cat watching a mouse tread carefully around a pretty cheese-laden trap.
“You invest for yourself. Why not for me?”
“It’s not the same. I’m just doing it to make up for lost salary.” And to keep myself sane.
“What are your numbers like? I heard you say double figures, but what’s the exact number?”
“I’m up twenty-three percent since I started.”
“Those are good numbers,” he says, with an impressed tilt of his head.
“I know” comes my somewhat cocky answer. “But my track record isn’t long. If you want to know how I did at Dreyland—”
“That I already know.” He taps the side of his nose. “Due diligence.”
If he knew the real me, knew what I’ve done in my life to be where I am, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“Twenty-three percent,” he repeats. “Reckon you can do that for me?”
“Matt, please.” Stop tempting me with your pretty words and your pretty mouth.
“We’ll start with an initial investment of two million.”
“I haven’t invested two mill of my own,” I say quickly. Because I don’t have that kind of money available. Is that like pocket change to him?
“But you’ve done it for clients.”
“Clients of a hedge fund. That’s a different game. A different kind of investing—rarely is it personal wealth.”
“But if you had two million of your own to invest, would you let someone else run those plays?”
“No,” I answer immediately as my palms begin to itch. God, I want this, the old Ryan pushing at me. The girl with an instinct for a good deal.
“That’s because you know no one can do it like you.”
“With the backup, the office systems, the quants and stuff. But this? It’s a lot of money, a lot to gamble with, which is essentially what you’re asking me to do.”
“At a rate of twenty-three percent? I’ll take that gamble. Let me invest two million with you.”
Under the table I ball my hands into fists. I want to—it’s so goddamn tempting. I love what I do, what I did, but this is essentially another favor he’s doing me. One I can’t hold at arm’s length by paying him rent.
“If not you, I’ll just take the money elsewhere.”
“Not to a prop fund, you won’t.”
“Well, not your prop fund. Think about it, Ryan. It’s not the mode that interests me. It’s the returns.”
“What would you expect from me?”
“Have I expected too much from you so far?”
I give a tiny shake of my head. He’s demanded nothing but given so much. “It’s not just the returns, though.” It’s not the real reason we’re having this discussion.
“No strings, Ryan. I’m investing in you. I have faith in you.”
Faith. It’s such a small word with a huge meaning. Fuck it.
“What are the terms?” I demand, looking up. Like a fish unable to resist a pretty lure.
“Two million, no drawdowns. We cap the risk at two hundred grand. Lots capped at twenty.” Which means I’m not getting the money in small, drawn-down amounts. I can hit the ground running. It also means an individual investment can’t go above £200K, as a way of protecting his money. Smart. Plus, I can make a maximum of twenty investments at my discretion.
“The risk?” I demand next.
“I’ll bear it.”
“And the profit split?” My heart begins to beat. If he makes it ridiculously beneficial for me—or worse? Then I’ll tell him to shove it up his ass.
“Sixty-forty.” He makes a gesture with his hand. “To the trader, obviously.”
My heart does a little two-step beat. That’s not terrible.
“Seventy-thirty,” I counter with an imperious lift of my chin.
He pretends to consider it for a moment, when I cut in.