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)
His revenge was to make my goldfish disappear overnight and said if I told anyone about our “little conversation,” I’d be the next one to vanish.
It’s weird how sad I was about that damn fish for months.
Also weird is how I’ve never thought of that night in years. It’s not really a story worth recounting. I haven’t before. I’m not about to do so now as I send my last text of the exchange.
Me: It was nice while it lasted.
I wonder if Matt will say the same, looking back on this experience. I’d like to think he’ll have fonder memories of me than I have of my fish.
Chapter 31
Matt
Fucking Theta.
I hate that my instincts were on point. That I was right about them and her prick of an ex.
I pull out my phone as I thunder along the street, my mood as black as the clouds overhead. I should’ve looked into this earlier, but I’ve been so caught up with work. And with her. Maybe I could’ve done something, mitigated the damage. Though would she have wanted to still work there? I know the answer to that would be Fuck no.
It’s so fucking wrong. Gender bias. Pay imbalances. Glass ceilings. Harassment and discrimination. The finance world is like a boys’ club, and the proof is in the conversation I just had with Theta’s CFO.
According to him, it seems news of Ryan’s transfer to London—and her effective promotion—reached the ears of her weasel of an ex. Because that fucker took time out of his day to have lunch with the fund manager of Theta’s New York office, then pretty much destroyed her character over prime rib at the Grill. And bad news travels fast, whether it’s true or not, because people just love to share the misfortunes of others.
Well, fuck them, which is pretty much how our conversation concluded.
And fuck you, Nigel. You’ve crossed the wrong man.
Not only have they lost a valuable asset, but they’ve also pissed off the man standing behind her.
I press a button, and the call connects.
“Matías.” Oliver’s cut-glass tone echoes down the line.
“You know how we’re looking for collab partners for the North 1 project?” A mixed-use urban redevelopment in Manchester. We’re diversifying our partners. Looking for new ones, basically.
“Yes.” His one-word answer sounds pretty suspicious.
“Well, Theta isn’t it.”
“According to the feedback I received from Nigel, they’re very interested.”
“Is that Nigel, the CFO?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“That’d be the fella I just told to stick his dick in his ear.”
“Any particular reason?”
“I believe I implied—no. Actually, implied isn’t a strong enough word. I instructed the spineless arsehole to stick his dick in his fucking lughole to see if he could shag some fucking sense into his own head!”
“And is there any reason you’re yelling that at me?”
“Sorry, no. I’m just fucked off. Annoyed.” I rake my hand through my hair when what I want to do is punch something. Someone. Preferably the man at the root of all this.
“Understood. Well, I suppose I’ll inform Andrew to strike them from the list.”
“Probably for the best.”
“Are we removing them from one list and adding them to another?”
“What other list?”
“The ‘hurt-my-woman-and-I’ll-fuck-up-your-world list,’ I suppose we can call it. Or perhaps the ‘list of destruction’? Yes, I prefer that.”
“Why, Oliver,” I begin, my footsteps slowing and my lips tipping upward, equally as slowly. “You sentimental old . . .”
“Less of the old, thank you.”
“Is this what the love of a good woman does to a man?” My smile, there’s no reining it in now. “I thought it was supposed to make you soft.”
“Soft with them, Matías. Ruthless with everyone else. And if anyone crosses them, hurts them. Well, then we rain down hell.”
I don’t answer. The man hit the nail on the head.
“And then, of course, there are the times we hurt them. Usually with our egos. Then we do what we can, what we must, to make it up to them. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that.”
I give a long sigh and catch sight of myself in a nearby window. I look like a mad fucker, my hair standing on end, like the kind of person you dread sitting next to you on the bus. Not that I’ve been on a bus in a while. And why do I look like a mad bus-riding vagrant? Because someone slighted Ryan and because I want to fucking crush them.
But that’s about me, like Fin said. It’s about my ego, not hers. And the thing I’ve been preparing for? The thing I said I wouldn’t do without her say-so? I might’ve already changed my mind.
“I will say that I have a particularly tender spot for men who mistreat the women they once claimed to love,” Oliver then says.
“You do, do you?”
“Yes. A particularly tender spot I like to hurt them.”
“That sounds like dirty fighting.”