Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,80

sleep I got last night and how much work is likely waiting for me at the office. Normally, I’d spend a good portion of my weekend poring over my analysts’ reports and reviewing our biggest positions, but all I’ve done over the past two days is spend time with Emma… and it’s all I want to do. I’ve barely checked my email today. In fact, this may be the most relaxing Sunday I’ve had since… well, since grade school.

I started managing money—mine and my classmates’ in college—and I haven’t been this calm since.

As if on cue, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. For a moment, I’m tempted to let it go to voicemail, but then my sense of responsibility kicks in. There are billions of dollars and hundreds of employees’ jobs on the line. I can’t ignore that just because I want to spend the rest of the day with Emma.

Setting the purring cat on the floor, I pull out the phone.

Sure enough, it’s Jarrod—who only calls me on the weekends in case of major fuck-ups.

“What?” I bark, my adrenaline already surging.

I don’t have a good feeling about this.

My CIO doesn’t beat around the bush. “It’s bad. The municipals team just called me. Remember that high-risk bond we bought a couple of weeks back? Well, the municipality’s capital raise just failed—something about a local politician getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s just hitting the newswires now.”

Fuck. I leap to my feet. “How deep in the hole are we?”

“Right now? Three hundred mil, but rumor is, they’re going to declare bankruptcy on Monday.”

Thus rendering our entire $700 million investment worthless.

Motherfucker. We’re about to have our first down month this year—and right before Alpha Zone, too.

“Tell them to liquidate what they can,” I order, my mind already scrambling for solutions. “And call an emergency meeting of the PMs—we need actionable short-term ideas.”

“On it,” Jarrod replies and hangs up.

Emma is now in front of me, a worried frown on her face as she gazes up at me. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at your fund?”

I nod, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair. “A trade gone bad. I have to go into the office.” I know I sound brusque, but I can’t help it.

We’re about to lose $700 million, and I almost didn’t pick up the phone, too caught up in her spell to think straight. Fuck, what am I talking about? I should’ve gone over the investment with a fine-toothed comb this Saturday, like I was planning to do before Emma ended up in my bed. My municipals PM is good, but I’m better at seeing the big picture. I might’ve spotted some red flag regarding the politician, and we could’ve liquidated yesterday, before the news of the embezzlement hit. But no. I was with my redheaded obsession, and I couldn’t tear myself away from her. In one short weekend, I’ve become so addicted to her that I’ve lost sight of what matters. Even now, knowing the fund is in trouble, a part of me wants to stay with Emma instead of rushing to the office, to fuck my worries into submission rather than dealing with the fallout of my mistake.

I was wrong. She’s not chocolate and Netflix.

She’s fucking heroin, and I’m dying for a hit.

“Oh, that sucks, I’m sorry,” she says, her gray gaze sympathetic, and even now, I’m tempted to steal a kiss as I step around her on my way out.

“I’ll call you later,” I say curtly instead and stride out, slamming the door shut before the cats can escape.

I need to put some distance between me and Emma.

I need to detox before I’m in too deep.

45

Emma

He’s gone so fast it’s as if I’d imagined him here. Only the rumpled bedsheets provide evidence of his recent presence—that and the persistent tenderness between my legs. Somehow, we still ended up having sex after breakfast, and now I’m really sore.

So, yeah, it’s probably for the best that he left so abruptly. Well, not for the best—I feel bad that something went wrong at his fund—but I certainly shouldn’t feel abandoned or anything. So what if he didn’t kiss me goodbye? We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. He’ll probably turn up when he’s done at the office, and we’ll have a ridiculous amount of sex again.

That is, assuming he still wants me. There’s no guarantee of that.

The thought is oddly depressing. Just the possibility of never seeing Marcus again makes my chest feel tight and heavy,