by Sarah Gerdes
At eleven forty-five, a two-tap knock on her office door caused her to look up.
“Danielle, do you have a moment?” Lars’ voice indicated she should make the moment whether she had it or not. “I have a client who has some questions that I think you could answer.”
“Sure,” she said easily. He waited as she removed her headset, and she wondered what question a client could possibly have that Lars or Ulrich couldn’t address.
Her demeanor was poised as she entered the conference room.
“Danielle, I’d like to introduce Georgy Mettleren,” Lars said, pronouncing Gee-or-gee in the exotic, Eastern European way.
“A pleasure,” she said, returning his grip that felt like a leathery mitten. Georgy stood taller than herself, his shoulders reminiscent of an alpine logger who could lift large stumps. He had a face chiseled out of the mountains, strong, prominent bones with weathered skin, and silver hair with tinges of black, not unlike the snow-capped peaks in the distance. He certainly didn’t share the physical traits of the typical high net worth clients she knew.
“And of course you know Johanne,” Lars continued, gesturing to a man who gave her a polite nod without registering the least bit of emotion. Johanne was the third gold trader, managing the forty percent of trades not under Ulrich. She’d seen him in the team meetings, but the two hadn’t exchanged more than a few words. His sandy-blond, ear length hair was parted in the middle and today he sported square glasses and a slim-fit suit, making him look modern and attractive at the same time. Like a bad guy in a James Bond movie, she thought.
Lars invited her to sit at the end of the table. Georgy scoured every square inch of her body, as if comparing what he thought he’d see with the actual person, proving that changing continents didn’t change prejudices or pre-conceived notions.
“We’ve been discussing the recent trades and Georgy noticed the jump in the gold accounts,” Lars began. “Since you’ve been the primary reason for this improvement, could you provide an explanation of what you are doing differently?”
“Philosophy or mechanics?” Danielle asked him.
“Anything that’s helped you do what others haven’t been able to,” Georgy answered. He sounded irritated, like he’d been getting the runaround.
David’s admonitions rang loud in her ears. She wasn’t going to move mountains without being bold and taking a stand. Danielle had no other choice. She looked at Lars, then at Johanne and Ulrich, then back at Lars.
Lars got it. “Johanne and Ulrich, would you give us a few moments with Georgy alone?” When the door was shut, she spoke.
“I believe in research,” she began, casting a glance at Lars. “I’ve been watching a network of assayers in the United States—those who are hired to assess the quality of the metals coming out of the ground—who have increasingly been taking their initial samples to a refinery in Chandler, Arizona. I backtracked the clients of the assayers and ran different scenarios on the clients and the refinery. I found that whenever the refinery posted a profit, the source clients did so minutes after, nearly simultaneously as the assayers. I bet big on all three, also anticipating this would increase the value of the gold refineries in the US, the ripple effect causing the value of second tier refineries in the States to go up.”
“You hit over a two hundred percent increase on the fund in a single day,” Georgy noted. Danielle nodded. She was well aware how much she’d made the company. “And how much trading with my money?”
Danielle deferred to Lars. “On Monday, Danielle was given $150 million for gold trading. Half of that was yours.”
Georgy’s eyebrows furrowed and he glanced between Lars and herself. “Truly, it’s only been a week?” he asked, his voice registering astonishment.
Danielle nodded. “This is my fourth day of full trading, with a half day Monday.”
Georgy assessed her in a way she’d seen many times during her career. Part disbelief, part fascination. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the expression of satisfaction on Lars’ face and observed his body language, one leg draped over the other, sitting back in his chair. Yep, he’d hired a good one.
“Do you work with currencies?”
Danielle nodded. “Not for the company. But I can tell you I’m up over three hundred percent since Monday in my personal currency account.”
Georgy’s eyes widened slightly. He turned from her and looked at Lars. “Raise it.”
“To?”
“Another five hundred. Half gold, half currency, all to Danielle.”
“Take away from Ulrich and Johanne?”
Georgy stared at Danielle. “No,” he said, holding his gaze. “Net new. I want to see what happens running them against one another on a larger scale.”
Lars turned to Danielle. “I believe this negates the need for the 2 pm meeting,” he said. Danielle maintained her composure. She’d just landed her first dedicated client account, starting with a half a billion. With her returns, she was up to 800 million. In a week.
“Georgy, it was nice to meet you, and thank you for placing additional funds in my account. Now, if you don’t mind…” she said, standing and extending her hand, glancing at the clock, “I still have a few hours of trading left.”
“I’ll look forward to my next update,” he said, his voice conveying confidence she’d earn him millions more.
Danielle entered her office, sat down, donned her headset and earphone and entered the password on her system. She turned up the music in the background. The pumping beats matched her adrenaline, energizing her more than caffeine ever could.
CHAPTER 8
When the phone rang, Danielle jolted upright in her chair and looked for the offending instrument. Jet lag had finally caught up with her.
“Hello?” she answered, trying to sound more alive than she felt.
Lani greeted her in a rush. “Danielle, I’m so sorry to call you on a Friday night, and I’m sure you are exhausted but...are you free right now?” She sounded panicked.
“Sure…” she said groggily. “What’s going on?”
“We only have two servers but one is sick. Bottom line is Andre was kind enough to call ahead and book the restaurant for a group of thirty. One person can barely handle it, and on the off chance anyone else comes in—”
“You need me to waitress?” she asked, opening her eyes wide, pulling her mouth down simultaneously as she tried to jump start her senses.
“Yes. Do you remember enough from your college days?”
“Of course,” she answered. Then she looked down at her attire. She hadn’t changed when she came home. Just slipped off her shoes and started working. “What am I supposed to wear?”
“Whatever you have on, but hopefully it’s black.”
“Be there as soon as I brush my teeth.”
The moment she opened the door of the restaurant, Stephen gave her a silent look of appreciation. One long table was already full and another half-occupied. Drinks were being lifted but no food had yet been served.
“They arrived early,” Stephen murmured. “Andre is certainly going to appreciate this.”
“What, me being here or serving him?”
Stephen winked. “Here, look at the menu while I put this on your wrist.” He began to explain the electronic ordering device when she placed a hand on his arm.
“I got this,” she said, reminding him that technology hadn’t changed all that much since her waitressing days.
“Oh, right,” he said with a laugh. “One last thing. Over here, the wait staff doesn’t generally converse with the customers.”
“And the women are full of themselves,” interjected a man who reached around her for a plate of food. His Italian accent was slight, but there, like his thinning hair atop his angular face. “But don’t take it personally.”
“Meet Ivan,” Stephen said. “An honorary American for his blunt nature.”
“It’s me and you tonight, Bella,” Ivan said.
“Both of you r
ealize I only speak English.”
“Yes, and so do they, probably better than you do,” Ivan quipped.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Stephen handed her a bottle of sparkling water and she approached the group of professionally dressed men and women. The women were talking with their hands, the way females do when they are wearing rings with the value of cars.
Greeting the group, she noted the subtle quiet that ensued. Suddenly several sets of eyes scanned her head to toe. Her outfit. The ring. The pearls and heels. Her wardrobe choice had been fortuitous. Danielle poured the sparkling water, took drink orders and returned a few minutes later. She was halfway through the daily specials when a breeze hit the back of her neck. A fair-haired man at the table raised his arm, pulling out a chair.
“Hi Andre,” purred a blond with her hair sleeked back in a ponytail. Danielle’s pulse ran faster, but she kept her head straight, wondering if he’d recognize her in different clothes and how he’d react.
“Hi Eva. Hey Max,” Andre said, coming around to her right. Like the other day, he was dressed in jeans, but these were grey, not blue, and today he wore a dark green leather jacket. His eyebrow-length hair flipped up this time, in a slight wave. He’d transformed from model to rock star with a single swipe of gel.
“Would you like a menu?” she asked him, happy at the mild astonishment on his face.
“No, but thank you,” he said, smiling as he sat down.
“He has it memorized,” his friend Max told her.
“And the specials of the evening?” she inquired politely, hiding her humor. Danielle hated waitresses who came on to customers.
Andre reached for Max’s untouched glass of water. “It’s Friday, so it must be smoked halibut with a crème chive sauce, pork loin with apple-nut stuffing and the chocolate, banana bread pudding with homemade ice cream.”
“You seriously need to diversify,” Max said, but Andre only shrugged. Danielle moved closer to Andre to take his order. The waft of cigarette smoke was so strong she moved back feeling the slight crush of disappointment. That would just not fly.
Danielle returned to the kitchen and watched her customers as the food was prepared.
“Planning your attack?” Stephen whispered in her ear, causing her to jump. She batted his arm, shaking her head.
“He’s stinky,” she murmured. “You know I can’t stand smoke.”
Stephen helped load her up with plates. “He’ll just wear more cologne and use breath mints.”
Danielle nudged him with her elbow. She adored Stephen. He’d arrived at the University of Oregon a quiet, reserved, culinary-oriented intellectual. Thanks to two vibrant and outgoing girls, he soon revealed his rather aggressive, fun-loving side, confiding that most Swiss men were like him. Reserved until the line of familiarity had been crossed.
As she surveyed the diners, she noticed that Max had control of the table, gregariously making jokes aimed at drawing Andre into the conversation, but he wasn’t participating. Instead, Andre spoke in undertones to another man, at times joining in the conversation then easing back out.
Danielle kept the glasses full, her mind drifting to the dining experience offered by her friends’ restaurant. Her conclusion was not positive. The food was good but had been gentrified to the point of being unremarkable. The room lacked a bar, counter or booths, only tables with white décor, the neutrality bordering on sterility. Worse was the lack of music. Even the geriatric tunes piped through elevators would be better than dead silence.
“Miss…” said Max, catching her attention. She kept as far from Andre as courtesy allowed. “Do you have any sweet drinks?”
“You mean dessert wines?” He nodded. “This is my first night, so I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Andre interjected. “Max knows the list by heart. He’s just looking for something new.”
Andre’s delivery was matter-of-fact but it didn’t hide the double meaning in his words. Max was attractive in a refined, ‘I-run-the-world’ type of a way, but he didn’t inspire one-tenth the attraction of Lars or a hundredth of Andre.
Danielle held Andre’s eye for a split second before addressing Max. “Sorry. I can’t help you on that one,” she said dryly, her statement eliciting a perceptive smile from Andre. “We’ll get you taken care of though.”
Danielle passed by Stephen, letting him know he was needed. “The blond guy next to Andre has a question about dessert wine.”
Stephen glanced over her shoulder. “He and Andre know the list as well as I do. Perhaps they’ve momentarily lost the use of their brains because they’ve been looking at your legs.”
Danielle shrugged innocently. It was closing in on ten-thirty and the dining room was starting to clear out. Stephen went to the table and spoke with Max and Andre, all three intermittently laughing. Those at Andre’s table started to leave, the blond going only at the urging of her two girlfriends. Stephen returned with a credit card in his hand.
“I’ll return it to Andre,” he told her. She’d not seen any other bills presented.
“He’s paying for everyone’s meal?” It was easily twenty-one hundred francs, not including the wine.
Stephen nodded. “Always does. He has decent friends who could pay, but some of those women…”
Lani came out from the kitchen, assessed the remaining customers and asked Danielle what she’d like to eat. “It’s on the house of course,” Lani added. “And don’t tell me you’re paying for it because you just worked five hours for free.” The halibut looked great, and that’s what Danielle ordered.
Danielle retrieved her phone and in seconds had a thumping, electronic beat. As she picked up plates, she periodically glanced across the boulevard to the dark water beyond. It was a glorious, clear night, the moon full, the rays shining off the dark lake, the scattered lights like liquid stars, moving on the rippling surface. Just outside the door, parked alongside the sidewalk was a sleek yellow motorcycle that looked like a horizontal rocket. Her head was nodding in time with the music when she unconsciously sighed, thinking of the green fields surrounding her father’s home riding motorcycles with her cousins.
“You need a ride home tonight?” Danielle jumped, almost dropping a plate. He must have been in the men’s room.
“How do you know I don’t have a car?”
“I don’t. I thought I’d ask just in case. My bike is parked right outside.” Great. A motor head. “But you’re in a skirt and heels, so that might not work so well.”
“Not so much,” she said, trying to be subtle about stepping back.
Andre looked at her quizzically. “Didn’t Stephen give me a good reference? I don’t bite.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said.
“Well?” he asked, leaning towards her, as though he wanted to ensure he heard her answer.
“Well…what?”
“Why do you keep moving away from me?” Diplomacy outside the office wasn’t always her forte.
“If must know, you smell of smoke,” she said as nicely as she could, scrunching her nose. “It’s rather strong and I’d rather not get sick on you.”
Andre’s lips turned into a broad smile. “I’ve just been stuck on a boat for the last five hours with foreigners from a country that will remain anonymous. I need to douse myself in chemicals to get rid of the smell of cigarettes and cigars.”
Danielle felt all the emotions of a person having a black and white dream that suddenly turned into high definition color.
Andre walked back to the table and retrieved his helmet. When he returned, he asked if she’d like her first bike ride in Switzerland to be with him. “After I take a detoxification shower of course. Interested?”
“Well, assuming you do that and I’m not wearing a dress, sure.” The song transitioned to another strong electronic beat.
His eyes flitted over her, taking her in. “You like clubbing?”
She answered his question with her head bobbing in time with the beat. “I
t’s one of my favorite things to do.”
“Come out with us sometime then, maybe a week from tomorrow if you don’t have any plans.”
Danielle fought a smile. For all Stephen and Lani espoused on Swiss men being so subtle, Andre was right here, in the moment. She’d already done the client check on him, so there was nothing preventing her from saying yes.
“I wouldn’t mind a good dancing partner who also has a fast bike he’s willing to share.” At this he gave a broader smile. Even so, she wanted an out if the evening went sideways. “If you can get Lani and Stephen to come, I’m game.”
“OK,” he said, abruptly heading to the kitchen, leaving her standing with her mouth open. When he returned, he wore a modest but unmistakable smile of victory on his face. “You’ve just made yourself a dancing date.”
She smiled, shaking her head, flattered, nervous and excited. What have I just done? She wondered as she walked back to the kitchen. Exactly what my father asked me to do—go out and have fun—that’s what.
CHAPTER 9
Saturday morning, Giles returned her call, confirming the board had arrived, and that he’d already given it a season opener waxing on the house. Elated, she threw her sailboarding gear in her rental car and made it down to his shop before noon. It was time to break down and buy a vehicle.
At the shop, Giles told her the optimal places for wind, the general currents and the inlets to avoid. Two hours later, her hands were practically numb, her thighs burning and her face red and tingling from the wind and water.
On the way home, she stopped by the market, stocking up on two weeks’ worth of food and household items before taking a long soak in the tub and a sauna. She felt perfectly spoiled with her apartment, the city and the mental freedom that came from taking care of no one but herself.
At the very thought, she felt a twinge of guilt. I will not call, she told herself. She visualized her father’s smile, the kind he would only give if she were moving forward, away from him and his home-bound environment.
