by Abby Angel
It almost makes me smile. I don't care how much money I've made, having that knowledge of desperation simmering just below the surface never goes away, and it gives me an advantage against the competition. It brings out the blood-thirsty shark in me. Always.
"The IPO for my new client will be offered next week," he continues, "and the firm's going to make more money than it knows what to fucking do with."
"We'll see," I say, taking a sip of my drink. I honestly don't give a fuck about whatever new client he's waving in my face. I don't give a fuck about the IPO. My mind is all over the place, but it always returns to two things: Natalie and Sloane.
"There's no wait and see," he replies.
"I just mean that we'll see if the public wants to invest," I say, trying not to yawn. I've heard these kinds of predictions a million times, and these fucking things don't always work out as planned.
"Oh they'll want to invest," he continues, and then changes the subject. "What about that waitress, huh? That ass is something else."
I nod, just to humor him. She's okay, but honestly, her ass doesn't compare to Natalie's. But he's fixated, like a dog drooling over a steak, and who am I to burst his bubble?
"Yeah, nice."
"I'd like to grab two big handfuls," he says, a grin forming on his face.
I bet you would. Good luck with that. With the gold band on your finger, your receding hairline, and that gut protruding over your belt buckle, my guess is you don't have a chance in hell, I think to myself. But I don't say anything. Instead I smile. Schmuck.
Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and look at the incoming number.
Shit. "Excuse me," I say, "I need to take this call."
"No problem, buddy," he responds, and smiles, "I'll just continue to take in the sweet, sweet view."
I push my chair out and stand up from the table, quickly walking outside. I bring the phone to my ear and answer.
"Linda?"
"It took you long enough to answer."
"I was—" I begin to say, but she cuts me off.
"You're not at your office; so let me guess … you booked a discrete room at the Carlyle for you and maybe a young intern of yours. You plied her with drinks, flashed your money and influence, and when your phone rang just now, you were taking your mouth off her tits?"
"So, that's what you think of me?" I ask, a smile forming on my lips. Two can play this game. "Give me a little more credit. I was taking my mouth off her pussy, not her tits."
"You disgust me."
"So, how can I help you today?" I ask, cutting to the chase. Hanging on the phone and cracking jokes with Linda isn't high on my list of priorities today. "Were you calling just to inquire about my sex life?"
"I don't need to call you to find out about that, Drake. You're an open book."
"Is that so?"
"I know all about what happened between you, and Natalie, and Sloane," she says in a chilled tone.
"Well, aren't you the super sleuth," I say, trying to play it casual. But my brain is cranking in overdrive. How did she find out? Is she tracking me? Is someone tracking Sloane and Natalie? I make a mental note to get to the bottom of that.
"This isn't a joke."
"Of course not. So, shall I go ahead and give you an award for being so fucking astute now, or do we wait?"
"Go ahead and laugh, Drake, but consider for a moment what this can do to your reputation," she hisses into the phone, sounding exactly like a snake coiled and ready to strike.
"My reputation?"
"I won't hesitate to leak this to the media."
Now the fangs are coming out.
She continues, "And this sort of scandal would … ruin you," she drags the word 'ruin' out for emphasis.
"Unless?" I ask, because it's clear that there's an 'unless' lurking under the surface and that she wants something.
"Good. Now you understand," she says, and I can almost hear her face contort into a smile. Can snakes smile? I wonder. "Unless you remove your backing from Dirty Lil' Angels."
"I can't do that," I snap back. There's no fucking way I'm going to allow her to dictate my investments.
"Remove your backing or every major media outlet in the city will have this story on their desks," she says, "and believe me, reporters would salivate for a story like this."
"Like what, exactly?" I ask, calling her bluff.
"Just think. This is your daughter, and … son," she continues. "What kind of man … no, what kind of a father does that? And not only will you be revealed to the public as a fraud, but as a pervert too."
Venomous. Plain and simple.
The way her words manipulate the story, and paint the situation into something horrible sounding, makes my stomach clench.
I don't know why I ever married this woman. What did I ever see in her?
She doesn't wait for me to respond. Instead, she continues, "But it doesn't have to be this way. Talk to the banks. Flip the script. Tell them that Dirty Lil' Angels is a bad investment. And in doing so, prevent them from investing in the company."
I stand there frozen, the phone still held to my ear. I think about Natalie and Sloane, and everything that's at stake.
"Hello?" Linda asks. "Drake? Are you listening to me?"
Words are caught in my throat. Her ultimatum has left me speechless.
Do I give in and 'flip the script'?
Do I step into the viper's pit?
18
Sloane
So this is what it all comes down to.
This is what I do. You're going to see me in action today. We’re going to make Dirty Lil’ Angels a giant fucking company.
All the paperwork is over. All the hoops jumped through.
I'm standing next to my Treasury Operations team. They sit next to the trading floor that takes up the majority of the Hard Times main floor. The Treasury folks control the money. They're in Finance, and without them we wouldn't know what kind of positions we're in during our trading day.
Let me put it to you another way.
Let's say that I have one hundred million dollars. And I invest it in a company that starts paying me back 10 million a month for twenty months. That means that at the end, I'll be getting back two hundred million dollars. But that's only over the course of twenty months.
So each month I get back ten million dollars.
So what am I doing with that cash? I'm gonna have to re-invest it. But I'm also going to have to pay regulatory fees and taxes. And I'm going to have to make sure that I have enough coming back to tide me over till the next ten million comes in from the first investment.
Now instead of just one investment, imagine this is for several hundred.
Right.
Blows your mind away, doesn't it? And that's why we have a Treasury ops department.
See, people like Drake, they're all flash and little substance. They make the big sales, close the big deals, and then they think the hard part is over. But the back office bean counters—the accountants—they're the ones who keep the fucking firm running.
Seriously, rule number fucking one on Wall Street should really be never to disparage the fucking back office. Because they will fucking make or break you.
Anyways, I really hope your eyes aren't glassing over at this point with my explanation.
I had to give you a little bit of a rundown so you could understand what I was doing sitting here.
Today's the day.
Today's the day that we're going to make the first $450 million dollar investment into Dirty Lil' Angels.
Take it from a cottage shop run out of Natalie's living room and Facebook and make it into one of the leaders in the sex toy appliance manufacturing. In the matter of six fucking months, they'll be the Apple or Samsung of fuck toys.
Treasury is going to be releasing the funds once my CFO approves it. There's a long chain of corporate governance here.
First my CFO has to approve the release of the funds to Treasury.
That's when Treasury approves the payments to the bank. That's when our accounts with Carter Jeffries get funded. These accounts then flow into the bank accounts that have been set up for Dirty Lil' Angels. And then Natalie sees the money in those accounts, and it's when she knows she's been funded.
But when will our CFO approve the funds?
Only when he gets the green light from our bankers downtown that in the event of any catastrophic loss that doesn't include negligence that we have insurance and are hedged and covered for these investments.
See, it's our money, sure. But right now it's sitting in bank accounts that are insured by the Federal government. So if the bank ever goes bust, the Federal government pays for the deposits we have in there.
But once we move the money we need to make sure that the banks are willing to honor that insurance guarantee even if the entity name has been changed and the money sits in a Dirty Lil' Angels account instead of a Hard Times account. If we don't get the guarantee that the bank is willing to guarantee the deposit insurance of our funds, we're not moving shit.
So right now, all this comes down to a fucking waiting game.
Natalie has already signed all the relevant paperwork. She's dotted her i's and crossed her t's.
The banks are all taken care of too. Drake has been working on that, convincing them about the viability of this deal. This way, the less skittish the banks are about the underlying business, the more willing they are to keep extending their insurance to us. Which allows us to lend money while still keeping our credit lines intact to pay for things like payroll and rent.
Yeah, it's all one big fucking house of cards, isn't it?
That's why when one piece of it comes crumbing down, the whole thing starts to teeter.
But when one piece of it starts making money, the whole thing shoots into orbit.
This is going to be so fucking great too. We're gonna make so much fucking money. And then I'm gonna take that money, get hundreds of $100 bills and shower Natalie with it. She's going to be naked on the bed as I make money rain down on her.
Then I'm going to take her gorgeous body and lay her down on the bed.
I'm going to spread her legs and lift them up, exposing that beautiful waxed pussy to my hungry fucking gaze.
I'm going to enjoy that view, as Natalie's naked fucking tits are covered in dollar bills and her legs are spread open. I'm going to take my cock and glide it across her slit, teasing those puffy pussy lips till she's moaning for me to take her.
Don't forget Drake either.
I want him running his cock across her face on the other side of her. I want to lift her up as we both fuck her. Pass her around like an object. Just use her for our lust. Completely fucking dominate her and pound her pussy and ass so fucking hard that by the time we're done with her she's just a whimpering mass of flesh.
Her nerves should be so shot with pleasure that she's quivering.
I growl to myself thinking of what I'm going to do to her. What Drake is going to do to her. What the both of us are going to do to her.
Once the damn money comes through.
I look to guys sitting at the Treasury desk. I'm standing right next to them. The Vice President of the team looks at me and gulps. He knows we're behind schedule.
"We still haven't gotten the okay to go from--" he's about to finish but I cut him off.
"If the CFO of this Firm hasn't given the green light, I'm not telling you to do shit," I tell the Treasury guy. He sighs visibly. No doubt he thought I was going to tell him to break some sort of rules and transfer the money.
"Get me on the line with him now," I tell Treasury.
There's only one 'him'. My CFO, Carter Blake.
"What's the holdup?" I ask him the moment he comes on the line.
There's a silence on the other side. I'm about to lay into the fucker when he speaks.
"The banks aren't releasing the funds," he says simply. But I can tell there's frustration on the other side. He's not saying this easily. He must've been on the phone with them yelling and threatening them already. He knows that's what I'd expect him to fucking do.
"Where's the holdup?" I ask Carter.
"They won't say," he sighs. "But all they will tell me is that they no longer believe this deal is viable."
Wait.
Fuck.
Viability? Drake is supposed to be working on that. He's supposed to be assuring the banks that if anything, and I mean anything happens to Dirty Lil' Angels and Natalie, that Castleton Capital will swoop the fuck in and buy up the entire company to honor the debts.
Without Drake's assurances, no bank on Wall Street will invest in a sex toy company.
"Get Drake on the line," I say through gritted teeth. I don't like the way this smells.
"That's the thing, Boss," Carter says and sighs again. "I tried. Drake's office isn't taking any calls. And they won't comment when I ask them if they're willing to go on record to assure the viability of this investment. They've gone into hiding."
I grip the phone.
This deal is falling apart.
Without the assurances, the banks won't guarantee any loan. They won't guarantee our deposits.
Without those guarantees, my shareholders will never let me fucking invest in Natalie's company.
Without my investment, or Drake buying her out, Natalie's company won't fulfill it's order and will probably get fucking sued for taking partial payment in bad faith.
Most likely go out of fucking business.
Fuck.
I need to go see Drake Carlton.
I knew what we had was too good to be true.
If Drake did screw us, then I'm going to fucking kill him.
19
Drake
I'm drinking my morning coffee when I hear a loud voice.
"It was you, wasn't it?" The door to my office flies open with one quick thrust, and the gust of wind from its sudden movement causes the paperwork on my desk to flutter. A few sheets slide to the ground.
Sloane marches over to my desk, pointing at me. He's livid, his nostrils flaring like a bull in a ring. His tie is crooked and he looks as if he's rushed over here.
Sloppy, I think to myself, and impulsive, per usual. But there's something animalistic and raw that makes my cock pulse. Not now … why is my mind going there?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, keeping my cool.
"The fuck you don't!"
"Calm down; have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?" I ask.
"Are you fucking listening to me, Drake?" He's now pacing in front of my desk, clenching one fist.
"I'm listening, but I've got to be honest with you. I'm not following."
"That's funny, real funny," he says, glaring at me with daggers behind his eyes. "One minute, banks are drooling over Dirty Lil' Angels, they literally can't fucking wait to throw money at the company's feet, and the next minute, well, I'm sure you know all about this, but not a single fucking bank is interested. Poof. Gone. If you tell me you're not behind this, you're a fucking liar."
I'm watching his fist, and daring him to come at me. I'm daring him to come closer and make the first move. I can only maintain my cool for so long before he pushes me over the fucking edge. He better watch himself.
I just shake my head, and he laughs. "That's funny … real funny. Give me a break."
I stand up and walk around my desk, meeting him at eye level. I can no longer take his presence sitting down.
"You're not ready for the truth," I say.
"I knew it. I'm not a fucking kid anymore, so stop treating me like one," he growls, the pulse in his neck quickening. I can't help but watch it flutter, and watch the way he's breathing, quicker now, and ragged.
"I never said you were … although you barging in here like this sure makes you look like one. You should really try to outgrow these temper tantrums of yours."
With that small dig, he glares at me, and I continue, "Like I said, you aren't ready for the
truth."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snaps, and I watch the chords of muscle in his neck flex and twist.
"It means you just need to wait."
"Wait?" he asks, disbelief etched into his face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"I know—it's a foreign concept, but trust me," I reply, sarcastically.
"It's not a foreign concept; it's fucking impossible. We don't have time to wait. Natalie is counting on this money for Dirty Lil' Angels, and her new prototype isn't going to make itself. She needs this money, and she needs it now. Are you going to stand there and tell me you don't care about any of that? Especially after … everything that's happened?"
"Look, if you want to know the truth," I say, "yes, I was behind Dirty Lil' Angels' sudden decline in interest."
"I fucking knew it!" he snaps, and now his jaw is clenched tight. His entire body is as tense as a rubber band, and it's clear he can snap at any minute. He's now facing me square on.
"It's true, yes, but there's a reason—"
Sloane cuts me off, his blue eyes flashing cold and dangerous like a sharp, steel blade. "You seriously have a fucking reason?"
He takes a step closer to me, and the space between us shrinks.
"I'm going to need you to trust me on this," I say in a firm tone. I'm no longer asking; I'm telling. The tone of my voice escapes my mouth as a sharp command.
"I have a hard time believing that there's a good enough reason to fuck Natalie over," he replies, and now he steps even closer, pointing a stiff finger into my chest.
As soon as his finger hits me, I grab his wrist. The movement is swift and hard.
He growls, "You betrayed Natalie; you betrayed us," and he pushes me back, freeing his wrist from my grasp.
The force of his thrust causes me to stumble and fall back against my desk, and now my heart is kicking in my chest. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, and without thinking, I ball my hand into a tight fist. I lunge at him, and throw my fist into his jaw. His reaction is instantaneous and in a split second, I am wrestling him to the ground. He's stronger than I anticipated, but I have the upper hand. I'm on top of him, his legs pinned underneath mine. He's breathing hard into my neck, our muscles pressed into each other.
