Warrior Angel

by Margaret

  He was manipulating her. Zanus had orchestrated this whole evening to get her into bed.

  But why? She supposed he’d enjoyed the sex, as any man would, but he could have spent less money and achieved the same result by buying this month’s issue of Hustler.

  So what now? Where do we go from here?

  Rachel watched the clock crawl through the hours and listened to him breathing softly beside her. He didn’t even snore.

  God, he was perfect!

  Six

  Derek stood on the sidewalk across the street, watching Rachel’s window. He’d been at his post for hours, waiting for her to return from her date. He’d hoped that she’d come back alone. He hoped she would discover Zanus’s true nature and tell him to leave her alone. He’d hoped for that. He had almost even prayed for it, but then he remembered that God didn’t answer prayers. At least, not his prayers.

  Derek watched the limo arrive, and he ducked back into the shadows so they wouldn’t see him. He noted Rachel’s disheveled appearance as she stepped out of the car, and he heard Zanus send the car away for the evening, a note of triumph in his voice.

  Derek watched the lights come on in Rachel’s apartment. He waited for her to come to her senses. Waited for Zanus to walk back out.

  “I will be glad to call you a cab,” Derek muttered.

  But Zanus didn’t return. The lights in her windows went dark. Derek stood there in the chill night air, aching inside. He was furious at her, so angry his rage hurt him; and he was worried about her, so worried he was almost sick with it.

  First his rage talked. She must be blind or stupid not to see through Zanus’s disguise, that arrogant, pompous attitude, that extravagant show of wealth? Fine, let her succumb to his charms. She deserves whatever’s coming to her.

  And then he thought of the danger she was in. No guardian angel there to protect her. What woman wouldn’t fall for Zanus? He was handsome, suave, charming. Even Derek had to admit that. What did the archfiend want with her? What was he after? William suspected it had something to do with her work in the financial markets, but they needed proof. Which was where Derek came in. Except what could he do? He was just the doorman.

  Rage spoke up again. Stupid, stupid woman. She’d placed herself in jeopardy. The forces conspiring against her were the very forces she’d invited into her bed. Derek had taken the master key to her condo with him, just on the off chance it might be needed. He longed to unlock the door of her apartment, burst in, kill the archfiend on the spot. That would be going against orders, however. Archangel Michael would be furious. The heavenly forces would lose their chance to find out what evil the fiends were plotting.

  Derek was powerless to stop Zanus. He had to control himself, wait until the fiend made his move. Then, hopefully, he could step in and save Rachel—from herself. Until that happened he had to stand here in the cold, clutching Rachel’s key so tightly in his hand that the sharp edges of the metal bit into his flesh. Blood dripped from his palm and soaked into the lining of his coat pocket.

  He stood sentinel duty all night in the chill darkness, watching Rachel’s window, guarding her, as best he could.

  The next morning, Rachel woke to the smell of bacon. She rolled over, looking for Zanus, remembering her night with him. She felt embarrassed and uncomfortable about facing him. She wished he’d just slipped away into the dawn. She was tempted to try pretending to be sleeping, hoping maybe he’d grow tired and leave.

  But, no, he was cooking for her. Might as well get it over with.

  She rose from the bed, reached to the back of her door for her robe, and slipped into the bathroom to clean herself up. Looking in the mirror, she wiped the sleep and leftover mascara out of her eyes, then brushed her teeth. Rachel walked into the living room to find Zanus in his underwear making French toast and bacon.

  “Good morning, angel,” he said to her.

  Rachel stood staring. “Where did all this food come from? I didn’t have any bacon, eggs, or bread for that matter. And what time is it?”

  Zanus handed her a cup of coffee. “Here, sit down and drink this. You’re not quite awake yet, are you?” He moved back to the stove to finish cooking. “To answer your first question, I noticed the sad state of affairs inside your refrigerator. Do you really live on taco dip and Diet Coke? I went out to the convenience store and bought some rations. In answer to your second question, it’s eight a.m. I am an early riser and saw no reason to wake you. No rest for the wicked, and all of that.”

  Rachel drank her coffee, thinking this was probably the single most confusing morning of her life. They were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking their coffee, when Zanus broached the subject of her work.

  “So have you made a decision yet?”

  “Decision about what?” she asked, though she knew perfectly well what he meant.

  “You know about what—those trades I want you to place. We talked about it some last night. The timing is right. The market is hot and you know it. Remember how we discussed your future? Your talents are being wasted at your firm. Freeman doesn’t see it. You’re brilliant in the Merc. Imagine what you could do if you were allowed to be in there totally unfettered, without the firm’s leash around your neck.”

  Rachel had heard all of this before. She and Zanus had held this very same conversation last night. Suddenly she realized that this was, for them, The Talk. No discussion of where their personal relationship was headed. Discussion of where their financial relationship was headed.

  At least, she thought, he’s not giving me a kiss on the cheek and saying he’ll be sure to call. At least he’s thinking about the future. She felt better about last night.

  “Freeman is taking advantage of you,” Zanus said persuasively. “He’s paying you a pittance and making a fortune off your brains. You should quit, go out on your own.”

  “As I’ve explained, my dear, the only way I could do that would be to have my own seat on the exchange, and I don’t have that kind of money. The last seat sold for millions.”

  “What if there was a way to raise that kind of capital? Would you do it?” Zanus stopped flipping bacon and turned around to look at Rachel.

  “In a minute!” she said, laughing. “But I’m not good at robbing banks. Those orange prison jump-suits make me look washed out.”

  She smiled at him over her coffee mug.

  Zanus wasn’t smiling. He was serious. He turned off the stove. “There is a way, Rachel. At least a way to get started, I have a friend who has a Globex computer. You could trade with him electronically.”

  “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

  Zanus spoke with such conviction, Rachel was starting to become a believer herself. She had dreamed of owning her own seat after her first year on the floor, as she watched most of the other brokers either burn out or bottom out or both. She had always succeeded. She had always come out ahead. She was nowhere near burnout. She was good. Damn good.

  To be out from under Freeman’s narrow-minded, risk-avoiding, conservative approach to the market was extremely attractive to her. If she had her own seat, she could make trades that were in her best interests. She could trade without having to consider her clients or the firm. She would assume all of the risk and reap all of the reward. It was every successful trader’s dream.

  But seats were limited and extremely hard to come by. They were usually passed down through families, from father to son or, in rare cases, from husband to wife. That was because an in de pen-dent trader could trade against value of the seat, use it as leverage. She could make enough to retire at the age of thirty or maybe become a venture capitalist. Rachel could be her own boss.

  All she had to do was say yes to Zanus. Let him seduce me once more, she told herself ruefully, but with a feeling of excitement.

  She knew what kind of trades he was proposing. They weren’t exactly illegal, just unethical. She’d never done anything like it, but she knew plenty of brokers who had, and gotten
away with it. The risk was minimal, in fact.

  Zanus sat down beside her, ran his hand over her arm.

  “I have been thinking about this a lot, Rachel. This is an opportunity you can’t afford to miss.”

  Rachel felt dizzy for a moment. She must still be exhausted from too much wine and not enough sleep last night. She was inclined to agree with Zanus. If she were caught making these trades, she could be reprimanded. Sometimes the managers would overlook such things, though, if they thought you were worth the trouble of keeping. In other words, if you made money. Firms would sometimes even pay the fines levied on brokers. How much trouble could she really get into for this? She had a perfectly clean record.

  Zanus looked at her intently. “Rachel, what have you got to lose? And, after all, you did sleep with me last night. I’m your client. I could tell your boss.”

  Rachel looked at him in alarm.

  “Relax,” Zanus said, smiling. “I’m teasing. Think about the money.”

  He was right. Freeman had been making money off of her sweat for years. She was entitled to this.

  “Okay, I’ll think about it,” she said, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Send the details to my PDA this week.”

  He came around the table and kissed her.

  “Let’s celebrate. Thursday night we’ll go out.”

  “Thursday is my book club night.” Rachel reminded him.

  He should know that by now, she thought. He knew this was important to her or, at least, he should know. He’d asked her out on Thursdays before and a couple of times he’d even tried to make her change her plans to suit him. She hoped he wasn’t going to do that now.

  To her surprise, he said, “I know Thursday is book club night. I think we should all go out to celebrate. I’ve been wanting to meet your friends.”

  Rachel laughed nervously. “Honey, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. It’s kind of a Girls Only, No Boys Allowed thing. No one brings along a date.”

  Zanus gave Rachel a hurt look. His voice cooled noticeably. “Is there some reason you don’t want your friends to meet me?”

  “No, of course not!” Rachel said. “It’s just that we don’t talk about things that you like to discuss. We gossip and giggle and act like idiots when we’re together. I’m just afraid you’ll be bored.”

  “Is that why you don’t want them to meet me? Because you think I am boring?” He was teasing, but she could see he was starting to grow angry.

  “I didn’t say you were boring. I said I thought we would bore you—Oh, never mind. Look, I’m sorry. I would love for my friends to meet you. They’ve heard all about you. We’ll do dinner on Thursday. Okay?”

  Rachel was a bit puzzled by his insistence on going to her weekly dinner with the girls. But this one wasn’t worth an argument. Not in the least.

  Zanus smiled with satisfaction. “Ah, I finally get to know what goes on when you sneak away on Thursday nights and don’t call until morning! Thanks for being a good sport about it. What book are you reading this week? I want to be prepared.”

  She was tempted to tell him, Little Women, just to see if he would really read it. She refrained. He couldn’t take a joke very well.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We stopped reading books a long time ago.”

  Seven

  The bell rang and trading finally halted for the day. Some of the men threw their cards into the air and cursed the world for their bad fortune. Others maneuvered to close out their trades or settle a dispute. Rachel ran to the bathroom, as usual. There were no breaks while the market was open. No time to eat, no bathroom stops. You didn’t dare leave the pits while trading was going, especially if it was going in your favor, and for Rachel, it had been a very good day. Pleased with herself, she was about to head back to her office to review her day and prepare for the next, when her cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Rachel,” said the crisp, professional voice. “It’s Lyla. Mr. Freeman would like to see you in his office after market close.”

  “Okay, Lyla. Please tell him I’ll be there. Thanks.”

  Rachel snapped shut the phone. She felt sick to her stomach. She knew it. One of her clients had insisted that she make some trades for him that had turned out to be bad, bad, bad. She had advised against them, but, as usual, this arrogant jerk knew best and now he was probably throwing all the blame for his losses on her.

  Now Freeman was going to fire her. It wasn’t like she was a rare commodity. There was a line a mile long of others panting hot and heavy to take her place on the Merc. Sharp young men and women fresh out of business school. Big corporations like the one she worked for didn’t care about turnover, burnout, drug addiction, attrition, or any of the problems faced by other industries. All her company cared about was the bottom line.

  Well, maybe this is my chance, she thought, as she walked slowly down Wacker Drive to her office building. Maybe this is where I say, “You can’t fire me, I quit.” It was an odd twist of fate that she’d considered just last night to make those trades with Zanus’s friend.

  When she stepped into the elevator, she ignored those who greeted her. She didn’t even say hello to her coworkers as she passed them. She was wondering suddenly what it would be like not coming here everyday. What it would be like to be all on her own…

  Freeman summoned her into his office with a wave of his hand. He was on the phone, in the middle of a conversation with someone. She sat down in the big chair opposite his desk, feeling like when she was in grade school waiting for the principal to call her mother because she’d smacked Danny Feeney for spitting water at her.

  The conversation was taking a long time. Freeman gave her a shrug and rolled his eyes, indicating he was helpless to break it off.

  Mr. Freeman was an attractive man. Tall, thin, he always wore nice suits and had a tan from the golf course in the summer, the tanning bed in the winter. Unfortunately, his personality didn’t match his good looks. He was a trader from the old school. He had a sub-par education. His entire motivation for trading was simply to grow rich enough to retire early and upgrade to a trophy wife. The only problem was the more money he made the more he spent.

  He and the current Mrs. Freeman (who knew quite well she would get half of everything in the inevitable divorce and probably had her half already staked out) owned a lavish estate in Lake Forest. They bought expensive cars, took pricey vacations. He wasn’t doing bad for a man in his mid-forties with a full head of hair, but he hadn’t saved a dime of his money.

  As a person who planned for every eventuality, Rachel couldn’t understand it. He could never see beyond his next new car, the next vacation home in Florida. And he couldn’t figure out why he was always halfway to being broke. That’s the reason he’d left the pit to become a manager. He had to keep up with his bills. As a manager, his paycheck was not subject to market volatility or his own mediocre skills as a trader.

  Freeman hung up the phone and closed the door to his office. “Rachel I’ve just gotten off the phone with your client. He’s—”

  Rachel cut him off. “In my defense, Mr. Freeman, no one could have gotten him a better price on that order. He was being totally unreasonable and he refused to pull the trigger when I told him—”

  To her astonishment, Freeman nodded.

  “I know, Rachel. You’re right, of course.” He grinned at her. “Luckily, I’m not talking about that client. I’m talking about Mr. Zanus. He’s quite impressed with you.”

  Rachel could feel a serious red flush creeping up the back of her neck. She’d hoped to keep the fact that she was dating Zanus under wraps at the office. If Freeman found out, she didn’t want to know what would happen.

  “I’m glad he considers my work satisfactory,” she said cautiously.

  Freeman’s grin expanded. “Satisfactory! Rachel, he says you are the best he’s seen, and if you didn’t already work for me, he’d steal you away to work for him. That’s a pretty nice compliment, and as you know, when I receive that type of
positive feedback from a client, I like to reward my employees.”

  Oh no, Rachel groaned inwardly. Freeman’s idea of rewarding people always meant public humiliation. What was it going to be this time? Would she have to give a speech at the next board meeting? Or, worse, a motivational talk for her peers before the market opened. She could see the traders now, snickering at her when they thought Freeman wasn’t looking.

  “That’s really not necessary,” she said earnestly. “I’m just doing my job—”

  Freeman smiled at her. “Relax, Rachel. You’re not going to have to make a speech or anything. Zanus has asked if you could spend some more time with him outside of the office. He’s shown a great interest in the inner workings of the market and the floor. I want you to pay him every attention. Teach him more about what we do and how we do things here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” Rachel could have kissed him in her relief. “I’ll do my best to keep Mr. Zanus happy.”

  Rachel smiled to herself. Zanus had been very clever. Now she could be seen outside of work with him and, if Freeman heard about it, he would think this was all his idea. Of course, this would just be for a short time, until she’d made enough money to quit the firm. But, for now, no questions would be asked.

  And with that Freeman stood up, shook hands with her, and sent her on her way.

  Rachel felt a warm rush of gratitude toward Zanus who had been clever enough and sensitive enough to try to smooth her way. She’d been completely mistaken about him, she decided. So he wanted to sleep with her and he’d gone to great and expensive lengths to obtain his objective. Wasn’t that a compliment?

  Walking out of the office, Rachel saw Lyla, Freeman’s secretary, give her the eye. Rumors would fly that she was sleeping with Freeman to keep her job, but that was nothing new. If she’d really slept with half of the men she was rumored to have, she’d be a very tired woman.