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A customer steps up to the counter, and Aubrey drifts off to help him. The man puts in his order, his voice surprisingly deep. He’s handsome in a boyish way, with long hair and John Lennon glasses. He catches me looking and raises his brows, as if inviting my approach.
I turn away. All I can think about is Brick Blackthroat and the deep rumble of his authoritative voice.
This isn’t like me. Perving on a Wall Street billionaire. My last fling was with a wannabe poet who dropped out of college to build his own tiny house and run a community garden. About as opposite to Brick Blackthroat as you can get.
Aubrey returns with a chai for herself. “So…Wall Street. Dudebros. Making money.”
“Making a lot of money. And they’re horrible.”
Objectively, they’re horrible. Pompous, wealthy frat boys running a company. For some reason, though, I don’t dislike any of them, even Billy.
I especially don’t dislike Brick Blackthroat.
“I’m sure.” Aubrey.
I think of the boardroom, the charged atmosphere. Blackthroat was abrasive as I expected but even more good-looking than his press photos made him appear. Handsome in a way that makes you hate him even more. Like those villains in movies who seem even more dangerous because of their good looks.
My entire body came alive in proximity to him. His power is palpable and addictive.
In my research into this job, I dug up his origin story. Brick Blackthroat came from money, but his father died when he was eighteen, and the family business tanked. The six of them–Brick, his two cousins, and their closest friends–started their first company together in their frat house. They caught the crypto wave with their own coin and then trading platform, MoonShot and MoonBase, but Blackthroat didn’t stop there. He took a big bet investing in a semiconductor company, and that’s where he made his first solid billion. That’s when the world stopped laughing at the frat brothers playing with Monopoly money and started calling Brick Blackthroat the next Warren Buffett.
“They’re bossholes, for sure,” I say. “They’re the baddest boys on Wall Street, but I guess they have to be. That’s the game they’re playing.”
Okay, fine. I admire the hell out of them for what they created.
“Good thing you have lots of practice dealing with the rich and pampered.” She means my time at Landhower, rubbing elbows with the polo-playing set who walked around the oak-shaded campus like they owned it. Their last names were on the old stone buildings, in honor of the sizable donations their families had made to the school, so they kind of did.
“Good thing.” What bothers me is how much I’m looking forward to seeing Brick Blackthroat up close and personal again. I should be immune to rich douchebags.
“What?” Aubrey leans in. “What’s that look on your face? You can tell me.”
“My boss is hot.”
“Ooooh,” Aubrey taps her silver nose stud. “You’re into Wall Street bros now.”
“Hell, no.” I rear back so fast I almost spill my latte. “I don’t date rich guys.”
“I didn’t say ‘date’.” Aubrey runs a finger along the rim of her mug. “I’m just saying…if the conference room’s a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking.”
“Gross,” I say, but I smile. The images flash through my mind as if they were waiting for permission: me laid out before my boss like a buffet offering, Blackthroat looming over me, glacial eyes pinning me to the conference table as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his shirt sleeves. What sort of muscles are hiding under his suit?
No, no, no. No drooling over my boss.“I need this job. I need money, not to get laid.”
“Maybe you can get both. A couple of orgasms and a nice payout to keep Dick Blackthroat’s name out of the tabloids.”
I choke on my latte.
“That’s how I’d play it.” Aubrey’s smile is wicked.
“Plan Z, then. If I get fired.”
“You won’t get fired. You’re a quick study.”
I am more than a quick study. I am as capable as an assistant could be, and I plan to make myself indispensable to Brick Blackthroat. Indira and I will keep those jobs, and Brayden will get his education.
Aubrey reaches below the counter to retrieve a flier. “They’re having an 80’s band night next door.”
“No,” I groan before she can even ask.
