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“You tuck it into your pants.”
“But then the pants won’t fit. Apparently Frodo is skinnier than I am.” I curl my hair behind my pointy hobbit ear, and I swear to God, Theo’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Don’t forget these.”
“No,” he repeats.
I frown. “Is there a problem, Morgan?”
“Yes.” He lets out an angry breath, spearing a hand through his hair. “No. Just . . .”
Oh, yeah. I got him. “You annoyed I don’t look like a jerk-off dressed this way like you would in Nicky’s clothes?”
He glares at me. I glare back.
“You lost,” he finally says. “That is not the way a loser should dress.”
By some great stroke of luck, Aiden picks that moment to walk by, cappuccino in one hand and an umbrella in another.
“You know,” I say loudly to Theo, “it’s unkind of you to refer to me as a ‘loser’.”
Aiden draws up short. He takes in my outfit, then quickly turns to look at Theo. “Morgan, don’t tell me you actually said that.”
That pink creep appears on Theo’s neck. “I did, but only in reference—”
“I strongly suggest the two of you mend fences,” Aiden says. “You don’t have to like each other, but there must be respect between you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” I say, still looking at Theo.
“Understood,” Theo grumbles.
“Excellent. If it keeps happening, I’m going to have to write you up, and none of us wants that. Great outfit by the way, Nora.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
Aiden heads into his office. Theo grabs his coffee and stalks off the floor.
He may have won the bet, but I won the day. And it’s not even seven o’clock yet.
After the morning meeting, I tell Nicky I’ll grab my own coffee today and head downstairs to Greer’s bakery and espresso bar in the next building over. My friend and mentee, Keira, is already there. She laughs when she sees me.
“Wow, you really went for it,” she says, handing me a delicious-looking iced latte as she takes in my outfit.
“You didn’t have to get me coffee,” I reply.
“My treat!” Greer calls over her shoulder as she does something to the slick chrome espresso machine behind the counter that makes it hiss. “Figured you could use a little pick-me-up.”
“I am wearing breeches.”
Greer pours a shot of steaming espresso into a cardboard cup and shakes her head. “So how about that little spat you had yesterday with the cute new guy?”
“He’s not cute.” I sip my latte. “He’s actually the worst.”
“But still very cute. He did save you from running into my cart.”
Keira looks at me. “I was off the desk when it happened, but everyone was talking about it when I got back. Apparently he grabbed you just in time?”
Keira is a vice president in High-Yield trading, a group that sits a few rows over from High-Grade. She and I met through a program I started at A&T a while back, where new female hires are paired with senior women in the investment bank. It was a love match from the beginning, and it’s been an absolute pleasure watching her work her way up from brand new analyst to rockstar VP.
“Sorry about almost tipping over your muffin cart,” I say to Greer. I don’t address Theo grabbing me because then I’ll remember how it felt when he grabbed me. It was such a small thing, his thumb and finger circling my wrist, but I can’t shake the memory of the way he moved—quick, confident—and how he took charge of what could’ve been a painful, not to mention mortifying, incident.
“All good. My muffins survived unscathed. But did your pride?”
“Again, I’m in a hobbit costume. Whatever pride I had I sacrificed at the altar of professional ambition a long time ago.”
Keira gently nudges me with her elbow as she sips her tea. “How many guys have complimented you on the costume so far?”
“Too many.” I glance around the cafe and see it’s mostly cleared out. “And not in a good way.”
Greer shakes her head. “I’m sorry, friend.”
“Don’t worry,” Keira replies. “She’s going to start a revolution on the floor soon enough.”
My mood dips. “That’s the plan, anyway.”
“Where do I sign up? And do you promise it will be bloody?”
I look up to see an Asian woman in a wrap dress walk into the cafe, a little square cooler slung over her shoulder. Her hair’s in a messy bun at the top of her head and her eyelids are heavy, but she smiles when she sees us.
“Elle! Hi! Glad you could make it. How’d the pumping go?” I pull her in for a quick hug. Elle and I were in the same analyst class, and she just had her first baby—a girl!—four months ago. We’ve been through some shit together, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say I wouldn’t have made it this far in my career without friends like her.
