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But that wasn’t enough to break my new-job high.
I sat at my desk and turned on my computer. Within seconds, Mr. Cox knocked on the adjoining door, walked in, and stood before me, with only my small desk between us. He was wearing a vest over a crisp white shirt that barely contained his huge biceps and hugged his muscular body in an even more drool-worthy way than yesterday.
This man wasfiiiine. It wasn’t the power suit that gave him the image of a high-powered executive. It was him, the man filling the suit, who radiated confidence and authority.
Heat flushed over my body, and I had to tear my eyes away.
“Why are you here so early?” he asked.
I resisted the urge to fan myself. “I wanted to beat the traffic.”
“You drove? Why don’t you take the trains?”
“I’m not used to public transit. I prefer to drive.”
I dug into my bag and fished out the book on derivatives he had given me yesterday. “It was a wonderful read.” I reached across my small desk to give it back to him.
His thumb grazed my finger as he took the book from me. My skin tingled at the touch, and the tingling lingered even after he pulled away.
His eyes snapped down to the book as he stroked his thumb on the cover. “Did you finish it already?”
“Yes, it was riveting. I especially loved the part about credit spreads.”
His eyes glinted with a hint of pleasure. “Wow. No one’s ever read it this fast before.”
We spent the next hour having a thrilling conversation about option strategies. I wanted to share some theories I had, but I hesitated. My professors had laughed at me when I had shown them. But I was still convinced my theories had potential.
Mr. Cox was a king in the trading world. I hoped he would see value in my theories. But if he didn’t, then I would know I was truly wasting my time. I trusted his opinion more than anyone else’s.
I wrung my hands. “I’ve been…working on a system-trade analysis in my spare time. It’s not perfect yet…but I think—”
“Show me,” he commanded.
My mouth went dry as memories of my college days came flooding back.
“You’re taking up the seat of a serious student,” my macroeconomics professor had said.
“If you’re going to take forever to finish the program and waste your time on nonsense like this, then bow out so someone worthy can take your spot.” The weight of those words coming out of my favorite finance professor’s mouth momentarily crushed my confidence.
“Must be nice to have so much extra time to work on a side project. It’s easy to get perfect grades when you only take two classes per semester. It’s not fair to the other students,” a TA had said, not caring that I had held down three jobs while studying.
My career counselor had been the harshest. “You’ll never make it to Wall Street.”
No one ever believed I would get here. No one ever believed in me. Except for Mom. But here I was. I had applied to 33 internships. After 32 rejections, I nearly gave up until the acceptance letter for the internship of all internships arrived in my inbox. And the best part? It was my number one choice. I still wanted to pinch myself. I had made it into one of the top three investment firms on the continent.
I took a deep breath and pumped myself full of all the confidence I could muster. I reminded myself that I never backed down just because insecurity crept in. Never. “Well, I’m still tweaking it, and my professors didn’t see any profitable—”
“Fucking academics. What do they know? If they were smart enough to make millions on the market, they wouldn’t be trying to make a living in a classroom discussing theories. You’re in the real world now, and the rules are different.” He settled into the tiny chair, which creaked under his weight.
My nerves melted. I looked him in the eye and shared my hypothesis. And he listened to every word. Not once interrupting me. He nodded a few times, each nod encouraging me to divulge more of my hypotheses.
When I finished, he didn’t say a word, a pensive look on his face.
The silence allowed doubt to creep in. Maybe it really wasn’t any good. “As I said, it still needs work, but—”
“It’s very promising.” A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. “Good work.”
My mouth agape, I quickly covered it with my hand. Did he mean it? Had I heard him properly? “Really?” The word came out muffled in my palm.
