Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Webb has me on the hook now. S&H deals mostly with athletes and celebs—people with lots of cash to play with—and they’re always hot for the next big thing. And my friend, and client, Sam, the head of one of the world’s most ground-breaking tech companies, is always telling me I need a tech nerd with vision in my corner.
If Webb can deliver that, I want him on my team.
I ask him a few questions about his experience, letting him wax poetic about his ideal portfolio mix. He has good instincts, the right blend of education and experience, and he knows his stuff.
But what I really need is a candidate who can think outside the MBA box and carry on a conversation about something other than ROI, APR, SEC, and the rest of the alphabet soup my analysts are swimming in.
I need someone who can charm clients and close deals.
I need someone creative, driven, and passionate.
I need someone who can take my mind off my best friend’s little sister.
“What are you passionate about, Mr. Webb?” I interrupt a story about one of his former clients, surprising us both.
He waits a beat. Two. It’s the first time he hasn’t had a ready answer.
“P-Passionate?” he stammers.
“Yeah, something that lights you up inside, gets your juices flowing.”
“Well, as I said, wealth management is—”
“Forget all that.” I dismiss his comment with a wave. “I want to hear about the real you. Personally. Where do you spend your free time?”
“Personally?” He readjusts his tie, clearing his throat. “Well, I… I like the library.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “A big reader, huh?”
At this, the guy lights up, a grin breaking his all-business demeanor. “If having my library card number memorized makes me a big reader, then yes.” His mustache twitches with excitement, his eyes sparking.
I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about this guy… It’s almost like we’ve met before. Maybe at one of Ryan’s family gatherings? He said their fathers were friends. Could that be it?
“Tell me the last thing you read for fun,” I say, hoping to catch another glimpse of that spark.
“Dragon Spell.” He says it like he’s daring me to laugh. When I don’t, he continues, “It’s about a wizard trying to resurrect a race of dragons, but he’s the only person who believes they exist.”
Webb goes on about the story, getting more amped up with every plot point. By the time he says, “…and then he discovers he’s descended from dragon shifters,” he’s practically out of his chair with excitement.
In that moment, I know exactly why I recognize the spark in his eyes.
Because they aren’t his eyes.
They aren’t his anything.
Colored contacts, fake mustache, wig, the too-big suit and shoes…
Christ, I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it sooner, but now that I have, it takes every ounce of willpower to keep my expression neutral.
Because the candidate sitting across from me gushing about dragons? Is none other than Ellie Seyfried in drag.
Do they still call it drag if it’s a woman dressed as a man? I have no clue, but I know with absolute certainty that I’ve just been played. Hard.
Taking a steadying breath, I force a smile. “Tell you what, Mr. Webb. I’ve seen enough to know you’re exactly the kind of candidate we’re looking for.”
“Really?” He—she, damn it—beams. “That’s great.”
“I’m ready to skip the rest of the hoop-jumping and call your references. Is there someone specific I can contact at—who was your previous employer? Hannaford Capital?”
“I… Sure. Of course.” She makes a show of digging through her attaché case before clearing her throat. “To be honest, Mr. Holt, I wasn’t prepared for things to move this quickly. Why don’t I email you the information? Will that work?”
I steeple my fingers, staring at her over the tips. I don’t blink. I don’t look away. I don’t even breathe.
To her credit, neither does Ellie, though I can feel the nervous tension rolling off her in waves.
I can’t take another minute of it.
“Game over, Ms. Seyfried.”
At this, Ellie scrunches up her nose and laughs. She actually laughs.
Jesus, this woman… I don’t know whether to throttle her or kiss her.
“So you find this amusing? This…whatever it is you’re doing?” I gesture from her shiny black loafers to the slightly-too-big suit coat draped over her shoulders, doing my best not to imagine the curves beneath.
“This,” she says with a flourish, pushing out her chest in a way that’s anything but masculine, “is my master plan. Say hello to your newest broker.”
“You’re not a broker.”
“I am for the next few weeks, while I get the deep dive for my story.”
I shake my head. “It will never work. No one’s going to buy it.”
“You bought it.” Ellie’s out of her chair now, pacing my office. “You just hired me!”
“And now I’m firing you.”
“I can talk the talk, Jack. That’s all that matters.”