Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Elle sets the cooler on the little café table we’ve gathered around. “Welp, I just spent twenty minutes in a dirty, freezing closet trying not to fall asleep as a machine sucked milk out of my boobs. Because there’s no sink in that closet, I had to wash my pump stuff in the bathroom, but I was rushing so I ended up spilling milk everywhere instead, and then I was late getting back to the desk and everyone was weirdly quiet and I could tell they’d been talking shit about me being gone for so long. I’m sure they’re still talking shit now that I’m running down here to grab some much-needed caffeination.” Resting her elbows on the edge of the table, Elle presses her thumbs into her eyes. “Please tell me it’s almost five o’clock. I want to go home.”
Keira and I exchange a glance as I rub Elle’s back.
“Soon?” I try. “Only eight hours left.”
Greer sets down the biggest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen in front of Elle. Wordlessly, the baker stirs in two packets of Splenda and a healthy dash of skim milk. “This will help.”
“Thanks, y’all. I gotta go, but have fun with your little elf getup, Nora.” Elle grabs her cup of coffee and uses it to gesture at my outfit. “Bet the guys are loving that.”
“I’m loving it more. The shoes are ridiculously comfortable.”
“Gotta take your wins where you can get ’em. Oh!” Elle holds up her phone, eyes going wide. “I forgot to tell you, your hobbit costume is on Wall Street Bathroom this morning.”
My heart skips a beat as I set down my latte to open the Twitter app on my phone. “Stop it. How did they already find out about it?”
“No idea, but whoever wrote it knows about your bet with Theo too.”
Going through my feed, I see that my name and my costume do indeed make an appearance on Wall Street Bathroom. I roll my eyes. Figures my first mention on finance’s most infamous source of gossip would be about losing a bet and wearing a dumb costume, albeit one I am admittedly rocking.
All the more reason to double down on taking Theo out. Next time he’s going to be the one who’s publicly humiliated on this hellsite. I cannot wait to witness the temper tantrum he’ll have when it happens.
“You okay?” Elle asks softly.
I wave her away, setting down my phone so I can pick up my coffee. “When they go low—”
“We go high.” Smiling, Elle taps the bottom of her cup against mine. “Good luck, friend. See y’all later.”
Sipping our drinks, we watch Elle dart back upstairs in silence. Being featured on a gossip feed because I’m dressed like Frodo is sobering to say the least. So is having a front-row seat to working motherhood. I know it’s only confirmed Keira’s desire not to have kids, but I do want them. Seeing how hard parenthood has been for Elle—and how unfairly she’s been treated since she returned from a laughably short maternity leave—is making me wonder how the hell I’m going to manage it without lighting my life and my career on fire.
This is the stuff that needs to change on the trading floor (it needs to change in pretty much every other workplace in the United States too). But it’s going to take an intentional shift in culture and leadership to make that happen. With more guys like Theo Morgan getting promoted . . . yeah, I don’t have high hopes.
Chapter Seven
Theo
Twenty-two trades.
Four verbal altercations, and three heated exchanges via Bloomberg.
One absurdly sexy hobbit costume.
Not like I’m counting, but my weekly stats in relation to Nora Frasier do not give me hope for a fruitful working relationship going forward.
Yes, she gets shit done. Yes, she and I made a million bucks this week on the trades we did together. But she had no right to look that fucking cute dressed like Bilbo’s girlfriend. Absolutely none.
Unfortunately, my dick does not agree. Like clockwork, it wakes me up every damn night. I don’t have the time or the patience for Tinder right now, so I take care of the situation myself and pray it doesn’t happen the next night.
No luck.
By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m beat. But as much as I could use a day to chill on the couch with a book, I need to go see my family. Help Mom out, maybe take my sisters somewhere fun. Lord knows we could all use some fun these days.
I haul my ass out of bed way too early to make a CrossFit class down the street. I eventually want to buy a house with a yard and a pool and all that jazz, but for now I’m renting a townhouse in Dilworth. It’s a cute historic neighborhood a mile or so outside of uptown that’s boomed in the past couple years. Thanks to developers, it’s become a hub for young professionals and is packed with new condos, shops, restaurants, bars, and office towers. It’s a far cry from the Lower East Side of Manhattan, but the vibe isn’t half bad, and there’s a Jeni’s Ice Cream Shop two blocks from where I live. Really, I can’t complain.