Delia Suits Up

by Amanda Aksel

  “Absolutely not.” His hands slice the air between us like a referee.

  “Why? You wouldn’t even have a meeting tomorrow if I hadn’t busted in there the way I did. And you wouldn’t have a winning pitch either. Monty Fuhrmann stands to make millions because of me. I’ve earned that meeting.” My words have the fervor of months of built-up frustration. If I can’t go back to the way things were, then I at least want this. “And don’t forget, I’m the one who spoke to him on the phone this morning. He’s expecting me to be there.” It’s a dicey point, seeing as we both know I’m not Liam Golan’s guy from Zurich. But it’s the only card I have to play.

  Owen throws his hands in the air. “He’s expecting someone from our Zurich office, not some guy who showed up at his apartment. I couldn’t let you in that room with him even if I wanted to. He’d recognize you from this morning. Did you even think of that?”

  “He never saw my face. I don’t even think he knew I was there. I swear.” Now it’s like I’m dangling from the edge of a cliff with a failing grip. Owen shakes his head and I know he’s going to let me fall. I have to keep fighting. “This pitch is happening in sixteen hours and I’m the only one who knows it and the only one who knows why it’s designed that way.”

  “What do you mean why it’s designed that way?” He narrows his eyes with a threatening tone.

  “I know what he’s afraid of. I know what he’s planning to do. Right out of the horse’s mouth. Wouldn’t you like to know what he said?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Frankie slapping his hand to his mouth, covering either a nervous laugh or a gaping hole. My stare remains fixed on Owen. Hard to tell if he wants to relent or just punch me in the face.

  “Humph.” He bounces his hand, pointed at me like a gun. “I suppose the only way you’ll tell me is if I bring you back.”

  Bingo!

  “You didn’t get to be a managing director at Monty Fuhrmann by accident. No one does. Wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were in my shoes?”

  His brow furrows so much that a crease appears down the middle of his forehead. “Who are you? Really?”

  I sigh, keeping my eyes as steady and as honest as I can. “I’m Richard Allen. Just a guy who knows his shit and wants in the game.”

  He grits his teeth as if he’s stifling the urge to scream at me. “I don’t know anything else about you. You really think I can bring in some random guy to pitch one of the biggest IPOs we’ve ever been a part of?”

  Frankie leans over, nudging my arm. “Show him your resume,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

  “Here.” I pull a thick sheet of paper from my Gucci, hoping that it inspires some confidence.

  Owen’s scrutiny switches from Frankie to the resume. He takes it from my hand, flashing curious glances at me between each section he reads. “So what? You have experience. Even if this is all true, it doesn’t qualify you to sit at the table.”

  I stiffen my chin and fold my arms over my chest. “Maybe not, but what I did today does. My experience is real; that much should be obvious.” Stepping closer, I look him firmly in the face. “This morning you told me you agreed with my strategy even though Becker didn’t. If you don’t close this deal tomorrow, you’re not only losing Fairbanks. Others will notice.” I take a breath, letting Owen feel the potential loss of millions for just a moment. “Becker’s out. You’re responsible for what happens now. So, what’s it gonna be?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  He’s quiet. But by the look on his face, I know he’s mulling it over. The chances of him agreeing to my proposal are slim, slimmer than the stack of ones in my pocket. Taking a chance on me could be a major liability. I just hope he’s willing to bet that I could be a huge asset. Because I will be.

  “Fine. You can come back, but only as a consultant,” he says with a firm stare. “And that doesn’t mean you’ll be in the meeting tomorrow. We’ll see how the night goes.”

  It’s not a hell yes, but it’s a yes!

  “Deal,” I say before he can change his mind.

  He nods toward the doors. “We better get to work.”

  I beam, feeling a surge of energy charge through my veins. What a rush! I’m back in the game, and on my own merit too. Happy birthday, Delia!

  “Wait here,” Owen says and jets off toward the nurses’ station.

  I rest my hands on my hips, catching my breath like I’ve just finished a fifty-yard dash. “Did you see that?”

  Frankie doesn’t seem to have any control over his floored expression. “That was amazing.”

  “Yes, it was.” My adrenaline rush finally begins to slow while my heart is pounding so hard it’s practically vibrating my paisley tie. “Okay, I have to get back to work. Don’t wait up.” I pat Frankie on the shoulder.

  “Good luck,” he says, taking a few steps backward before heading to his patient.

  Owen says nothing as he approaches, just flashes his poker face. I follow him out of the hospital and begin heading up the street to catch a cab.

  “Where are you going?” Owen calls out.

  When I turn back, he’s stationed in front of a black town car with tinted windows and a driver who’s patiently holding the door open for him.

  Back on the case and I get to ride in style!

  I slide in next to Owen, making myself comfortable on the cushy leather.

  The door slams shut. “This better work, Richard.”

  “It will.” I’m no fortune-teller—obviously—but I do know this is the best chance Monty Fuhrmann’s got.

  The driver takes off and heads downtown. No jerking, bouncing, or stopping short. It might be the smoothest ride I’ve ever had on these streets . . . until it hits me: I signed a nondisclosure. And I didn’t even read it.

  Shit.

  “There might be a tiny issue,” I say.

  He glares at me. “What?”

  “Becker had me sign an NDA earlier and I didn’t exactly have a chance for my lawyer to look it over.” What exactly did I sign?

  “I know. Becker brought it to our private meeting. Lucky for you, he didn’t have a chance to send it back to our legal department before having a heart attack. It’s still on my desk.” Whew! That is lucky. Owen picks up on my sense of relief. “Doesn’t mean I won’t send it to them myself.” His stern glare drifts away and he’s silent for a few moments. I’m almost positive he’s debating whether or not to tell the driver to pull over and let me out.

  “I’ll determine that later,” he says, finally.

  I straighten my tie and my attitude. That NDA will never see the light of day.

  As we pull up to the tower, I know I’ve upped the ante. My stomach flips and my fingers tremble with excitement as I release my seat belt.

  It’s time to walk the walk.

  Owen and I pass through security with ease and take the elevator up. The moment I step through the steel doors, my pulse steadies and it’s like business as usual.

  I follow the boss down the hall, glancing at the lock screen on my phone. It’s almost seven. The floor isn’t as lively as it was earlier, but there are still a handful of associates working away in their cubicles. As we approach Owen’s office, Ashley is noticeably absent.

  “Where’s your assistant?” I ask.

  “She leaves every day at five to pick up her daughter from day care.” That’s decent of him. He grabs a copy of the pitchbook, taking a seat on the sofa in the corner of his office. I spot the NDA on his desk and plop down on the chair across from him, wondering if he’s going to look at me at all during this discussion.

  His eyes stay focused on the pitchbook. “So why don’t you tell me how this all started? And what, exactly, did you hear from Fairbanks?”

  “Like I said, I went to his apartment this morning to pick up my roommate’s phone.”

  “Wait.” He looks at me, but with a s
uspicious glare. “Why did your roommate send you? Why not just pick it up herself?”

  “How is that relevant?” I ask.

  He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back on the sofa. Earning his trust might be an uphill battle. “I’ll ask the questions.” Well, now who’s the bad cop?

  Let’s see. If I had woken up as my Delia-self this morning, why would I have sent someone else to pick up my phone? “I assume it’s because she’s been cleaning apartments until she can land a finance job again. She hasn’t met Fairbanks and probably didn’t want to risk introducing herself as his cleaning professional.”

  His stony expression doesn’t change and his office now feels as cold as an interrogation room. “Then what happened? Take me through it step by step, exactly how you remember it.”

  “Okay. His assistant invited me in while she went to fetch the phone. While I was waiting, I heard Fairbanks’s voice coming from the other room. He said he was planning to cancel the meeting with Monty Fuhrmann because he doesn’t think we can play nice with the other banks.”

  “We?” Owen’s brow shoots up.

  “The firm, I mean. I’m in this business, obviously, and I knew exactly what he was talking about. He specifically mentioned Becker, and that he was concerned about a scandal. It’s understandable after the IPO fiasco your team was responsible for.”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while his intense stare stays fixed on me. “We’d never make the same mistake twice.”

  I return his bad-cop glare, stating in a stern voice, “Well, apparently Todd Fairbanks isn’t willing to make that bet.” I guess I’m not the only one trying to earn back trust.

  Owen drops his tough-guy act and lowers his eyes.

  “Another thing,” I say, and Owen looks up again. “He said he was going to give S.G. Croft the lead.”

  “What?” He looks like he’s about to shoot out of his chair like it’s a cannon.

  “He was going to call them after he canceled with Becker. There’s a good chance it’s already done. Which means that if we want in, we have to show him we’ll do it his way. Play by his rules.”

  “And not bulldoze the deal,” Owen says with a sigh.

  I nod slowly. “Pretty much.”

  “Yeah, your plan makes a lot more sense now.” Owen gazes off for a moment, seeming to take it all in. “What are the odds that you, of all people, would be eavesdropping on that conversation?”

  “Trust me. Stranger things have happened. Consider it our lucky day.”

  “Well, it’s definitely your lucky day.” He shakes his head, rubbing his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m going to let you do the meeting with me tomorrow.”

  My skepticism kicks in. “You are?”

  He nods without a word, and I know he’s trying to convince himself of his own decision.

  “Thank you, sir,” I say, finding it difficult to control the goofy grin covering my face.

  There’s a knock on the doorframe. Owen looks up and I follow, praying it’s not Becker back from the hospital for another round.

  “You wanted to see me?” Darren asks, doing a double take at the sight of me. I check my hands again.

  Hairy knuckles are intact.

  “Yeah.” Owen gestures at the chair I’m sitting in. “Richard, why don’t you head over to the conference room? We’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Sure.” I slap my thighs and rise to my feet.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” Darren wrinkles his brow as he walks in to take my seat. “They said you got called back to Switzerland.”

  Owen clears his throat. “When Curtis went down, we called him back. It’s a good thing his plane hadn’t left yet.”

  I press my lips together to hold in a chuckle and glance back to Owen, whose eyes flash me a quick threat, swearing me to secrecy.

  Darren’s expression turns crestfallen. “Oh, well . . . welcome back.”

  “Thanks. It’s good to be back,” I say, wondering why the long face. Doesn’t he know I’m here for the rescue mission?

  “Okay, we’ll see you in a few.”

  I mime a salute to my new captain and walk out of his office. The door shuts behind me, and a swell of insecurity collects at the bottom of my gut as I bite my lip. What are they talking about? I consider pressing my ear against the door but think better of it. Besides, I’ve done enough eavesdropping for one day.

  On the way to the conference room, I take a detour to my old stomping grounds. I spy Nicole’s aqua glasses before I can make out the rest of her face. It’s good to see her. Almost comforting.

  “Hey, Mr. Allen. I thought Becker sent you back to Switzerland.” She flashes her version of a smile.

  “He tried, but he failed.” I rest my hand on her desk and feel a slight pang of guilt for lying to her, especially since she was honest with me about her friend who works at S.G. Croft.

  Her eyes return to the computer screen. “I knew Becker was going to have a heart attack sooner or later.”

  “Yeah, that guy needs a vacation.”

  She shrugs, unsympathetic. “Mm-hmm, I bet he was pretty pissed when he found out you weren’t from the Zurich office after all.”

  My jaw practically dangles. Did I hear her right? “How’d you know about that?”

  She shoots me a caustic stare, pursing her mouth. “Please, I figured it out within twenty minutes.”

  My cheeks flush and for a moment I want to puke. “You did?”

  “Yep,” she says, enunciating the word like she’s blotting her lipstick.

  I can’t say I’m surprised she figured it out. Maybe she isn’t my ally after all. “Did you turn me in?”

  Nicole looks at me as if it’s the dumbest thing I’ve said yet. “Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how much fun I’ve had watching these jerk-offs take hours to discover what I did in minutes?” Her mouth creeps up into a genuine smirk.

  “You should be a detective.”

  She raises a thin eyebrow above the rim of her aqua glasses. “How do you know I’m not?” Nicole maintains a look more severe than the charges I would face for defrauding the firm. My chest tightens and for a second I think I might have a heart attack. Her straight face cracks into a giant laugh, so much so that I look around for hidden cameras. Or backup police. “Ha! I’m not a cop.” She pushes up her glasses to wipe her eyes. “But you should’ve seen your face!”

  Whew! I can’t take any more jail threats, but I let myself laugh. Just a little. “You got me, Nicole.”

  Her laugh slows enough for her to catch her breath, and she pulls her purse out of a drawer. “I hope you plan to stick around. This place has gotten a lot more interesting since you showed up.” Not as interesting as my life’s been since my dick showed up. She walks around her desk, a residual smile on her face, then struts toward the elevator. “Good night, Richard.”

  As soon as the elevator doors close, I peek inside my old office, or rather Sutton’s old office. No one’s around.

  No harm in going inside.

  This could be the last time I’m alone in an office like this for a while. I pass up the abandoned set of golf clubs for the wide window view. The salmon-tinted sunset gives the city a warm glow as if it’s satisfied with the day’s events, and I find myself feeling a little more satisfied too.

  I just wish I were here as regular Delia.

  I grab a yellow pad and silver pen from Sutton’s old desk and make my way to the conference room. Twenty empty chairs surround the glossy table. I run my hands along the tops, letting the smooth leather slide beneath my hand. I stop at the seventh chair, the one Curtis Becker sat in when he told me I was caught. Pulling the chair out to take a seat feels like a small victory, although there’s a long way to go.

  “What’s up, Richard!” Eric’s voice r
esounds through the doorway before he does. His smirk is cuter than ever.

  My palms and face grow hotter by the second. “Hey, Eric. What are you doing here?”

  He pulls out a chair near mine and slouches into it, resting his interlocked hands on his chest. “Owen caught us on the way to happy hour and asked if I could stay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, secretly wishing I could go to the bar with him. I guess if Delia wasn’t visiting her “dying” grandma, we’d be having drinks tonight. Maybe even coffee in the morning . . .

  “It’s okay.” His eyes droop a little and I can tell he’s starting to crash from that cup of coffee in the break room. I’d probably be crashing too if my adrenaline wasn’t pumping a mile a minute through my veins. “It’s not your fault Becker had a heart attack.”

  That’s debatable.

  “Good, you’re both here.” Owen makes his entrance into the conference room, Darren behind him like a shadow. Eric and I look alive, awaiting his instructions. A sour pout weighs on Darren’s bottom lip as he takes a seat.

  With his hands on his hips, Owen’s glowering at me like I’m still on thin ice. “These guys are going to prep you on everything there is to know about Ezeus, past and present. When you’re done in here, you and I will go over tomorrow’s pitch.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” There’s a part of me that hopes this will take all night. The thought of being with Eric for the next few hours is almost as exciting as pitching to Fairbanks tomorrow. I glance down at Little Dickie. But not too exciting.

  Eric and Darren are so on top of the data, there isn’t a detail left out. Fortunately, it’s easy for me to catch up, since Eric’s been sharing bits with me for months. The volley between Eric and me is so natural that we often don’t even need to use words. I’ve missed this. It’s just like old times at Howard Brothers Group, working around a conference table with our team. Darren, one of the sharper guys I’ve met today, even asks at one point if we’ve worked together before. We say no but Eric acknowledges that it definitely feels like we have. But it doesn’t take a few hours; it’s taken a little over one.