One of whom was standing in front of me, calling me out; because I wasn’t listening to him drone on about the latest investment portfolio he’d dreamed up.
Boring and a complete waste of my time. I already knew the portfolio would tank and had zero intentions of investing any of my client’s funds into it.
Scott relaxed back into his chair, his frown subsiding with the mention of Marshall’s name. My shin still throbbed where he’d kicked it, irritating me further. I understood Scott’s desire to make a name for himself with the other partners, but I didn’t appreciate his methods, nor his idea that I somehow had the ability to make or break his success.
Our boss cleared his throat, muttering, “Well, I imagine he’d like to invest in a portfolio created by an experienced partner, so perhaps you should pay attention.”
“Of course.” My smile was tight at his not-so-subtle dig; one I should’ve been used to by now. I was the youngest banker in the room; hell in the entire building to be honest, and that, coupled with my looks, meant I had to fight for even the slightest degree of respect.
Evan Marshall’s decision to single me out had both helped and hurt my reputation. There were those who believed I’d slept my way into managing his funds, while others knew better, but it didn’t stem their jealousy. Even Scott hadn’t believed me when I told him what had happened.
I’d been with the company a few weeks, hired straight after graduation, based on Scott’s recommendation. Luckily, the company didn’t have a fraternization policy for lowly bankers, or I wouldn’t have been hired.
Investment banking had been a no-brainer, once I’d realized how well I could predict market swings. I’d switched my major right before senior year, to Scott’s consternation. He’d gone into investment banking with the idea of making money, but what he hadn’t realized was how difficult it would be to woo clients into investing their wealth with him. Listening to him complain, while he tried to create portfolios, I discovered I could see what were good picks. I subtly directed him to those, and when they paid off, he called me his lucky charm.
It also didn’t hurt that I looked good on his arm at the events he attended to pull in new clients. Often, I could see who would be a likely potential client and guide Scott to speak with them. This allowed him to build a client base faster than the other newbies at his firm and impressed his bosses. When I made the decision to go into investment banking, Scott was afraid I would be competition. Eventually, he figured out I could continue to assist him, if we were at the same firm. I believed he actually thought I would be his secretary, instead of an actual banker. The first few weeks at the firm were a test of my patience, as I was given menial tasks to accomplish, and never allowed to speak to clients, unless it was to get them coffee—which was how I’d met Evan.
“Coffee?” The man in front of me was older, mid-sixties perhaps, and frowning. It was immediately apparent he had no desire to be here, and the senior partners speaking to him were wasting their time. He looked up, startled to see me standing there with a perfectly prepared cup of coffee. I smiled, a mental vision forming of him telling the partner talking that he was an ignorant ass-hat, and he’d rather take investment advice from the Barbie serving coffee.
Moments later, my vision came to life as he stood up, aggravated by their insistent advice. He paused on his way out the door to tell me, “That was a truly excellent cup of coffee.”
I laughed gently at his compliment, but another vision had me gripping his arm. He looked down at my hand, puzzled. I kept my eyes lowered, afraid the glasses I wore wouldn’t hide the subtle glow this close.
“A little investment advice from the Barbie ....” Our eyes met as my vision disappeared, and he looked curious. “Stay away from the Declan Group. Their CFO is embezzling. You’ll lose a great deal of money, if you invest with them.”
I released his arm and stepped back. He stared at me narrowly for a few seconds, before turning to leave, the senior partners hot on his heels.
A few days later, my boss showed up at my cubicle, a perplexed expression on his face.
“Ms. Kincaid.” I glanced up from my extremely important task of stuffing adverts into envelopes at his interruption.
“Yes?” I asked, curious about why a man I never spoke to, unless he wanted coffee, was standing at my cubicle, looking uncomfortable.
“Mr. Evan Marshall would like to speak to you.” My puzzled expression must have clued him in to the fact I had no idea who he was talking about. “The wealthy gentleman who came in the other day. The partners were speaking to him. You served him coffee.” He continued to stress each sentence as if that would somehow cause me to remember. Now, maybe, he could remember the individuals, since he was actually introduced to them, but for me it was just a blur of faces and cups of coffee. A momentary flash of a man pacing in my boss’s office clarified it for me.
“Ah,” I murmured, knowing who he was speaking of now.
“Good. Come along.” He was already walking away as I stood up, but paused before we came to his office. “I’m not sure why he wants to speak to you. He refused to say.” There was no denying he was butt hurt over this fact, but I kept my smile to myself. “I’ll be there the entire time. Please try not to embarrass the firm, and I’ll answer his questions.” He mentioned the next part in a low voice, but I heard him anyway. “Maybe he wants eye candy as he signs with the firm.” I frowned. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard comments like that. Being blonde and blue-eyed, it was almost expected, but Scott’s constant reference to me as a doll didn’t help matters. No one seemed to give any thought to the fact I might actually be intelligent, as well as pretty.
We walked in, and Mr. Marshall smiled.
“So glad to see you could figure out who I was talking about,” he told my boss. There was no mistaking the snark in his words, and my lips twitched. He looked over at my boss, and with a clearly dismissive tone said, “You can go.”
My boss protested, muttering things like explaining and understanding the situation, to which Mr. Marshall raised his eyebrow even further, barking, “Out.”
My boss flushed, shooting me a glare, for which I had no idea why, since I wasn’t the one dismissing him, but he left the room, leaving the door wide open as he stood outside it.
Mr. Marshall shook his head, his look one of disbelief as he walked over and pushed the glass door shut. The entire wall was glass, but sound-proofed. All the offices were designed that way, so the partners could see everything happening in the long room, but still maintain client’s confidentiality.
He turned and looked at me. We maintained the small stare-down for a few minutes, before he finally sighed and asked, “Do you know why I’m here?”
“Investment advice?” My reply was tongue-in-cheek, because I knew he had no desire to invest with our firm, but the news about the Declan Group’s CFO had broken two days before. My advice to him had been a gut reaction.
One I was now regretting.
“I’d ask how you knew, but it would be pointless,” he told me, moving to one of the chairs and gesturing to the one next to it. I sat down gracefully, grateful he had decided not to ask. This was a man who made split second decisions and stuck with them. He didn’t need to know the why, but he did want the person with the knowledge on his team.
“I want you on my team.” His words echoed my thoughts, taking me aback. He misinterpreted my surprise at his statement. “Your talents appear wasted here. Wouldn’t you relish the opportunity to be a valued member of a team?”
I gave him a faint smile—touché, Mr. Marshall, touché.
“And what guarantee do I have that you would value my talents any more than where I’m currently at?”
His lips curled up in a smile, “What do you want? People feel valued in different ways. Money is an option, respect is another. What makes you feel valued?”
I doubted he meant for his question to hit me as hard as it did. I blinked rapidly, realizing I hadn’t felt valued in a very lo
ng time. I’d been on my own since I was sixteen, drifting along as I chased vague visions. Scott had felt like a safe haven at a time when I’d become incredibly lost, but I was no longer that girl. This was my opportunity to carve my own path, but now wasn’t the time. Mr. Marshall followed my expressions, alert to each nuance. I’d seen hope on his face at one point, but now he looked resigned.
I smiled at him, “You asking me that question has opened my eyes to quite a few things.”
“But …” he interjected, a rueful smile already upon his lips.
“The timing isn’t quite right.” My response bordered on cryptic, but he nodded in understanding.
“Timing is everything,” he murmured to himself, seeming to make a decision. “The offer stands—indefinitely. In the meantime, I’d like to keep your acquaintance. I’ll move some of my investments to your firm, with the stipulation you manage them, and no one else.”
Surprise warred with amusement at his offer. We both knew I’d take if for no other reason than to give a fat ‘fuck you’ to my current co-workers. But his offer was generous, and that made me suspicious.
“Why me? Perhaps I’m terrible at investment strategy and that’s why they have me serve coffee.”
“I imagine the truth is closer to ... you frighten them.” I kept my expression carefully blank, and he smiled faintly. “I never doubt my instincts. I may regret not acting on them a time or two, but I don’t doubt them. If you tell me you can manage my portfolio successfully, I’ll believe you, Ms. Kincaid. I have no reason to doubt you speak the truth. Or that you’re far more capable than anyone else here. As to the question you didn’t quite ask, money means very little to me.”
There was a faraway look on his face as he said, “I lost what I consider valuable long ago.” His eyes sharpened on me, the sensation of being under a microscope intense. “But occasionally, we get second chances.” His intensity should have been frightening, but within seconds his expression relaxed, and so did I. “You have far more potential than you realize. I’m willing to invest in you. Money, time, respect. Whatever you need. You may not see it yet, but I do.” There was the echo of truth in his words, lending credibility to an otherwise surreal meeting. I couldn’t deny his absolute confidence in me was incredibly appealing. A strong part of me wanted to accept his offer and say the hell with it, but my vision had been clear. I needed to remain here a little longer.
“Then I accept your offer ... to invest part of your portfolio,” I amended, catching the second of hope on his face. “Trust me, Mr. Marshall, when the time is right, I’ll join you.”
“In that case, you should probably call me Evan.” He held his hand out for me to shake, and I took it, an odd tingle from his touch surprising me. His expression didn’t change, so I wondered if he’d felt it. There was something comforting about it, a sense of kinship almost, as if we were meant to be a part of one another’s lives. The idea was startling, because I’d had no vision of him coming into my life. I was accustomed to seeing the people who would enter my life before they actually did. It had been that way since I’d had my first vision at sixteen.
“Guinea,” I replied in kind, giving him the name I’d assumed after my adopted mother was murdered. “Guinea Kincaid.”
“Like the coin.” His eyes went to my hair, its golden color reminiscent of the coin I’d taken my name from.
“Yes, not many make the connection so quickly.” My fingers touched a curl which had escaped the bun I’d knotted it in earlier.
“It’s an unusual color. One I haven’t seen in many years.” He shook himself from the cobwebs of his memory, or so it seemed. He gestured to my boss, pacing outside the glass wall separating us. “I’ll take care of ... that. Rest assured, I’ll give them plenty of reason to leave you alone. Feel free to drop my name anytime you need to.”
We shared a conspirator’s smile as we stood up, my boss coming to the door immediately, but savvy enough by this point to know better than to open it.
“I’ll be in touch, Kincaid.” His choice of name was unexpected, but I discounted it as a male thing, using my last name instead of my first.
Our initial meeting had only been six months ago, but quite a bit had changed in that time. My wayward thoughts finally returned to the meeting, as we were dismissed. I stood hurriedly, not wishing to be caught by the boss, already seeing his intention to try and coerce me into investing Evan’s funds in his ridiculously inept portfolio. Scott hadn’t moved by the time I reached the door, and I knew he stayed behind to kiss our boss’s ass.
I sighed, looking down at the source of my distraction. The ring glittered, ostentatious, on my finger. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from Scott, but it didn’t suit me at all. Telling him yes had been a mistake, but a necessary one. My vision was coming closer to becoming reality, a fact which both terrified and elated me.
The rest of the day went quickly. Evan Marshall’s recommendation had brought me an influx of clients over the last few months, keeping me busy. I left a little early, eager to get home and see Kai. Scott had a dinner meeting with a client, so he wouldn’t be home. I ignored my feeling of relief at the thought, instead deciding on which park I would take Kai too. I was sure whichever one I picked he’d nix. It was part of the game we played.
I was two miles from home when I noticed the low tire pressure light come on. I groaned, irritated with the delay. I debated ignoring it, but didn’t want to get caught out with Kai and a flat tire. After pulling into a nearby gas station, I rummaged through the coins in my purse, managing to scrounge up three quarters. I figured it would be enough. I could air up the tire and get it looked at tomorrow to see if I’d picked up a nail. My mind ran through the logistics of when and where as I parked by the air station. I already knew Scott would be of no help. The last time his battery had died, I’d had to take care of it for him. He was not mechanically inclined, or manly, I admitted to myself, remembering his girlish shrieks over the sight of a spider and his refusal to kill it.
I shoved quarters into the machine distractedly, frowning at the memory. After putting the last quarter in, I stood waiting for the compressor to kick on. When it didn’t, I realized the machine needed four quarters, not the three I’d fed it.
“Shit.” I knew I didn’t have any more quarters, since I’d dug through every compartment to find the three I’d had. I was pissed at wasting my time and quarters, knowing my tire was still low.
“Something wrong?” His voice sent heat curling down my spine and I turned slowly, wondering if the face could possibly match the voice.
He didn’t disappoint.
The sight of him literally sucked the air from my lungs.
Michelangelo's David stood before me.
Although a slightly scruffier version.
“You alright?” His question forced my eyes closed, as I attempted to regain control over my senses. It was like his voice had short-circuited my brain and that, combined with his utter gorgeousness, meant I couldn’t take in enough air to speak.
“I’m good,” I finally managed, planning to end our moment out of time with that, but my mouth apparently had other plans. “I thought it was seventy-five cents to air up a tire. But it’s not. It’s a dollar, and I’m short a quarter. But I already put in three quarters, so I’m out the money and my tire is low. And it’ll have to stay that way, which is ridiculously annoying. And I’m sure you couldn’t care less.” My eyes popped open as I finished in a rush. An amused smile played on his lips.
Lips I couldn’t help but notice created a perfect Cupid’s bow. The deep indentation above tantalized me with the idea of licking it. My fantasy was interrupted by the motion of his hand reaching toward me. A sudden rush of nerve tingling anticipation shot through me at the thought. He was a complete stranger, albeit a pretty one, but something about him had my entire body on high alert. Time slowed as his hand slid by me, depositing a quarter in the air machine. The compressor kicked on causing me to jump, and his low laugh sent a
shudder through me.
“Have a nice day.”
You know the sublime feeling you get as chocolate melts on your tongue? That was his voice. It literally evoked the same level of pleasure in me.
“You too.” My words were barely audible; my body humming from the sheer pleasure of his words, each one a decadent treat.
He turned, walking away, and in a daze I managed to air up my tire. Only after slipping back into the seat and starting the car did I snap out of it. He was long gone, but the knowledge didn’t stop me from glancing around the parking lot. Regret overwhelmed me.
It felt like I’d missed our connection, and it upset me far more than it should have. I put the car in gear, driving away slowly, as an unreasonable sense of desolation washed over me. It was difficult to keep driving, as I fought the desire to go back, and do what … I wasn’t sure. I only knew I was drawn to him, and the idea of never seeing him again was devastating.
The Trinity Sisters Page 17