Black Jack

8

"No."

"You play tennis?"

"I can hit a couple of balls when they come at me just right," she said coyly.

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Does it matter?"

"When a woman's pissed at you, it sure does."

She laughed. "Smart man. So tell me. How does one be a bond trader and a CEO? Aren't those jobs competing for time?"

He looked surprised at the question. "I trade because it's my drug and I'm an addict. I'm the CEO because my boss pissed me off last year and I staged a coup, then I slapped my name on the building to rub it in."

Lydia's eyes widened and her bottom lip fell open. He then began to preen again, which made her laugh again.

"The board of directors doesn't really like me—"

"I can't imagine why."

"—but they like my results and the shareholders would scream. Honestly, I didn't think that all the way through, so I'm still getting used to the job. My right hand, Melinda, she's the senior vice president. She was my partner in crime. She's really the CEO, but doesn't want the title."

"Why not?"

"The extra shit that goes with it. It'll mess with her love life, and that is also not a joke. Her boyfriend's a venture capitalist, and they can barely make time for each other as it is. Might as well kiss the boyfriend goodbye if she has to start mudwrestling the board."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I don't know why people think they can have it all. Time is a jealous bitch."

He laughed. "I know. So I do the wrestling."

"And trade."

He shrugged. "Municipal bonds are my specialty. I make a lot of money on those, and I like keeping my stake in the pot."

"And it lets you bounce off the walls all day."

"I am extra-rubbery during market hours."

Lydia's eyebrows rose and she tried to contain her grin. "Two rubbers, then."

"You should see me when I'm loaded with caffeine and sugar. Then we're talking triple layers. Extra large."

"Naturally," she drawled. "Do you sleep?"

"I crash at nine p.m. on the dot," he said matter-of-factly. "And I do mean crash."

"You just run out of steam and collapse into bed?" she asked in amazement.

He nodded. "Depends on where I am at nine-oh-one, in which case I'll sleep under a bridge. I get up at four. I like to be in the office between five-thirty and six."

Lydia looked at her watch. Eight-thirty. "You've got almost a half a day in already."

"A normal person's workday, yes. You don't make as much money as I do working forty hours a week. Which is why Melinda doesn't want the job." He eyed her then. "I hardly think you work forty hours a week, either."

She shrugged. "Depends on how many classes I have that semester and how many students sign up for private lessons, which, if they intend to take any of my classes, is a requirement. You don't come from China to go to Kansas expressly to study with a virtuoso if you aren't willing to get chewed out by said virtuoso."

"Oh, that's where you learned how to terrify teenage ruffians who are bigger than you."

She grinned. "They didn't want to help me take groceries back. It made me mad."