Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(9)

His smile widens as he leans back in his antique chair. “I’d like to think you’ll save your violence for me.”

“Ah,” I say, almost reluctantly pulling my hand away. My smile wavers. “You’re assuming too much. You haven’t seen the presentation. You . . . you may not like my proposals.”

He cocks his head to the side, raising his eyebrows in a way that is both seductive and impish. “Take a chance.”

I burst out in full laughter because it seems that lately I’ve done nothing but take chances.

“I promise you this,” he says softly. “I won’t pressure my executives to accept your proposals. Whatever reaction you get from them will be honest and I won’t overrule them.”

Ah, so there is no guarantee here. The realization actually relaxes me. This is the kind of challenge I’ve trained for. I get it and it’s familiar. Right now, when everything in my life feels new and scary, anything that feels familiar is a blessing.

I roll back my shoulders, raise my chin just a little. “Sleep well, Mr. Dade,” I say softly. “We both have a big day tomorrow.”

“Good night, Miss Fitzgerald,” he says and with a small smile he disappears. My screen goes black.

But I still feel him.

Like the ocean feels the moon.

* * *

AND THE NEXT DAY I’m ready. I have to be, right?

“I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready,” I repeat to myself as I pull the comb through my hair, ripping through the tangles, barely flinching at the pain.

I choose a black fitted skirt that hits a few inches above the knee and match it with a tight-fitting blazer with a peplum flare. Under that I’ll wear my silk sleeveless top in a green that reminds me of the Everglades. It’s so light you almost expect it to be sheer. It’s an illusion, a hint of mysticism encased in the harsh realism of a business suit. I’m making a statement.

“Today’s my day,” I say again to the mirror.

My reflection looks back at me, doubtful.

I grab my briefcase, my grip a little tighter than usual, and walk out. No need to go to my office. My team will meet me at Maned Wolf.

As I drive there I think about the name, Maned Wolf Securities. A little research has taught me that the maned wolf is the largest canid of South America and, thanks to its long legs, it stands taller than any wild canid in the world. It bites the neck of its prey, shakes it violently until it’s limp. But unlike other wolves, this one doesn’t form a pack. It claims a large territory that it roams and defends with only the help of his mate. Together they work to keep all threats and challenges to their authority at bay. The maned wolf mates for life.

But for all its height and aggression, the maned wolf is considered a vulnerable species. It’s hunted.

Driving now through Beverly Hills I decrease my speed and wonder if Robert sees how much he resembles this animal. I think Robert’s a vulnerable predator. And I could be his mate, helping him rule and expanding his territory.

But we’ll still be vulnerable.

Eventually I reach his Santa Monica building. Tinted glass walls stretch up to the sky as if appeasing this city’s need to see its own reflection. I park on the street, straighten my posture, and breathe. My team knows that I’ve slept with the man we’ll be presenting for. They’re judging me. If I mess this up and still get a promotion, I’ll invite nothing but disrespect and derision. I’ll have to turn down the promotion, maybe even leave the company.

That simply can’t happen. I swallow hard and walk through the doors of the massive building. I stride past the security desk and on up to the conference room. I’m ten minutes early but people are already in their places. My team sits with the Maned Wolf executives all ready for my performance. Only Robert is missing. I walk to the front of the room. Taci has everything set up for the PowerPoint presentation.

I stand in front of them all and idly reach for the laptop that stores the visuals I’ll be using. I wonder if anyone else notices the slight tremble of my fingers. The executives flip through their iPhone apps, read e-mails; a few grace me with quiet smiles. If their thoughts are lewd, they hide them well under their bland, almost disinterested expressions. I’ve spoken to every one of them over the last few weeks but none of them address me now. They all just wait.

And then he enters the room. The energy immediately shifts. Everyone lifts their faces to Mr. Dade but as his eyes stay trained on me, the others follow suit. The intensity of the attention hits me like a wave of heat from a controlled explosion. I click on to PowerPoint and begin.

I start with market trends, boring stuff to most but not to me. The trend of the market is a mathematical manifestation of the expectations and values of an entire class of people. The ticking numbers of the Dow can tell you if thousands of people are feeling hopeful or scared. Are they pulling their money out, hoarding it like one would hoard water before an impending disaster? Are they investing in pharmaceuticals, predicting that more of us will find solace in a pill? But the trends that are relevant to Maned Wolf are even more interesting. Their alarms and safeguards can give the insecure a sense of safety. So the question here is, will investors be attracted to the market value of fear?