“Ronnie.”

I look up, and he’s there in front of me, infuriatingly well-groomed and sexy in his expensive suit. Behind me, Abby snickers quietly into her folder of papers.

“Yes?” I deliberately don’t look at his eyes, and try to be as curt as possible without actually being rude. Another folder thumps down on my tiny desk, piled high with printed reports.

“Our sweeps of new journal publications picked these up this morning. I’d like you to read through them, and tell us if there’s anything we need to know about. You’ve got the right knowledge, and we need someone to keep an eye on the research while we’re working on this deal.” His tone is even, but I’m determined not to look at him.

“Sure, Tom. I can do that. When do you want it back?”

My eye line is fixed on his tie. It’s purple and blue silk, and it’s perfectly knotted; it must have cost a lot of money. I wonder if he ties it himself, or if he has someone to do it for him? Maybe a robot. There’s the faintest of sighs from above the tie, and an upraised hand comes into view.

“It’s not urgent. Maybe the day after tomorrow? If there’s anything really critical, I’d like to know earlier, thought. Can you talk about it in the team meeting on Friday?”

“Sure.” I try to count all the threads in the tie. It’s a long job, and I’m only part of the way through when Tom speaks again. “Let me know if you have any questions, okay?”

“Sure, Tom. I’ll do just that.” I look down at the folder and pretend to be engrossed in it. He reaches out a hand as if to touch my shoulder, then pauses. I try not to notice, and try not to think about the electric feeling I got the last time he touched me.

“Hey, Tom—uh, Dr. Macaulay!” Errol calls from another desk. Tom looks up, and grins, withdrawing his hand.

“Hey, Errol, what’s up?” In just a few days, Tom’s easy charm has won over Errol and Adam, and now they chat to him like buddies, which irritates the hell out of me. Everyone else thinks he’s so damn likable.

“We were watching the video of your time-series data visualization talk from last year, and you showed this forced-perspective…” Their conversation trails off in my ears as I drag the pile of papers from where Tom put them down over in front of me, and flick through them. “Machine Learning Approaches in Quantitative Finance: A Review.” Great. Sounds really exciting.

In an effort to put off reading, I stare at the top email in my inbox. It’s from Dana Garvey, the reporter. For the last three days, the whole firm has been getting automated emails from news organizations, fishing for information.

Dear Walters Capital employee,

If you have any information on the Macaulay Bond issue you would like to share, please contact me by reply to this email.

Yours, Dana Garvey

I click the Delete button; I might not be happy about what’s happening here, but there’s no way reporters are going to help the situation.

* * *

After a few minutes I hear a hissing sound behind me. It starts and stops periodically; I do my best to ignore it, until it grows steadily to become a constant ‘ssss’. Sighing, I push my chair back, and roll it backwards, hard enough to bang into Abby’s desk right behind me.

“Abby, either there’s a gas leak, or there’s a snake loose in the office, or you want to get my attention. Which is it?”

Abby is undeterred. “How’s working with Dr. Sexypants?” At this point, Tom is about ten feet away, easily close enough to hear, especially with the conspiratorial volume of her whispering. I attempt to thwack her with a rolled-up auditor’s report, and miss.

“Shut up! This isn’t appropriate.” She cackles under her breath.

“No, seriously, how is it? You were up there all last week, right? Did you get to spend,” she waggles her eyebrows, “alone time with him?”

“Abby, it’s really not like that. Not even a bit.”

“Isn’t it? Not even a bit?” She spins her empty coffee cup on her desk, and looks at me disbelievingly.

“No, it’s not. He’s a self-centered ass. Sure, he seems nice enough in conversation, but…oh, look, just take my word for it, okay? He really isn’t all that.”

She picks up her coffee cup with a theatrical sigh and drops it in the trash can next to her. “Just like that, another dream dies.”

“I’m so sorry, Abby.” I clasp both hands over my breast and assume a long-suffering expression.

“Next you’ll be telling me he doesn’t look as good as that close up. Even if he is an ass.”

I think for a moment. He looks really good, and even when he’s making me angry, I’m still thinking about what it would be like to feel his mouth on me.

“Well, okay, he does look pretty good in that suit.” But he thinks you’re a spoiled child, and he’s dismissed your opinion already. “But all the expensive tailoring in the world isn’t going to save a man if all he cares about is himself.”

Abby shakes a fist. “Right.” She raises her voice. “Down with arrogant men!” Luckily, the only men in earshot are Adam and Errol, squabbling quietly over an equation on the space between their desks. They look up with hunted expressions. “Sorry, guys. Not you. Just, uh, go back to whatever you were doing.”

I snort and turn back to the pile of papers I’m supposed to be reading and summarizing for Tom. I need to do a good job of this, just this once. Then I’ll have a proper job, and I can get on with being a grownup. It’ll be easy.

“Hey, uh, Ronnie?” Errol leans over the side of his chair, and for a minute I worry that he’s going to fall out. “Do you think you could, uh, put in a good word for me with Tom? I mean, I’d really like to get to do some of the cool stuff you guys are doing, and it’s just…”

“Sure, Errol. I think he’d be glad to have you, I really do.” Or Adam. Or anyone except me.