When Morning Comes. Harmony Evans
He led them through a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, to a single room in the back.
Inside was a linen-covered table with two chairs and a fire roaring in the fireplace. They hung their coats on the two porcelain-tipped hooks on the wall and sat down.
“Thanks, Eric. Give us a moment, will you?”
After the waiter left, Isaac smiled and handed Autumn her menu.
“All better?” he asked, gesturing toward the low flames roaring in the fireplace.
Autumn nodded and moved her chair into place. “Much. And I can barely hear the other customers all the way back here.”
“Yes, I often bring clients by for lunch or when I need to get away from the office, I just come here by myself and work. It’s got a ton of character, no?”
“It’s lovely!” Autumn rubbed her hands together in front of the fire. “What’s good here?”
“Everything, mostly. The butternut squash soup is my favorite, especially on a chilly day like today. It’ll help warm us both up.”
The waiter entered the room with two bottles of mineral water. Isaac ordered the soups and a couple of side salads.
“That was awesome what you did back there,” Autumn remarked, unfolding her napkin. “For me and for that vendor.”
She poured her water into her glass and took a sip. “And here I thought all men who worked on Wall Street were ruthless penny-pinchers.”
Isaac felt the blood rush to the tips of his ears, something that happened whenever he was either very embarrassed or very angry. In this case, her compliment pleased him, but he merely shrugged.
He squeezed a lemon into his water. “Contrary to popular belief, I can be a nice guy. But in order to make money in this town, one can’t be afraid to push past boundaries and take risks.”
“Even when it involves breaking the law?”
Her question wasn’t posed in an accusatory tone. Still, it was unsettling and left a metallic taste in his mouth. Isaac was glad when the waiter approached the table with a basket of bread and their salads.
When they were alone again, Isaac asked, “Have you ever heard of the saying ‘Whoever controls the money makes the rules?’”
Autumn buttered her bread and nodded.
He took a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s true.”
And he was living it. Or at least he used to...
The meetings to which he was mysteriously not invited, the silence that often befell a room whenever he walked in, and the opportunities for new client business that lately seemed to go to someone else or he never even heard about in the first place.
He was the wealthiest senior investment banker on staff. In fact, he made more money in his yearly bonuses than in his regular salary. But, lately, it seemed as if everyone was treating him like some runny-nosed intern.
Isaac kept thinking the cold-shoulder treatment from Sterling and the other staff was because he was being groomed for the responsibilities of becoming an executive partner, where there was less day-to-day trading and managing clients and more focus on higher-level investment strategy for the firm overall.
There was something wrong going on at Paxton, something he didn’t understand, but he wasn’t ready to believe that the something wrong could be him.
“So are you saying it’s okay to look the other way?” Autumn pressed. Her brown eyes seemed as intense as the flames warming the room.
“Sometimes,” he cautioned. Autumn’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and she seemed disappointed with his answer. “But only until one is sure that pursuing it means a net gain for both parties,” he added, not wanting to upset her.
Autumn rolled her eyes and speared a piece of romaine. “You sound like one of my old bosses. Every question I asked the guy, the answer he would give me would sound like it came out of a textbook for Economics 101.”
Isaac laughed, almost spitting out the water he was in the middle of drinking.
“I’m that bad, huh?”
Autumn munched on her salad and nodded.
“In that case, maybe I should quit investment banking and become a professor.”
She swallowed and pointed her fork at him. “Maybe you should,” she advised, her tone serious. “But not before you tell me why you invited me to lunch.”
Autumn pursed her lips into a pouty smile that nearly teased him to distraction, and he realized that he felt so comfortable with her that he’d nearly forgotten the reason he’d invited her to the restaurant in the first place.
“Ah yes,” he said, as the waiter arrived with two steaming bowls of soup. “We have an assignment.”
“What do you mean by ‘we’?” Autumn asked. “I thought you said that the analysts and investment and trading guys never worked together. Something about conflict of interest?”
Isaac nodded. “We usually don’t. But this assignment came direct from Sterling, so I don’t ask questions. He must have his reasons for wanting to do it this way.”
She blew on her spoon and swallowed some soup. “Mmm...this is delicious. Okay, so what do we need to do?”
Isaac ate a few spoonfuls of soup and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Have you ever heard of Eleanor Witterman?”
“Sure. She’s a New York City legend. The wealthy socialite who never married. She’s had plenty of suitors, or so they say. How old is she now?”
Isaac thought a moment. “Late fifties, early sixties maybe? She’s around the same age as Sterling. But from the photos I’ve seen, she doesn’t look it at all.”
Autumn twisted her lips to the side. “She must have her plastic surgeon on speed dial,” she remarked. “What about her?”
He smiled and took a sip of water before continuing.
“Sterling has been trying to get her to become a client for years, but she’s never come on board. Seems lately she’s had a change of heart. Recently she sold a large portion of her art collection for just over ten million dollars, and she came to Paxton seeking counsel on how to invest it.”
Autumn’s eyes widened. “That’s great. Any reason why she sold all that art?”
Isaac shrugged and leaned back in his chair.
“Who cares?” he said with a smile. “We’ve got ten million dollars to play with!”
“Where do I fit in this game of real-life monopoly?”
“You and I are going to put together an investment package that Eleanor won’t be able to resist.”
“That sounds more up your alley than mine. I’m an analyst, remember? I’m the one who double-checks all the calculations making sure one plus two doesn’t equal four.”
“Right, but to get this deal, we’re going to need your forecasting and predictive analysis skills, as well.”
“You mean you want me to be a fortune teller?” Autumn replied drily. She grabbed her purse and pretended to be searching for something. “Nope, no crystal ball in here.”
“Come on, Autumn. You know everyone on Wall Street relies on a little wizardry now and then.”
“Which is why we’ve had a financial meltdown in the United States and around the world,” she retorted, folding her arms.
Isaac’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t expected any push back, especially from a new employee. Maybe he’d been wrong about Autumn. Sterling was obviously losing his Midas touch in terms of hiring suitable Paxtonites.