This area was referred to as The City, a single square mile that housed the most powerful financial institutions in the U.K. Some of the buildings had funny nicknames. For instance, you had the Gherkin, which I personally thought looked like a giant Fabergé egg.
You could divide the district into three sections. Canary Wharf was modern, towering, soulless, and where you could find the all-powerful investment banks. The Old City was historical, quirky, and mostly home to the insurers and brokers. And lastly, you had the stylish and cosmopolitan Mayfair, where you could find the hedge funds and private equity companies. I’d only become so well-informed about all this since I started my job hunt. Before that it was just another part of London to me. But now that I’d discovered this city within the city, I’d become fascinated. With just one glance, you knew that this was a place where there was only one God, and its name was Money.
I disappeared among the throngs of professional types as I entered the building. I had to sign in at the security desk, since I hadn’t yet been given my staff I.D. Once I was done, I stepped inside the elevator. I was still rocking out to my music, standing in the corner of the crowded lift, when I felt somebody’s eyes on me.
Quickly glancing up, I spotted Oliver King a few feet away, wearing a suit and a smile, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Pulling my headphones off and letting them rest around my neck, I gave him a polite nod. My first instinct was to be embarrassed that he’d caught me bobbing my head, away in my own little world, but I tamped that bitch down. If I’d learned anything from growing up in a tiny council house with three overbearing brothers and limited resources, it was that you had to hold your head high in this life. Take what was your due and never let anyone make you feel uncomfortable or inferior.
When the lift stopped at our floor, both Oliver and I stepped off, leaving the crowded carriage behind us.
“Good morning, Alexis,” he said in that refined accent of his that screamed of Cambridge and Eton, and all those other fancy places where the upper classes received their educations. He placed his hand on my lower back for a second as though leading me out.
“Mr King,” I replied, making sure to step away and put an end to the touching. I wasn’t sure if that was business as usual or what. I began removing my gloves and unwrapping my scarf from around my neck.
“Cold out there today,” he went on, eyes scanning me, and I nodded. We soon reached his office, which had a large atrium area with two desks, one for Eleanor and one for the other assistant, Gillian. Eleanor had told me about her on the phone, but we hadn’t met yet. The older assistant was already at her desk, tapping away at her computer, as was Gillian, who had short blonde hair and a slim build. She looked to be about my age. When she spotted King, she immediately jumped up from her seat, gathered a bunch of folders, and walked alongside him. She barely gave me a second glance.
“These are the briefs for this morning’s meetings, your coffee is inside, and Kenneth Green called to schedule a lunch meeting on Wednesday.” Her voice trailed off as they went into King’s office, and I looked to Eleanor, who gave me a warm smile.
“Morning, love, come sit. You’ll be shadowing me for the week, then next week we’ll see how you do going it alone. I’ll be here on and off for another month to make sure the transition runs smoothly.”
There was something about Eleanor that put me at ease, and I began to wonder if she was the reason I got this job. When we’d spoken over the phone, she’d been really apologetic for what Mr King had said to me in the interview, and stated outright it was the kind of carry-on that set the feminist movement back fifty years. Needless to say, I liked her already.
After I’d made myself comfortable, she ran through Mr King’s morning routine with me. I’d be responsible for ordering his breakfast and giving him a rundown of the headlines in each of the countries’ main newspapers, while Gillian took care of the morning and afternoon meeting schedule. Apparently, Mr King had a knack for absorbing the news and making predictions on which way the markets would turn. I was sceptical of that, but we’d see.
The hours trickled by, and my new boss was in and out of his office several times. On instinct, I found myself observing how he interacted with people. He must have only been in his early thirties, yet he had this confidence that made people eager to do his bidding, to impress him. It was a little addicting to watch.
It was almost lunch when Gillian appeared at my desk and told me that Mr King wanted to have a quick word. I swallowed and stood, hesitantly making my way into the office. It was pretty impressive. Two sides of the room were all windows, looking out onto the hustle and bustle of Canary Wharf. King’s attention was fixed on the screen of one of his computers (there were several set up around his desk) as his fingers typed rapidly. I wasn’t sure if he even realised I was there until he started to speak.
“How’s your first day going, Alexis?”
It was a little disconcerting that he wasn’t looking at me, but I answered anyway. “Very well. Eleanor’s giving me a good schooling.”
A smile graced his lips. “She’s something, isn’t she? I’ll be sad to see her go, but she and her husband are retiring to the south of France, and no amount of money I’ve offered will convince her to stay.”
“Well, if given the choice between soaking up the sun in St. Tropez or staying cooped up in an office all day, I know what most people would choose.”
As soon as the statement was out, I regretted it. He paused typing and finally looked at me. A long moment elapsed, and I wondered if I’d been too free with my mouth again. This wasn’t a pub. This was an office. This man was my boss, and I really needed to learn that certain banter wasn’t appropriate.
“Have you ever been?” he finally asked.
“Huh?”
“To St. Tropez.”
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” I said, eyes glancing out the window and then back to him.
“Then how can you know it’s the better option? We need evidence to prove a point, Miss Clark. Guesstimations are a waste of time.”
“It wasn’t a guesstimation,” I replied, using his word, which definitely wasn’t in the dictionary. “I was simply using my imagination.” Plus, wasn’t his whole career based around guesswork and taking risks?
Pondering me a moment, he asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very direct?” He smiled and tapped a finger on his chin as he studied me. “I like it. I’m direct, too. That being said, sometimes my directness can come across the wrong way. Which brings me to the reason why I called you in here. I’ve been told it would be wise to apologise to you for my behaviour at your interview. I sometimes have a problem with tact, and it seems what I said to you could be considered offensive.”
Wow, he was apologising? I didn’t want to show any weakness, so I simply stared at him head on and replied calmly, “You’ll have to get up a lot earlier in the morning to offend me, Mr King.”
His lips pressed together. “Really? How early are we talking?”
I suppressed a laugh and smiled. “The crack of dawn, pretty much.”
He let out a playful sigh. “It’s a pity I treasure my beauty sleep.”
I didn’t respond, only raised an eyebrow. In my opinion, his beauty didn’t need any enhancing.
“Anyway, it’s a good thing you don’t offend easily, because teary-eyed assistants are a bother.” He paused, eyeing me closely, his voice turning serious. “I value honesty, Miss Clark. Too many people in this world hide behind lies and duplicity. Needless to say, the way you so outspokenly responded to me in your interview left me truly impressed.”