Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(73)

“So feel free to get out.”

“It’s my office,” Kennedy says from the other side of the desk. “You get out.”

“I thought we were debating who gets the other Mets ticket,” I say.

Matt shakes his head and points at Kennedy. “I choose him. You’re too much of a downer, man.”

“Fine,” I snap, standing.

Matt sighs. “Hold up. You need a distraction. Come to the game, but you have to promise to have a beer and at least try to have a good time.”

“I don’t want to go anymore,” I say, knowing I sound like a petulant child and not giving a shit.

I haven’t given a shit about much in the three weeks since Lara left New York.

And yeah, go ahead and accuse me of being the guy moping over a girl. I can take it because it’s true.

I just don’t know what to do about it. My job is here. Hers is there. I love my job. She loves her job.

I love her. She doesn’t love me.

Damn it.

“Is this the end of my lecture?” I ask them. “If there’s more, feel free to send me an e-mail with my flaws. I promise to read it never.”

Kennedy and Matt exchange a look but wisely say nothing.

Kate sticks her head into the office to bark at me that I have a call on line two. She disappears without another word, and Kennedy and Matt stay silent, waiting for my explanation.

“She’s still pissed at me,” I explain. “Ever since . . .” I shake my head because I can’t finish the sentence out loud. Ever since Lara left.

Kate’s not the only one who’s mad. Even Sabrina has been acting exasperated with me, as though I should be doing something about the situation.

But what can I do? It’s not like I can call Lara and tell her to come back. I can’t ask her to give up something she wants just because I can’t stop thinking about her.

At my darkest hours, I want to. But I won’t. I won’t ask someone I care about to do something I can’t bring myself to do: Give up my work. Give up everything I’ve worked so fucking hard for.

This—Wall Street—is my life. This office, these people . . . they’re everything I’ve wanted since I was fourteen, and I’ve arrived, damn it.

I’ve got the life I wanted.

Don’t I?

I leave the guys and return to my own office, doing a double take when the orchid catches my eye. Fuck. When did it start to droop like that? Is there anything in my life not going to shit?

I drop into my chair, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing the heels of my hands to them for a moment.

Kate buzzes in on my intercom, and her voice is pure pissed-off female. “Hello? Line two!”

She hangs up again, and I pick up the line. “Ian Bradley.”

“Hey, boy. My TV broke.”

I let out an incredulous laugh. “Hey, Dave.”

“This one wasn’t my fault,” he says defiantly. “My new girl brought her dog over, and the thing’s as big as a horse. Knocked into the TV while chasing a damn tennis ball, sent the whole thing crashing down.”

“Is the dog okay?”

“Yeah. You think I can get another TV before the weekend? Gotta see my boys beat the Cubs.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, making a note.

He grunts in what I know is his version of a thank-you.

“So, how you doing? Saw those bastards who tried to take you down get sentenced next week.”

“Yep.” I tap my pen against the desk.

“Why ain’t you gloatin’ more?”

“Because I don’t really give a shit what happens to two cowards. They’ve taken enough away from me.”

Dave whistles. “You’re good and pissed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they took more than your pride and a few weeks of your life.”

“They took my girl,” I mutter before I can think better of it.

“The SCT one?”

Close enough. “Yeah. She lost her job over this whole mess and had to take a new one in DC.”

Dave grunts. “That sucks. The Nationals are pissing me off. Nothing but bad calls the last time they played the Phillies.”

I say nothing, my mood too foul to feign interest in baseball.

“So, she didn’t want ya?” he asks, cutting to the chase as he always does.

“I guess not.” I rub my eyes. “Not enough, anyway.”

He makes a spitting noise. “Ah, then who needs her?”

The unexpected show of loyalty makes me smile. It also makes me brave. Brave enough to ask something I’ve been wanting to for a long time.

“Dave . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you ever adopt me?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when the answer comes, it’s not what I expect.

“Hell, boy. You never asked.”

I go still. “I was only fourteen when I came to stay with you.”

“Maturity-wise, you were practically twenty. You always knew what you wanted, never made any secret ’bout it. Thought if you wanted me to adopt ya, you’d have said something.”

My mind reels. It couldn’t have been that simple. Could it?

“So, had I asked . . .” I clear my throat and break off.