Keep Quiet by Scottoline Lisa

Author:Scottoline, Lisa [Scottoline, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-four

GARDENIA TRUST, read the polished plaque on their wooden door, and Jake powered through into the office. He tried to look and act the way he always did, but he was sweating under his suit jacket. He was on fire after reading those texts and he knew it had to show. He strode through the empty reception area, with its sky-blue patterned couch, walnut end tables, and brass lamps, and it was the first time in his career he’d been happy there were no clients.

Jake plastered on a smile as he approached the reception desk. Debbie Tarkington had been with him since she graduated from community college, and her unflappable nature made her the perfect choice for the front desk. Not all of Jake’s clients were easy to get along with, and he knew that money didn’t guarantee good judgment, starting with the man in the mirror.

“Jake, hi.” Debbie smiled, a welcoming grin that creased her pretty face. She was African-American and had large eyes and short hair, which she wore natural. She handed him a packet of pink phone messages. “Here’s your calls. Everything go okay?”

“Yes, thanks.” Jake thumbed through his phone messages, to avoid meeting her eye. He hadn’t explained where he was going when he’d left, which he knew was unusual. “Sorry I ran out. I had to take care of a few things for Ryan. He was sick this weekend, but he went to school today.”

“I hope he feels better. By the way, Martin wants to see you and so does Ramon. They both said it was important, so you can pick your poison.”

“Okay, thanks.” Jake didn’t have time to talk to either of them. Martin Niemeyer and Ramon Ramirez were two of his best portfolio managers, but they would have to wait. “I’m not taking calls this afternoon. I don’t need interruptions.”

“Gotcha. Also there’s leftover pizza in the coffee room.”

“Thanks.” Jake walked down the hall just as Martin popped out of his office and came striding down the long hallway toward him. A bright young refugee from Lehman Brothers, Martin still looked very Wall Street, with his moussed brown hair, frameless Swiss glasses, and charcoal pinstriped suit.

“Jake,” Martin called out, in his characteristic bark. “We need to talk about Disney. I’d like to buy a block for Bob Cadison and I need to—”

“Martin, do whatever you think is right.” Jake patted him on the shoulder and kept walking down the long hall, which ended in his office. “I can’t talk now.”

“But you know how he is. He second-guesses every pick, even Disney.”

“Then call and explain it to him.”

“I know, I know,” Martin called after him, wearily. “Like you always say, ‘It’s his money, not mine.’”

“Right.” Jake cringed, inwardly. He kept going toward his office when he saw Ramon lumbering down the hallway on the right, an unmistakable figure because the man was built like a refrigerator. Ramon had played right tackle at Harvard and still managed to graduate at the top of his class, the antithesis of the dumb jock.

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