Crimes of Passion: The Complete Series by Shannon Jump

Author:Shannon Jump [Jump, Shannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

SCHMOOZE, YOU LOSE

Sawyer

There’s a lot of schmoozing in the finance industry.

I should know, I’m a finance guy.

To be honest, sometimes I hate it, but the money is good, and we all know that’s what makes the world go ‘round. What they tell you in business school—and that I’ve found entirely accurate, by the way—is that people want to invest their money with guys they trust. They want a solid character, someone who has more than a little stake in the game, something to lose: a family man.

I’m not a family man, not by any means, but I’m good at pretending to be.

My job depends on it, so I do it. That means Ivy did, too. Now, if you haven’t figured it out by now, my wife doesn’t like to be told what to do, let alone abide by societal norms. She can be a challenge, but she listens when she has to, when I tell her it’s time to put on a show.

She likes money.

She’ll do anything for it.

Our arrangement worked for us, for a while anyway, living a privileged life in the public eye, so to speak. I mean, we’re not celebrities, not by anyone’s standards, but we’ve become pillars of the community. I’m the guy that invests in the small local business. The guy who throws money into charitable causes whether he believes in them or not, goes to church on Sundays despite his many sins. There are eyes on us even when they’re not looking. It’s the nature of the game, so we do it.

Ivy, being a former “actress,” knew how to turn it on when necessary. She even helped me land one of my biggest accounts—not to say I agreed with her methods, but she secured a once-in-a-lifetime deal for me. I think that’s why she feels entitled to my money now that things are less than kosher between us.

It was innocent at first, our approach at the investor’s luncheon. A garden party at the home of our firm’s president, Alexander Bookman. Unbeknownst to him, I had insider information on the client, and that’s why I fought so hard to be put on the account. Luckily, my boss, great guy that he is, went out on a limb by letting me take the lead.

As we waited for our guests to arrive, I stood locked in conversation with Bookman, a frosted glass of beer in my hand. It was my fourth of the day, although I’d drunk the first three before the catering crew had arrived, so to everyone else, it was my first, and I was nursing the shit out of it. Secret of the trade for you there.

Bookman had been yammering on for a good twenty minutes about some new investment opportunity with an up-and-coming sports agency in Minneapolis, and I had grown bored just a few minutes into his spiel. It wasn’t that I was uninterested, just that I’d heard the same monologue from him a week earlier.

And he wasn’t the target I was after, anyway.

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