Janet Lee Nye - Boss Meets Her Match

She plugged her phone in and opened her Pandora app to her classical music station and began sorting through the weekend’s financial changes. Knowing what changes would affect which clients and adjusting accordingly was the thing she loved most about her job. It was a constant dance. She had to keep the perfect balance between daring and caution. Most of all, she loved when that little tingle of intuition that she couldn’t explain proved to be successful.

A flickering light caught her eye and she frowned at the phone. She’d been deep in the zone. Lowering the volume, she picked up the phone. “Yes, Chloe?”

“Sorry to bother you, but William Durant is on the phone. He says he needs to speak to you about his accounts.”

“Put him through.” She pulled up Bill’s account. Not her biggest. Not her smallest. Nor her most challenging. A cautious investor, Bill Durant was. “Good morning, Bill. How can I help you?”

“Well, I have some good news and some bad news. Good news—I’ve taken a position with a medical ministry in Scotland.”

“Wow. Okay. That sounds amazing. Tell me about it.”

“Essentially, I will be coordinating medical missions for the School of Medicine in Glasgow. A dream job for me. And, of course, we’ll be moving there. The kids are very excited.”

“Well, where’s the bad news, then?” She smiled as she said it, but she knew what was coming. He was taking his money with him.

“The thing is, my wife and I have talked about it and we don’t think we’re going to come back.”

“So you’re going to need to transfer your accounts to Scotland. That’s reasonable.”

“Yes. It won’t be right away. I’m leaving in a month. Sandra and the kids will follow if the house hasn’t sold by then. And I’ll have to find someone as good as you in Scotland. Will you be able to do the transfers once I’m over there?”

“Yes. It won’t be a problem. I’m sorry to lose you, but I’m excited for you. Sounds like an amazing opportunity for the whole family.”

She carried on the chitchat for a while. “Well, shit,” she said out loud after she ended the call. She kept her list small and exclusive so that she could give each client all the attention they deserved. It was a delicate balance that kept the agency’s lights on.

She let out a low stream of Spanish expletives. Now she had to hope Mr. Charles Beaumont Matthews the Fifth had an account big enough to replace what she was going to lose.

* * *

MATT LOUNGED BACK in one of the two armchairs that made up his living room in the cramped apartment. The downtown location was perfect for his needs. He could walk to both his jobs, the grocery store and the waterfront was near enough to haul his painting supplies to. But damn, it was pricey. He bounced his phone in his hand. He did not want to make this call. Talking to his father never ended well. Playing briefly with the idea of calling his mother instead, he shook his head. No. She didn’t know anything. How in this day and age a woman could defer every financial detail of her life to her husband, he couldn’t comprehend.

“Ah, screw it,” he muttered. Do it for the kids, man. He made the call before he could talk himself out of it.

“Hi, Millicent,” he said to his father’s executive assistant and suspected lover. “It’s Matt. Is my father available to talk?”

“One moment, I’ll check.”

If she was surprised to hear from him, her voice didn’t show it. She was smooth, almost coldly polite. With one quick click, classical music filled his ear. He waited. And waited. He hooked the other chair with his foot and pulled it around to prop his feet up on and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Warm October sunshine flowed through the window. He noticed the fall of the light and the swirling dust motes. He should probably dust.

Finally, after whatever length of time his father deemed necessary to exert dominance, the line clicked again. “What is it, Charles? I’m very busy.”

“Hey, Dad. How are you? How’s Mother?”

“What do you want? And don’t say money.”

Narrowing his eyes at the dig, he pressed his lips together against the automatic response that wanted to fly out of his mouth. A fight wasn’t why he’d called. He had never asked his father for a cent. Keep calm. Don’t get drawn in.

“Actually I was calling to get some information about the trust fund Grandmother left me.”

“You can’t access it early if that is what you want.”

He kept careful control over his temper. But his father could make him lose it faster than anyone on the planet. “That isn’t what I was going to ask but it’s heartwarming that you still have such a low opinion of me.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I’m having some success with my art recently and I’m getting ready to hire a financial manager. I wanted to know if I can transfer the administration of the trust fund over to her, or does it have to stay with the executor of Grandmother’s estate?”

The long moment of silence made him grin. He hadn’t expected that, now, had he? If he heard a throat clearing, that would mean he’d scored a direct hit. But alas, his father’s voice was steady and cold. “That’s something you’d need to discuss with the executor.”

“Can I have the contact information?”

“I’ll send you back to Millicent for that.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he said as the call ended on his father’s end. “Nice chat. We should do it again sometime.”

After getting the information from Millicent, he tossed the phone on the couch beside him. Nice to know nothing’s changed. Still the black sheep, the wayward son. Growing up under the weight of his family’s expectations had been suffocating. They’d given him little choice: join the law firm or go away. So he’d gone away. Only his grandmother had believed in him and encouraged his art from a young age. Her death six years ago had driven the last wedge between him and his family. The bulk of her estate had gone to charity, but she’d left a sizable trust fund for him. His parents had been furious with their tokens and his father even tried to contest the will.

Trouble was he wouldn’t get the money until he was thirty-five. Which was why he was scrambling between his part-time jobs as an art therapist and giving lessons to anyone who would hire him. This little windfall needed expert guidance. And Lena Reyes was the woman he wanted to do it.

He grabbed up the phone and dialed her number.

Ten minutes later, he was making his way to the Children’s Hospital with a grin he couldn’t quite keep off his face. He’d get to see the lovely Lena on Friday. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. The temperature was a perfect seventy degrees. Maybe he could take the kids outside to paint in the horseshoe area.

* * *

AS IF THIS Monday wasn’t sucky enough with losing a client and having to make an appointment with a bad-boy trust-fund brat, now her mother was calling. All Lena wanted was to sit on the couch, drink wine and eat pizza. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

“Eduardo would like a date.”

Lena dropped the slice of pizza back on the plate. Sass jumped up and stuck her face in it.

“No!”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I was talking to the cat. Come on, Mom. Really? Y’all are setting me up on blind dates now?”

“It’s not a blind date. You’ve met him. He liked you.”

Lena frowned and picked at a piece of pepperoni. She’d have to go for a run tomorrow to make up for this. She tried to put a name to the emotion squirming within her at the idea of going on a date with Eduardo. Don’t want to. Yeah, that’s it.

“Magdalena.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You sound like a whining six-year-old. He’s a nice man. Educated. Has a good job. Not bad-looking. What? You got so many men falling at your feet that you can be picky?”