Читать книгу For Better Or Worse - Jill Amy Rosenblatt - Страница 15

The gloom of the conference room was interrupted by an LCD unit casting a blinding white light, projecting a pie chart onto the screen. Parker stood next to the screen. Seated next to him, his protégé and fund manager, Darryl, a tall, lanky young man with a clean cut, Ivy League face, a shock of blond hair falling forward onto his forehead, watched Parker’s every move.

Across the table sat Stanton Perry. In his late fifties, Stanton was thick but trim, with a handsome, rugged face. His elbows rested on the arms of the Italian leather chair, fingers interlaced, in an attitude of prayer, staring at the screen with half-closed eyes.

Two small, wiry, cheerless men sat behind Perry, briefcases at their feet. Parker knew the suits were the research wizards, pocket-protector boys, little MBAs who would spend their middle age boring the shit out of the next generation of MBA students at Harvard. He had his own drone on the payroll to make it look good. They sat around with their mathematical formulas but they didn’t know shit about money or how to use it; Ivy League pricks. They didn’t understand a thing.

“Stanton, you asked for this meeting,” Parker began, barely concealing his annoyance. “I hope you don’t mind my being blunt.”

“Not at all,” Stanton replied.

“I’m not really in the market to take on new clients now. I’ve got four-and-a-half billion in capital, one hundred and seventy-five billion in assets. I’ve got futures contracts worth three hundred billion alone. And all you’re bringing to the table is one hundred fifty million.” Parker gave an exaggerated sigh and a bored glance around the room. “That doesn’t show a lot of faith. I mean, I’m personally invested. My family’s in the fund.”

Stanton smiled. “Really? I heard the mean average income in South Amboy was sixty thousand a year, before taxes. That doesn’t leave much to invest.”

Parker forced a tight smile. “My wife’s family, my wife, and myself. We both know I’m not some asshole taking people’s money, and if the wind blows south you draw dick while I’m lying on an island with my two percent and last year’s twenty percent profit.”

Stanton smiled but said nothing.

“Would you mind if I asked everyone else to step out for a moment?”

Stanton nodded to the MBAs and Darryl followed them out.

Parker sat down across from Perry, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t see Stanton Perry. He only saw that all he ever wanted was to be Stanton Perry. And now he was bigger than Stanton Perry. Parker blew out a mouthful of air. “I just don’t know if I want to take on anyone else. Now, if you would consider moving your entire portfolio to me,” Parker smiled, “I’m sure Liz would understand.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t. That’s not an option. She doesn’t handle all my interests, she never expected to. I believe in the diversified portfolio. Liz understands that. And you understand creating twenty-five percent returns.”

Parker leaned forward. “Well, it’s true. There’s nothing like eating what you kill. I don’t just go out and run your money to make you a twenty-five percent return. No one can touch me on currency bets. No one. I’m not chasing returns, I’m creating them. Momentum investing, value investing, quantitative methods, market neutral. Who gives a shit? Do it all and if a company looks good, fuck it, buy a controlling share and take over. I wouldn’t give you shit for most of the CEOs in this country. People want to call me a vulture? Fine. But if I own it, it’s making money. No one posts returns that can touch mine.”

Parker sat silent for a moment, staring into space. “Liz put in a good word for me?”

“This is my decision. Elizabeth didn’t venture an opinion.”

Bitch, Parker thought. After a moment, he shrugged. “One hundred fifty million?” He shook his head.

Stanton Perry lapsed into silence, eyes closed. Parker forced himself to remain quiet. He wanted Perry’s money, he could almost feel it itching between his fingers.

“Two hundred fifty million to start,” Stanton said, opening his eyes and giving Parker a cool, assessing look. “With another three hundred to follow if all goes well.”

Parker smiled.

Parker stood in the middle of the conference room like a god surveying his kingdom, a stream of profanity running through his head. Two hundred and fifty fucking million. He didn’t get out of bed for two hundred million. He shook his head. What the fuck. He was eating into Liz’s territory. Shit, for that I would’ve done it for nothing.

Stanton’s crack about Jersey griped his ass. Growing up in that shitty town, watching his old man slumped over in his chair at night, sucking down beer after beer, staring at the TV; his old man was a has-been before he ever got started. What a life, driving a desk for a shit salary and a crappy bonus and a fucking watch after twenty years. But I finally made it across the river. Now everywhere he hung his hat had to have a view of his new domain, Park Avenue, Central Park—Jersey forever behind him and New York in front of him. The only thing out of whack was that damn downtown townhouse, a concession to Emily; the rooftop terrace had a clear view across the Hudson.

Parker looked down. His tailor had sent a new seamstress. The attractive blonde stretched a measuring tape up his inseam. The top two buttons of her white blouse were open, her plaid skirt resting slightly above her mid-thigh. He gave her a sly, satisfied smile. She had her blond hair pinned up; he bet she had great hair. Emily had great hair, flowing over her shoulders, sparkling like spun gold in the sunlight. Walking her into an event, he enjoyed watching every man’s head turn. He knew they’d love to get her on her back. She was the perfect addition to his portfolio; five nine, blue eyes, a perfect ass, and a name that meant money. They weren’t on the map, they were the map.

He opened his cell phone again and hit the speed dial. His call went straight to voice mail. Fuck, he thought. Marianna wasn’t home. He didn’t pay for an Upper East Side apartment, new clothes, and a car and driver for her not to be home when he wanted her. He snapped the cell phone shut as the blonde stood up and slung the tape measure over her shoulder. Her strappy sandals made a soft, slapping sound against the bottoms of her feet as she moved around him, occasionally brushing against him.

“I’m finished,” she said. “Will there be anything else?”

“Just one thing,” he said with a smile.

An hour later he had the blonde naked on her back in the corporate suite at the Plaza Hotel. Afterward, she said maybe they could see each other again. He swatted her backside and said “sure.” Dressed, he stood by the window, staring down while redoing his tie; the blonde saw herself out. He checked his watch. He should stop by Liz’s office to say hello on his way back, he thought. Drop the news about Perry to see her reaction. Maybe he’d just let her read about it. She has it all, he thought, the brains to go with the beauty. He curled his lip at the thought of how he’d chased her two years ago, making her offers, not just to work for him, but the whole nine yards. He would’ve married her. He burned thinking how she never gave him an inch, turning him down every time, no hesitation. Ice queen bitch. He’d been waiting to find a way to say thank you. This could be the break he was waiting for. He’d like to see her on the downside; he’d like to see her begging.

He called Emily from the car on his way back to the office, half listening as she chattered on about the menu for the party.

He reminded her to make sure the mock-up of the Greenwich estate would be on display for the party, then whispered about what he had planned for her for the after party, lacing his descriptions with expletives. She giggled as he gave her details.

The limo pulled up to the building on Park Avenue and Parker got out, taking a moment to linger. This is my kingdom now; I belong here. I’ve finally arrived. And I’ll be damned if I’m ever going back across the Hudson River again.