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“I dunno. I have a strong feeling that this pitch is the opportunity to prove myself properly. Hell, it may be my only opportunity.”

“Do you want a hug, Jolie?”

I nod.

“Yes, please.”

Helen wraps her arms around me, and for a moment, my heart calms. It’s been working overtime for the last twenty-four hours.

Hug done, I make it to my computer, where I immediately go to work printing off pages from my report done so far, ticking them off one by one as they’re spat out by the machine. I look through my valuations of Worcester Asset Management again and again and again.

And then again.

Okay, the figures look good actually written down, but it’s still an incredibly risky proposition.

I’ve got to aim this exactly, perfectly right. I’m betting my ass against Wall Street. That’s why I need an expert eye on this. Someone I can trust.

And there is only one man I can think of.

I pull out my phone and dial Steven Rinde, my former mentor and friend.

“Hello, sunshine,” his timbre blasts down the phone, making me smile.

“Even hearing your voice makes me feel good, Steven.”

“Oh no, Jolie. What is it?”

“I have a presentation, Steven. A big acquisition. The biggest of my life. And I’m freaking out about it.”

“Hm, you’ve come to the right man. How can I help, Jolie?”

“Could you please look over my notes?” I ask. “See if I’m on the correct course? See if I’m not a total screw-up?”

“I can do even better than that, Jolie,” Steven replies. “I can meet you in person and look over it together.”

“No, you must be so busy...”

“I’m never too busy for you, Jolie. Let’s meet for a coffee. Twenty minutes.”

* * *

Steven’s deep in thought as he flicks through my folder, his coffee getting cold on the table in front of him. I carefully examine him for any glimpse of doubt or disgust at my work in his eyes. There’s a hiss of a steam wand from the coffee machine. The ring of the coffee shop’s door opening. The chatter of conversation.

I feel like I’m a schoolgirl again, getting my homework marked in front of me.

And I’m expecting a big fat F.

Steven always talks as if he’s on the verge of delivering a college lecture, but that’s what I love about him. He’s experienced and wise and always keeps a cool head. In the finance world, he has a tough reputation, grizzled from years working in the trenches. He’s a survivor in an industry where people burn out every year. And he’s that rare type of survivor – someone who is always willing to give a young buck a chance. Even if that young buck is an arrogant, sassy woman straight out of college. He gave me my first shot at his consultancy firm when no one else would consider a fresh graduate. Steven didn’t treat me as Cromwell Auclair’s daughter, but as a competent and ambitious young professional who needed to be taught a few lessons. I spent six good months with him.

He was, put simply, the empathetic father I didn’t have.

I’ve relied on him a lot, but he’s expected nothing in return. Those six months with Steven were the foundation for every success I’ve had after, and when Clement came knocking, Steven was so kind and gracious when I decided to leave his firm.

He finally closes the folder and places it on the table in front of him.

I’m totally still, waiting for his response, holding my breath.

“That’s one hell of a big deal you’ve got there, Jolie,” Steven says. “It’s something very consequential. You’ve done a lot of work.”