Hot Asset (21 Wall Street, #1)

by Lauren Layne

On paper, I’m a douchebag. Yeah, I said it so you don’t have to.

Have you started a mocking slow clap yet? Yeah, that’s fair.

“How are there eight milk options?” I smile at the genuine bafflement in her voice. Shoving both hands into my pockets, I step into the kitchen to see firsthand if the face is as great as the body. “Well, I’m no expert, but off the top of my head, whole, two percent, skim, soy, almond unsweetened, almond sweetened with vanilla, coconut . . .”

She lifts her mug. “I’m good with this.” “You could be better with something else,” I say, lowering my voice.

Intuition is nothing more than your subconscious remembering something your consciousness forgot and attributing it to some outside source.”

I’m going half-blind reading boring-ass e-mails when an enormous Frappuccino appears in front of my nose. I have to look from the frothy Starbucks drink to the person delivering it twice before I register that she’s brought it for me. Kate drops into the chair on the opposite side of the conference room table, taking a sip of her own drink. “It’s a peace offering, Ms. McKenzie.” “That or diabetes in a plastic cup,” I say, picking it up and pointing at the mound of whipped cream. “Are those chocolate shavings?”

“Do you think this is what heaven tastes like?” I ask, more to myself than her. Kate considers my question seriously. “That or cheese fries. Or that place in the Village that makes ice cream out of cookie dough.” “Or a really good croissant. The kind that are buttery, flaky on the outside and then chewy on the inside.”

Lara takes a sip of her drink. “You know his type.” “Good-looking? Good in bed?” She laughs. “More like arrogant, stubborn, and really accustomed to getting his way.” I nod. “Ah, yep. I do know him. I can assure you he’s also good-looking and amazing in bed.” She rolls her eyes at my wink. “I’ll plead the fifth on the first, ignore the second altogether.” “You don’t have to,” I say before I can think better of it.