Page 1 of Analysing Her Assets

Second Place Isn’t Good Enough

(59 days to end of year finish line)

1. Tamar

Her name was in second place. Tamar’s gut clenched with disappointment and a hint of dread. Second wasn’t good enough.

She squinted at the computer screen until her vision blurred. Unlocking the top drawer, she took out the special LCD cleaner with the special lint free polishing cloth. She sprayed the fabric, not the screen, and mopped energetically.

The spreadsheet continued to display the same results.

Peaks Investments was the largest investment house in Israel, and its research department’s competition for the best virtual portfolio was entering its third year. The new CEO announced he was doubling this year’s bonus. She’d won last year and the year before and led for most of this year. Little by little, another analyst, Gideon Sela, had closed in on her. Now, with eight weeks before the finish line, he snatched first place.

“Tamar, did you see...?” Marina, her cubicle neighbor, bobbed her blonde mane above their shared partition.

“Yes, I did,” Tamar barked at her, her voice ringing too loud.

“He’s new, he shouldn’t win this,” Marina said, ignoring her tone and leaning both elbows and large boobs comfortably on top of the partition. Marina was a tall woman, taller than her by more than a head. “He has the cutest butt, though. Do you know he doesn’t date? Maybe he has his rules, like you do.”

Marina was a consummate gossip who didn’t require Tamar to smile back at her or talk, which was probably why they got along so well.

She secretly agreed with Marina that Gideon was quite handsome. Fairly light by Israeli standards, his brown wavy hair had notes of dirty blond, and his eyes were a warm hazel color. His ready smile and sharp mind made him a rising star, but he was also extremely lucky. A streak of timely quittings got him promoted to senior real estate analyst within a year of joining the team. It took her six whole years to make senior analyst.

At the lack of any comment from her, Marina continued. “I know for a fact that he was asked out. But he refused—gently but firmly. He isn’t gay, though. Amir says ‘no’ and he should know.”

She’d googled this golden boy and was baffled to discover that none of the images of ‘Gideon Sela’ were of him. It was as if he hadn’t existed before he’d joined Peaks Investments.

But she’d had enough talk of Gideon and his cute behind.

“You’re off tomorrow, Marina. Did you finish your semiconductor industry report?”

Tamar’s fellow tech analyst had an excellent understanding of robotics and chips—the Intel variety, not the edible kind.

“I did. I emailed it to you.” Marina glanced at her phone and giggled.

“Look, Tamar, check this out. Big D’s bitch gave birth to a litter, and he’s looking for takers.”

“Big D’s bitch?” Tamar asked, at a complete loss.

“Yeah, our CEO. The big D., Mr. Yehuda Keynan, is offering puppies for adoption.” Marina and Tamar shared an unfavorable opinion of Keynan. The D stood for Douchebag, not Dick, because Marina said she liked dicks so much, she didn’t want to spoil it. “I wish my landlord allowed pets.”

“I don’t want a puppy.” Her landlady banned puppies as well. It didn’t bother her, as she had no intention of crowding her tiny and very tidy apartment with a mayhem-inducing puppy.

“Look, Tamar, see how adorable they are.” Marina stuck her phone in front of Tamar’s eyes. “I hear Gideon’s talking about getting one. A hunk adopting a dog. Could he get any cuter?”

If she heard one more mention of the man who replaced her in first place, and how adorable he was, she’d scream.

Tea! She needed her afternoon green tea. And to check the kitchen’s corkboard. In a throwback to the twentieth century, Nathanela, otherwise known as N, the head of research, had the competition results pinned onto the kitchen’s corkboard. They rested right next to the spiral notebook that held the Sexual Conduct Guide, which, unlike the results, had probably never been closely perused.

Maybe there was a mistake. She would check the board.

The kitchen was in the reinforced room, the ‘Mamad’ every Israeli office was required to have on every floor, in case of a missile attack. The thick metal door was perpetually open onto a short corridor, creating a narrow entrance. Before entering she smoothed down her jacket, which she always kept buttoned, rain or shine. She straightened her shirt’s collar and pinched into razor-sharpness the creases of her dress pants.

On hearing male voices, she stopped in her tracks.

“So, you’re here checking the board?” It took her a second, then she placed the voice emanating from the kitchen—Danny Golan’s condescending tone. He was a big shot at the brokerage, running his own desk. Peaks’ female consensus crowned the black-haired, blue-eyed broker as the most eligible bachelor.

“Yes. I know, I know. It’s lame.” Gideon Sela’s deep voice answered. “Is it weird that seeing it printed makes it more real?”

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