Page 136 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“Yeah.”

I wince. “I’d really rather not.” I lower my voice. “Things are weird with Hugo and me. Can’t you get someone else?”

“Are you asking me to go to Wulfric and tell him that’ll be a big N-O-O-O-O from you? This is the message that you want me to carry to Mister Wulfric Pierce? Because I’m gonna be honest, it won’t go over well. Killing of messengers and all.”

“Why can’t they make a recording and we take notes from that? And we could even slow the speed.”

“There’s a massive secrecy issue with new data models, like paper notes only. No electronics. But if you feel like this should be recorded, you’re free to take it up with Wulfric. I’m sure he’d love to hear your point of view on that.”

“Very funny.” I grab a legal pad.

“On the upside, there’ll be rosemary currant scones.”

I follow her into the hall. “I’m not that fast of a writer.”

“I’m fast. You’ll pinch hit.” She looks over at me. “I’m sorry you guys are having issues. I loved you together.”

“I did, too.”

“Are the issues…terminal?” she asks.

Charlie’s words have been banging around in my head ever since our talk. I want Hugo to overlook my flaws, but I can’t return the favor? And Hugo has my back—he really, really does. He was right there.

“I don’t know,” I say. “So what happens at a data model presentation?”

“Analysis. Kicking of tires. It’ll be the two other quants and a few analysts. Plus Wulfric and Brenda. It’s an internal review.”

We head up the elevator and into the tenth-floor conference room with its sweeping views. A long, impossibly polished wooden table stretches down the middle of it with Brenda and a few people already there, and Hugo’s standing at the front of the room next to the blank whiteboard where he’ll reveal his magic.

Our eyes lock. Hugo smiles, and something pleasant zings through me.

He’s excited, and I know sure as anything that he’s cracked whatever problem he was having. He’s not bringing his B-game data model; he’s bringing his A-game.

I feel happy all over. He did it.

All the hate he was having for his pathetic iteration or whatever.

I follow Lola to a far corner. We grab scones and work out a strategy to get everything in. It’ll be some tag-team note-taking where I jot down audience questions and comments and she’ll write Hugo’s parts, and I’m supposed to poke her if I fall behind, and vice versa.

Wulfric walks in and takes an open seat next to Brenda.

Hugo begins to speak. He’s saying things about the previous data model—something about the goals of that model and the way it changed things over the quarters and years.

A door opens at the side of the room and three large men come in. They look more like weightlifters than finance bros. One carries a table, one carries a chair, and the third has a large box, which he sets on the table.

“What’s going on?” Wulfric barks.

“They’re assisting me,” Hugo says.

The men take up position in the corners.

“I don’t think so.” Wulfric stands. “This is a closed meeting!”

“They’re mine,” Hugo growls. “And they’re essential.”

Murmurs go up from the group.

Wulfric shotguns a bunch of words that sound like the wordswhat,how, andfuckall jammed together.

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