Made for Me (Danielle Grant Book 1) Read online

  “Ms. Grant,” the woman said as she entered the room, her smile wide but professional, her hand already out. “Jacqueline Lader. Welcome to MRD.” She engaged Danielle in a short discussion of her relocation, asking if she liked the penthouse she’d found for Danielle and whether she had encountered any problems. Danielle assured the woman the process had gone as smooth as possible. Jacqueline then smiled, inviting her to bring her things. “I’ll show you your office and then introduce you to the general partners.”

  An office? Nice. She’d been in a bull-pen at Russelz.

  Danielle was led through a labyrinth of glass corridors. The inner spaces were secretarial pools separated by light-blue eye-height cubicles, a combination of men and women who were occupied by their tasks. One by one, they looked up, acknowledging her presence before going back to their business. The outer rim of offices were occupied by traders and management.

  Danielle kept her face placid as Jacqueline unlocked the door to a large office, equal in size to David’s, boasting an unobstructed, floor to ceiling view of the lake. Jacqueline opened the wardrobe for coats, handbags and other shoes. Danielle bit her tongue, thinking of her former boss. The mere notion of a trader with such an office would have made David’s sphincter pinch tight.

  “Would it be possible to alter the position of the desk and credenza?” Danielle asked. She wanted her back to the window. The lake view would be there on the weekend. From the corner of her eye, she saw a tall figure approaching her door.

  “Ms. Grant,” he said. She recognized the voice. It was Ulrich Bodmer, the desk lead for metals and a partner with the firm. He was her boss, and to a degree, her competitor. She gripped his hand with strength. “You’re already changing things around?” he asked good-naturedly.

  Ulrich wore a dark suit with an electric blue tie, his crisp white shirt popping against his light skin tone. His hair was sheet white, and receding from a point in the center of his forehead. His lips were thin and narrow, stretching into a wide horizontal band when he smiled, and his dark brown eyes were more youthful than his appearance implied.

  “I said it on the phone, but now that you’re here in person, I’d like to express my gratitude you elected to join us.” He made the statement as though there were no other place worthy of her skills and no better environment for a woman of her talents.

  Ulrich motioned for her to join him and they walked down the hallway to a large office at the end, the sign on the glass noting Lars Egle, Managing Director. Ulrich rang a buzzer located by the handle. A click indicated the door was unlocked and Ulrich turned the knob. Danielle took a breath, pushed her shoulders back and entered, feeling like the preceding six days were only a lead up to this moment.

  “After you,” Ulrich said.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Ms. Grant, it’s nice to meet you in person,” said Lars as he rose to greet her, extending his hand. It was warm and firm, without callouses, but not soft either. Danielle absorbed his face, frame and manner in one sweeping impression of power. “I’ll see you in the conference room in ten minutes,” Lars told Ulrich, his voice a richly cultured accent, presumably a mix of his years here and abroad. He gestured for Danielle to take a seat of her choosing in his expansive office as Ulrich shut the door behind him.

  “I understand from Jacqueline you brought over a sailboard,” he started, making small talk as he opened two bottles of sparkling water. She caught a draft of Armani cologne and recalled what she’d read about the man. Graduated first in his class from Lausanne, received his MBA from Columbia and worked for five years at the New York offices of USB before going back to Switzerland. He was tapped to lead the new products division at UBS after getting his Ph.D. in finance, then took over as the president of the largest financial information systems group in the country. Five years ago, he became CEO at MRD and now led triple-digit growth. He was lauded. He was respected. He was also something else—intense in magnetic attraction kind of a way.

  “It will be here in a few days,” she replied, dutifully quelling any interest she might have in the man. “Do you have any idea when people start swimming in the lake?”

  Lars handed her a glass and sat down opposite her, his elegantly tailored suit lying flat against his chest, not a lick of extra skin exposed by his custom shirt. He was lean and handsome. He was also single, and according to media reports, had shelled out a confidential but likely considerable amount of money to an ex-wife after leaving New York. Danielle guessed he was in his late thirties, as she took in his black hair that was tinged with grey just above the ears. But she realized he could look five years older or younger depending what he wore.

  “Swimmers are already in the water,” he said easily, his calm chestnut-colored eyes meeting hers, betraying none of the energy she felt emanating from his every pore. “We’ve had a warmer than normal March though.”

  She refrained from looking at Lake Zurich. “The owner of the board shop said I’d still probably have to use my wet suit until June.”

  He nodded. “Probably, and then again in October. When the weather turns, it does so fast and harshly.”

  Danielle crossed her legs, forcing her foot still and her eyes to concentrate on his eyes, not his long lashes. When she was at work, she wanted to get things done and not be distracted. Not on the first day and not by her boss.

  “Tell me about sailboarding,” he asked casually. “I’ve always been interested in the mechanics of it all.”

  Danielle stifled her internal sarcasm. He’d probably never given it two thoughts. Yet Lars’s eyes never left hers as she explained the weight to board ratios, using the intersection between the gravity of the board and the upward force of the waves against the downward force of the wind to propel speed. His gaze was mildly disturbing, like an X-ray going right through her, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  When she was finished, he took a drink. “You want to get going, don’t you?”

  “That obvious?” she answered, unapologetic. It was why she was here.

  Lars eyes turned darker as his lids lowered. “Your delivery was paced such that it told me your mind was on something else. Then your foot started to bounce.”

  She’d have to remember his observant ways in the future. “As much as I’d like to tell you all I know about my watersport of choice, it’s killing me to sit here and not be trading. No offense.”

  Lars deposited his water bottle on the coffee table and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. She remained steady, avoiding a glance at his hair that lifted up and dropped to the side, making a sexy wave.

  “None taken,” he said flatly. “Danielle, I’ve spoken at length with David, and he believes you are capable of doubling whatever quota I give you, so that’s what we are going to do. You’ll begin right after we have the management meeting.”

  Danielle repressed an inhale of work-driven anxiety. “I’ve never been a fan of non-trading activities during trading hours. Meetings included.”

  “We do what we can,” he responded, his tone implying he wanted her trading as much as she did. “But when it comes to the clients, it’s their schedules we accommodate, not ours.”

  “Of course.”

  Lars was still sitting forward, like a captain ready to give the final play on the field before the break. He had something else on his mind. Something more than numbers. She held her breath.

  “You’ve signed all the documentation regarding our personnel policies, but I am reiterating to you how I, the CEO, view certain types of interactions. This is Switzerland, not the US. We value privacy, we value freedom and we value results. What you do in your off hours is your business, but I expect your activities to be discrete, private and non-intrusive. Personally, I don’t care if, or who, you sleep with in this office, as long as it doesn’t affect your numbers.”

  Danielle unconsciously opened her lips, closing them the moment she felt air enter. She’d experienced a similar conversation when she’d first arrived at Goldman Sachs after graduate
school. The difference was that the message about inter-office fraternizing protocol had come from a female peer, over appetizers after work. Lars frowned with an intensity that added to his already imposing presence.

  “You read and signed contracts stipulating our position on relationships with our clients. Producing money turns to admiration, this yields to trust and intimacy and then all hell breaks loose.” His wry tone of voice gave her no reason to doubt he’d seen a lot of that during his stint in New York. “We’re equals within the four walls of this office and I’m going to treat you as such by being blunt. You’re just as attractive as David said, and if I have one fear, it’s that you are going to be relentlessly pursued by our clients and it will derail the plans I have for you and for our firm.”

  He stopped abruptly, awaiting her response, his words so disconcerting that it took her a few seconds to find her voice.

  “So what you’re really saying is that you were hoping I was in a long-term relationship with a person back home so I’d be more committed to the job and not apt to fraternize with the clients?” Lars nodded soberly. “Did David indicate that extra-curricular activities were ever a problem with me at Russelz, or Goldman prior to that?” Lars shook his head no. Of course not. If she’d ever had inappropriate relationships with clients she’d have been fired on the spot. She saw this for what it was. The new boss’s shot over the bow to keep her nose clean and stay out of trouble. It was unnecessary and frankly, rather insulting. Everyone in the industry knew the standard practices and the consequences of infractions. Her thoughts about his handsome appearance and the fleeting attraction she’d had to him dissipated like the morning fog over the lake.

  Danielle set her bottle down and leaned forward, placing one elbow on her knee, the position commanding yet sexy, playing on his very fear.

  “Now let me be clear on why I’m here,” she stated, boring her eyes in a way that demanded his attention. “I didn’t pack my bags, fly my sailboard to a foreign country and leave my ailing father behind to find a man, get distracted or settle down,” she told him, emphasizing her comments with the ticking off of her fingers. “I came here to earn a shit load of money, period, full-stop. And whatever is expected of me, I expect more.” She paused for a moment, allowing her message to be absorbed. “So, if that’s the extent of what you need to tell me, may I boldly suggest that we shorten the whole meeting-the-partners thing? I’d much rather enjoy a nice dinner out after I’ve made some money.”

  Lars’ eyes were alight, the smug smile on his face conveying he was much happier with his new hire than he’d been when she entered his office. “Done,” he said, and they both stood, nearly eye to eye, in her two inch heels. He extended his hand again, only this time he placed his other hand on hers, clasping it, the warmth above and below her both unnerving and reassuring. The gesture was symbolic. They had made a deal.

  “And Danielle, welcome to Zurich.”

  .

  CHAPTER 4

  Lars kept his promise, keeping the introductory meeting to the barest of courtesies before excusing the group. “She has work to do,” he said, without a hint of humor. She returned to her office, finding it was already rearranged and the new screens on.

  Danielle sat and adjusted the headset, the nearly invisible chord stretching to her mouth. In the other ear she inserted a small, white earphone that she connected to the desktop computer. Instantaneously, she had a global newsfeed for physical commodities.

  Her foot tapped. New hires were always given an account with a fractional amount of funds. She used the codes given her by Ulrich and scrolled to the bottom of the page. When she saw the number, the left corner of her mouth started to curl up and she pulled it straight. It was a hundred and fifty million. It wasn’t attached to a client record number, so it must be on the house. Lars’s personal stash, or a fund for the partners? Didn’t matter. She glanced at the clock. 10:28 am. She scanned her screens, listened to the feed, and at 10:32, made her first trade.

  The hours passed unnoticed.

  “Do you need anything before I go?” Glenda asked. The elegant fifty-something year-old was her assigned secretary and office assistant. It was 3:30. Danielle shook her head no, thanking her. “Remember that the stores close at 6. If you need to do shopping, you don’t have much time. The office is usually empty by 4 or 4:30 latest.”

  Danielle thanked her for the information and accessed her personal account, completing a series of trades as allowed by her contract. She was going to use every moment to trade for her personal gain, and the fastest way was for her to trade currency. At five she finished up, removing her purse from wardrobe and for the first time, took a good look out the window that faced the water.

  “Nice view isn’t it?” She recognized the voice before she turned around, unhappy about the timing.

  “It’s not bad,” she said to Lars. Her dry comment resulted in an appreciative smile from the attractive managing director who was going to remain just that. The boss. “I suspect I’ll see more of it when I’m outside than in.” As it should be, Danielle could almost hear him saying.

  “The numbers posted,” Lars told her, stepping back as she shut the wardrobe. His cologne reached her nose, the smell wonderful. “I must admit I was surprised to see you at the bottom.” Her heart rate didn’t budge. The house account—whoever it belonged to—was now up to twenty-two percent and it had been seven bloody hours.

  “I have a risk profile that doesn’t align with the win-at-all costs mentality,” she told him, slipping her purse over her shoulder. “So you are unlikely to see huge, single transaction hits but then you won’t find me behind any single, firm-collapsing trades either.” This was Switzerland. The world’s most risk-averse nation. He should appreciate that more than anyone.

  “You have to take some chances to be running your kind of percentages,” he remarked. She felt an unfamiliar sensation creep up her back as his observation continued.

  It’s his age and attractiveness, she told herself in a split second. David always gave her the same, intense gaze when she’d done well at her trades.

  “I’m a bigger believer in research,” she told him with a slight smile. “I guess we’ll just have to see how the end of the week turns out.”

  They stepped into the hall and she saw the place already empty. “I was going to ask Ulrich about a few things, and don’t want to skip protocol…” He indicated she could feel free. “Would it be possible to trade currency for the firm?”

  Lars hesitated. “With internal funds? You were hired to trade gold, not currency, even though you excelled at both in your prior job.”

  “True, and here, I want to earn the privilege to do it again. I’ll make you a deal,” she proposed, sinking her stare into his infinite eyes. “Drop the 50,000 Euros I’m getting each day into my personal trading account. At the end of the week, I, you and Ulrich can review both the gold and currency. If the outcomes are acceptable, I’ll have additional capital under management for currency, only if the clients or the house want it.” David told her to move mountains. She might as well be bold and start with a few small hills.

  Lars’ eyes flicked back and forth with hers, as though he were computing his own equation of opportunity cost. He pulled out his phone. “Two pm. Friday. Review,” he said aloud as he typed in the memo, her eyes watching his lips. “I’m copying Ulrich and Jacqueline. You have just made yourself a deal. See you Friday,” he said, leaving her, the smell of his cologne lingering.

  Danielle exited the building with a swelling sense of anticipation. For all of Lars’ mathematical genius and heart-stopping good looks, he apparently forgot that the first theory of physics included the concept that the rocket that shot the highest had the most stable platform. Today, she built hers. Tomorrow, she was going to use the boosters.

  Danielle had time to go home, conduct an hour of research and arrive at Monroe’s just before it opened, keeping promise to return for a longer conversation with her friends. She’d chosen
olive leggings and boots, a t-shirt and cropped jacket with a scarf, thankful for the extra warmth. Rounding the corner from Seefeltstrasse, a breeze hit her and she turned to walk down a narrow side street where restaurants lined the ground floor with apartments above. Tonight she noticed the stone architecture, the wrought iron balcony rails on the apartments adorned with lush greenery dotted with red flowers. It was urban sophistication and she loved it.

  Once on the block where Monroe’s was located, Danielle heard noise before she saw the source, and when she did, slowed down. It was emanating from Antonio’s, an Italian restaurant three doors down from Monroe’s. The outdoor patio brimmed with well-dressed professionals enjoying an evening out under the warmth of stainless steel heat lamps. She walked past, her eyes on Monroe’s. It was as quiet outside as it was dark inside.

  Although it has tinted windows and no patio, so an unfair comparison.

  Inside, a foursome dined at a table against the wall. Stephen retreated to the kitchen to get Lani. When her friend emerged, she had a smile on her face but it didn’t prevent Danielle from noticing Lani’s eyes darting around the open space. After checking on the table of four, Stephen slid next to his wife his arm around her, kissing her forehead. Lani leaned into him. Both declined to eat, but encouraged Danielle to talk about her first day of work.

  Danielle replayed her conversation with Lars, replete with the “Not caring who she sleeps with part,” causing Lani to quietly exhale.

  “That’s sooo Swiss. They really don’t care, by the way, who sleeps with who. Stephen has tons of horror stories about all sorts of relationship craziness that is commonplace over here, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but as Lars says, it’s all very discrete,” Stephen corrected. “No notches on the belt as the Americans say.”