The next day at work, something about Taylor seemed different. Chris watched her as she yelled at a new kid, probably around 23 years old. "What the fuck is your problem? You knew that was a bad investment, why did you transfer those funds?"

"I…uh…" the kid stuttered.

"Was it a mistake to hire you? Are you not capable of working for this firm? Because there are plenty of people out there who are." The look on her face could have killed. She looked like she was on Fear Factor and was determined to eat six slugs.

"Taylor, lay off," Chris said as he approached the two. "He's just a rookie."

"I know, but all the rookies make the same fucking mistakes. They blow it with transfers from solid stocks to jumpy ones. You can't pull that shit right now, not with everything as messed up as it is from the war."

"And yes, he should have known that, but Christ, do you have to tear him a new asshole?"

"This isn't any of your business, Varick."

"Fine," he said and held up his hands in defeat. He glanced down at the kid, practically shaking in his shoes, and shrugged. "I tried." He made his way back to his desk and watched as she looked at the kid's file, then back at the kid.

"Just don't do it again, okay?" she said, sighing in frustration. The kid got up and practically ran back to his cubicle in the corner. She stared blankly at her computer screen, then rubbed her temples with her hands. She was stressed out enough already, she didn't need kids like that fucking with her clientele. But he was just a kid, and he would get better with practice. And what the hell was with Varick jumping to his rescue? He himself had reamed every rookie to ever walk in the doors of the firm.

"You okay?" she heard an all too familiar deep voice ask.

"What do you want?" she groaned.

"Just answer the question."

"I'm fine. I will be, anyway." She glanced up and he nodded, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his Gucci slacks. "Christ, do you own Fifth Avenue?" she asked, noticing the continuance of his designer clothes.

"I have my connections."

"Women you've slept with, I presume."

"There are a few." She rolled her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Why hast God forsaken me?"

"Because you're a stock broker," he answered with a grin and headed back in the direction of his ringing phone. She shook her head with a quiet little laugh and picked up her headset as her phone rang.

"McCormack, I need you to move two thousand shares to VTR right now," her boss, Jim Young, said hurriedly.

"I can't do that, trade on that is shut down for three days, regulation orders."

"Do you like your job?" She paused, realizing what he was insinuating.

"Consider it done." She hung up and tapped into the system, both transferring the shares and changing the trade date to two days before. Quite illegal, but not something she hadn't done before. Their firm was infamous for pulling shit like that. "And everyone wonders why I'm so stressed out," she mumbled.

"Talking to yourself again?" Varick asked, reappearing in front of her desk.

"Jesus Christ, don't you have a job to do?"

"I'm doing it. Young told me to come talk to you about setting up an appointment with RDT to see if there's a way we can make the VTR buyout go more smoothly. He thinks the market value is going to go down drastically unless we can get some media hype behind it."

"That's funny, because he just ordered two thousand of his shares transferred to the VTR account."

"Interesting," Chris said, an eyebrow raised. "What's he up to?"

"Hell if I know. He's always doing something."

"Any suggestions about the proposition?"

"Of working with you? I've definitely received better propositions."

"I promise to show up for the meeting," he smirked.

"Fuck you," she laughed.

"Did I just hear Taylor McCormack laugh at work?"

"No. That was an evil laugh. More like a cackle." She eyed him for a second, then excused herself to the restroom. She shut the door behind her and stared at her reflection in the full length mirror. What the hell was that about? Laughing at work? That was completely unacceptable. Especially in the presence of Varick. He was the one person that she forced herself to hate. So many things about him completely turned her off. He was rude, overly confident, and made entirely too much money to be a legitimate broker. And what was with all the tailored suits? But at the same time, he was the one she had the most in common with. Highly intelligent, dedicated to his job, actually considered his personal appearance when he rolled out of bed and into the office, and loved his family.

Then there were the things she was attracted to, not that she would admit it to anyone. He always smelled so good. Always fresh, perfect amount of cologne, and always the right cologne – Jean Paul Gaultier. The scent of that could make a woman climax. And every time he walked by, a waft of it flew in her direction, almost as if he had intentionally sent the breeze her way. And the clothes, she had to admit that they helped. He always looked incredibly professional, but wore them with so much confidence and so comfortably that he looked like he was wearing joggers and a t-shirt. And underneath them was the body of a bodyguard. An incredibly attractive one.

But he made her so mad. All while being sexy as hell. He pushed all the right buttons in her. Unfortunately, most of the time they were the wrong ones.