Options Trading #4
Before Lili can approach the receptionists, an unwelcome figure in gray cuts in.
“I’ll deal with this,” Michael tells the front desk staff, before turning to Lili. “Are you lost?”
She barely suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. “Is Aleksandr around?”
“One would assume so.”
“He asked me to come by. If you just move, I can find my way—”
“Absolutely not. Just—” Michael glances over his shoulder, as if evaluating the number of witnesses present. “Just come with
me.” Without looking back at her, he strides into the bullpen. “He’s busy, you can wait in one of the smaller conference rooms,
if he has time later. It’s unlikely though. Honestly, you can’t show up—”
“Lili.”
It’s Aleksandr, emerging from a meeting with what looks like a group of his managing directors and VPs.
The way he says her name, the lethal slip of his grin over his teeth—there are people around. He must pay them horrifically well; they’re resolutely interested in their work, dispersing to their offices fast
and hiding any curious glances, except for the tall brunette at Aleksandr’s side. Sharp stare, high heels, iPad in hand, she
looks caught mid-sentence. She’s studying Lili with clear, unabashed interest.
“Michael can show you to my office,” Aleksandr says to Lili. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Lili hears Michael’s sign of exasperation. She can’t help but feel a little smug. The woman beside Aleksandr catches her expression;
she winks at Lili before they walk away.
Aleksandr’s office is in the opposite direction from where Michael had been heading. As he opens the heavy door, she spies
a wedding band. A jolt of surprise followed by dark humor; she pities the person married to him. Probably some brittle, colorless
woman, The Row cashmere and cold blond highlights smoothed behind her ears, Sakara for every meal, Elsa Peretti jewelry, New
York Pilates and rail-thin collarbones.
“Stay here,” Michael says. “Don’t touch anything.”
“No executing after-hours trades? Or does the boss not have Bloomberg Terminal on his computer?”
“I will personally ensure the dismal returns of your retirement accounts.”
“Bold of you to assume I have retirement savings.”
Michael scowls. “Miss Marwan, let me tell you how this is going to go,” he says. “He will have his dalliance with you, however
inconvenient and deplorable; I will grit my teeth and manage the consequences for him; and then it will be over, and order
will be restored. You’ll return to Brooklyn, and I will never have to deal with you again.”
“Is that a challenge?” she asks.
His jaw clenches. “I beg your pardon.”
“I’m sure I could do more damage than that.”
Michael evaluates her for one long, scathing moment. Lili does not relent under his stare.
Evidently, he decides she isn’t worth his energy.
“Don’t touch anything,” he repeats, emphasizing each word in a manner that makes her concerned for his blood pressure. He leaves. The door closes, muting the office noise.
Alone, Lili looks around. Cello-brown wood-paneled walls, a Rothko color field of luminous burnt burgundy. There’s a broad
desk with a thin split-screen monitor and barely there keyboard, some slim folders. Sleek Breuer Wassily chairs and Grand
Modele couch, all black, glittering city through the windows—an entire wall of glass. No books here, minimal personal effects.
The day’s FT is discarded on the leather couch. Lili picks up the broadsheet, idly flipping through the pages.
The door opens, letting in the hustle of the office again.
Lili sighs, dropping the newspaper. “Michael, I’m not actually going to do anything—”
“Not Michael,” Aleksandr says, door falling shut behind him.
Before she can comment on the almost impressively rude attitude of his chief of staff, Aleksandr’s hands are on her waist,
pulling her against him, and he’s kissing her. Just as she realizes what’s happening—surprise melting into eagerness, with
the scent of him, the heat of his mouth against hers, rough press of his beard, and she starts to lean into it, grasping for
him—he pulls away.
“How are you?” he asks. His hands remain warm on her waist, holding her close.
“Fine—yeah, fine,” Lili says, feeling open and unbalanced. She lets her palms rest against his chest for a brief moment—he’s
dressed for work, small differences: subtle pocket square, only one button of his shirt undone—before she steps back, clearing
her throat. Is it bad to admit she likes his voice? She doesn’t want to think about how it’s the same voice that’s likely
on the phone with the Fed chair on a weekly basis, or giving speeches at Davos, or holding plenaries with billionaires at
Sun Valley.
“Are you hungry? Daniel usually holds a table—”
“I’m fine. Why is everyone still here? It’s late.”
Aleksandr frowns. “It’s not even nine. Where else are they supposed to be?”
“Enjoying some semblance of a personal life.”
He waves a dismissive hand, walking around his desk. “I pay them enough. They can have lives later.”
Under her visceral recoil at the idea of lives reduced to labor that can be bought, a deeply traitorous part of her wants to follow him as he sits down: stand between his legs, rest her hands on his shoulders; brush back the sweep of his hair; feel his eyes on her, that grin that flirts with a smirk.
Lili folds her arms over her chest, and cauterizes that stupid instinct. No, not instinct—idea. Fanciful idea.
“You wanted to discuss something?” he prompts, leaning back in his chair.
“Yes,” she says, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Better to have office furniture between them, a
cast of professionalism; anything to stifle this soft, insidious lean towards him; the subtle sense of safety she should not
be feeling; a bit of shaky vulnerability that reminds her of wet skin, warm kisses against her neck, tears on her cheeks.
“I’ve been thinking, and we need clarity.”
Aleksandr raises an eyebrow. “Clarity?”
“Yes.” Lili will not let his tactic of countering with questions get to her. She knows how to hold her ground. “Whatever this
is,” she says, gesturing between them, “we need to be clear about it. I have a life, you have a life. They need to be separate.
I don’t like uncertainty, and I doubt you do, either. If this is going to continue, we need it defined. Simple.”
Not her best work, but it’s to the point. As Aleksandr evaluates her, she braces herself, preparing to parry whatever counter
he puts forth.
We need to have rules.
No, I don’t think so.
“Fine. Make your case.”
Lili frowns. Did she miscalculate? She thought he’d refuse or argue or—something?
“Well, what do you want?” she asks.
He smiles, an edge of arrogance. “No, Lili. I’m buy-side at the moment. Convince me to buy.”
Heat flushes over her. She’s not something to buy.
Lifting her chin, Lili ignores the complicated mix of lust and outrage that his words stir. “I enjoy having sex with you,”
she states. “And I think you do, too. That’s all. Mutually beneficial. Casual. Just—casual.”
Aleksandr tilts his head, amused. “What did you think this was?”
Don’t, a murmur against her ear, making wet skin catch and rush. Don’t, I’ll take care of you.
“Right,” Lili says, careful with suspicion. “Casual.”
“Casual,” Aleksandr agrees. She can see the fucking smirk he’s trying to hide.
“As in, no strings attached. We’re fucking, that’s it.”
“I have been around longer than you. I’m familiar with these types of arrangements.”
It’s best not to examine the response that elicits in her. It feels a lot like jealousy.
“Great,” she grits out. “Sorted, then.”
“Is that all you wanted to discuss?”
“Uh—yeah. Yes.” Should she—should she leave, now?
“Good.” Aleksandr nods, like an item has been crossed off an agenda. “Now, take off your clothes.”
She stares at him. “Excuse me?”
“Your clothes, Lili. Off.”
“What, here?” She shoots a glance at the heavy door. It’s closed, but there are dozens of people outside.
“Here. Unless you’re not up to it.”
Lili narrows her eyes at him.
A forty-five-year-old neoliberal will not best her.
Standing, she holds his gaze. She toes off her shoes, pulling her shirt over her head. Undoes the buttons of her jeans, kicks
them off.
She’s not wearing anything fancy underneath, just black underwear, simple bra. But his clear, focused stare makes a chill
race through her that tastes like fear—what he might do, what she can’t anticipate—yet it’s diluted with something else. Something
she doesn’t want to admit to.
But Lili can play games, too.
Straightening her shoulders, willing herself to feel comfortable under the dangerous thrill of his attention, she walks around
his desk and hops on top of it, perched in front of him. She parts her knees. He makes no move to touch her, and Lili slips
two fingers into her mouth. Heat blooms inside of her when his eyes flicker, fast, to her lips. Holding his stare, she slides
her fingers into her underwear.
She starts with practiced, familiar strokes. Lili knows how to get herself off, fast and well. She’s already much wetter than when she’s alone in her bedroom. Her body feels hot and open as he watches her, not moving—and his attention.
It feels like power.
She feels that habitual instinct to shy away, push it back.
But she wants it. She wants to matter like this.
Lili dips a finger lower, slipping inside. Leaning back on her free hand, she spreads her legs further.
Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she catches Aleksandr’s hand, resting on his knee, twitch.
Adding another finger, she starts to move faster, trying to rub the heel of her palm just right. As she builds the rhythm,
her breathing grows shorter: little gasps, the bite of her teeth against her lip as she tries to hold in the sounds, familiar
habits from trying to stifle noise in her bedroom alone.
Motion, the roll of his chair pushed back, then Aleksandr’s standing. He rests his hand on her bare knee, and that first touch
of his skin against hers makes the muscles of her legs tremble, knees jumping like some startled animal.
Her next breath is decisively less controlled.