Страница 3 из 68
Lydia ’s eyes widened. “You quit?”
“Why not?” Nick demanded, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. Was she never going to let up? “It’s not like I need it anymore.”
“Quite right,” So
“That would be-yes, thank you,” Nick managed.
“Excellent,” So
“Powell,” Nick said, reaching out and taking the proffered hand. “Nick Powell.”
“Mr. Powell,” So
“I take it he’s someone important?” Lydia murmured.
“One of the biggest brokerage men in the city,” Nick told her, his hands starting to shake with reaction. “And he’s interested in me.”
“Or he’s just interested in your money.” Lydia dropped her gaze to his hand. “So you’re still wearing that thing?”
“I happen to like it,” Nick said, hearing the defensiveness in his voice. He’d been too embarrassed at first to tell her he couldn’t get it off, and now he was stuck with the lie that he actually liked the damn thing.
“It’s grotesque,” she insisted, peering at the Ring like it was a diseased animal. “Those leaves look half drowned. And the hands all look like they’re grabbing desperately for something.”
Nick held the Ring up for a closer look. Now that she mentioned it, there did seem to be a sense of hopelessness in the arms and hands. “It’s old German,” he said. “Styles change over the centuries, you know.”
“I don’t like it,” Lydia said, a quick shiver ru
“I’m not asking you to wear it,” Nick growled, scooping up a bite of the crème brulee.
But the flavor had gone out of the delicate dessert. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, laying down his spoon. “You coming back to my place?”
“That depends,” she said, gazing evenly at him. “Will you promise not to check on your money every ten minutes?”
“What, you mean go into the vault and count it?” he scoffed.
“I mean will you leave the computer off?”
He sighed theatrically. “Fine,” he said. “I promise.”
But later, an hour after she’d fallen asleep, he stole out of the bedroom and went online to check the foreign market predictions. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her; and besides, his finger underneath the Ring was suddenly hurting too much for him to sleep.
An hour later, his curiosity satisfied and the pain gone as inexplicably as it had appeared, he crept back into bed.
And in his dreams he was the master of the world.
The Monday meeting at So
Midway through lunch, under So
The first month was like a chapter from a financial success book. Nick’s Midas touch continued, with every stock or bond or commodity he picked turning to gold with a perfect sense of timing. There were a few false starts, but every time he tried to buy a property that he would later find was irretrievably on its way down, his finger started hurting so badly he could hardly type. Eventually, he learned how to read the telltale twinges that came before the actual pain started.
Pain or not, though, his purchases made money for himself and the firm and its clients, and that was the important thing. By the end of the month So
Everything, that is, except Lydia. In the midst of all the success she continued her self-appointed role as rainmaker to Nick’s private parade. Before the Ring had come to him, Nick had been ready to ask her to marry him, his lack of strong finances the only thing holding him back. But now, just when he was gaining the sort of wealth and power that would attract most women, Lydia was instead growing more distant. While she still permitted him to spend money on her for di
Nothing he did seemed to make any difference. He set up a charity distribution trust fund with direct access from one of his accounts to fulfill his promise to share the wealth; she applauded it as a good first step but thought the five percent he routinely sent to it was far too small for a man of his means. He bought a new cell phone with internet trading capabilities programmed in so that he could make any last-minute trades on the way home from work. He put So
None of it helped. Lydia seemed bound and determined to make him feel guilty about his success.
And finally, midway through the last weekend of that otherwise glorious first month, Nick decided he’d had enough of her complaining.
He was still brooding over it Monday morning when the runaway bus slammed into a line of pedestrians twenty feet in front of him.
“I’m surprised you even came in,” So
“I’m okay,” Nick said, gazing out So
“Still had to be pretty u
“I’m fine,” Nick said, getting up and heading for the door. “Time and tide, and all that.”
So
It was midafternoon, and Nick had finally managed to put the bus crash mostly out of his mind when he heard that one of the firm’s up-and-coming young brokers had been mugged and beaten while returning from lunch. Returning, in fact, from the very restaurant Nick had been pla
Ten minutes later Nick was in a cab, heading for the bank. Ten minutes after that, he was on his way to the shop where he’d gotten the Ring.
The old shopkeeper was waiting. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said gravely. “How are you enjoying your new success?”
“I’ve got your money,” Nick said, pulling out a certified check. “You said ten percent-I’ve made it twenty.”
“Very generous of you,” the old man said approvingly, his hand darting out like a striking rattlesnake to pluck the check from Nick’s fingers.
“So we’re square, right?” Nick said, wincing again at the unpleasant touch of the other’s skin. “So call them off.”
“Call who off?”
“Whoever it was tried to run me down with a bus this morning and then mugged Caprizano at lunch,” Nick said. “I got the message, and you’ve got your money. Okay?”