21. Dex

It's been a long week of fighting jet lag and settling into life at Loeb. And while the London outpost of a boutique Swiss bank has nothing on the intensity I've known at the New York headquarters of one of the most demanding banks in the world, it's still been full on.

I'm not some fresh-faced graduate who can arse around and take his time getting to know how things work. Nope. I'm Loeb's new Head of Equities, the gamble they've paid a pretty penny for, and I'm expected, to steal a phrase beloved by my former employer, to hit the ground running.

In the past five days, I've had not only a full day of training on Loeb culture and standards but sit-downs with the heads of our Investment Banking, Investment Research, Operations, and Fixed Income, Currency and Commodities—FICC—divisions. I've already been wheeled out to meet the Chief Investment Officers of some of our biggest institutional investors—including the likes of Legal General and Fidelity—over lunch, dinner and drinks.

The brief is clear. I'm a big-name hire from a bulge-bracket bank, and I'm here to legitimise Loeb. I'm to transform it from a second-tier player in the equity capital markets to a first-tier player, an equity franchise that's a real contender for the all-too-thin flow of business the markets are seeing these days.

When there's a deal to be done, Loeb wants in on the action. In essence, there's very little business to be had out there. It's a total bun fight.

And Loeb wants a great deal more buns than it's been getting.

It hasn't taken me five days to work out that Loeb will be a far more pleasant place to work than Goldman. The bar is lower, the work ethic is healthier, the employees' ambition levels are less intense than they were where I came from.

All of which makes it both a delightful culture and far harder place to get anything done. The management at Loeb may be solid, but its staff are infinitely more complacent. At Goldman, there was a constant three-line whip to move forward, an ever-present expectation that you devoured potential business with all the cut-throat zeal of a Grey's Anatomy surgical intern or you'd be left high and dry by those who wanted it more badly.

There was a carrot dangling over one shoulder and a stick hanging over the other every single day.

Here, I suspect I may have to light a lot of fires under a lot of arses to get anyone to give enough of a shit to exert themselves.

All of which is to say that I'm fucking exhausted, I can recall the names of about five percent of the people I've met this week, I don't know which way is up, and I'd like to spend my Saturday evening rewatching Succession with a nice takeout and a glass of good red.

But it's not to be.

Because my little sister wants me here tonight, and that's more important.

Letme say that when your brain tends towards inappropriate fantasies about inappropriate people at inappropriate times, it feels really bloody great to see a woman and have an instant, visceral reaction to her. It's a warm bath after being battered by emotional hail storms. My blood heats in my veins, and I feel the purest sense of enjoyment as I take her in.

She's beautiful—the kind of beauty that stops traffic—and she looks vaguely familiar. When I enter Alchemy's bar with my sister and Rafe, she's the first person I see, and she's sitting next to Maddy, so it's entirely possible we've met before. But I'd remember her, surely? I flip through a mental who's who of Belle and Rafe's wedding but come up short. I was under the impression we were catching up with Maddy, Zach, Cal and Aida this evening, no one else.

I make my way through the greetings, bro-hugging Cal, kissing Aida, who looks incredible as always, on both cheeks, shaking Zach's hand with genuine pleasure—he's a great guy—and hugging Mads, of whom I'm genuinely fond. She may have been out of control when she was younger, but she's been a great friend to Belle, especially this past year. I'm glad my sis has a fearless female to cheerlead her and egg her on in the pursuit of her own happiness.

Then I'm in front of the Titian-haired beauty. Her creamy skin is on show in a slinky, low-cut black dress that looks as though it ties at the back of her neck and puts her spectacular breasts on full display. I'm genuinely trying to ignore them, but it's not easy. Her eyes are blue, and her smile is electric—far warmer, I suspect, than the tentative one I'm giving her.

‘Hi!' she cries, opening her arms wide for a hug. ‘I'm Darcy—Gen's sister.'

Gen's sister. Darcy. Of course. From the pea-soup fog of information Belle threw at me last weekend, I manage to retrieve the fact that Gen's sister is back in London, having been in… Australia, maybe? And that she's dancing at Alchemy.

Oh fuck. She dances. God help me.

‘Of course you are,' I say slowly as I process. ‘So lovely to meet you, Darcy.' I abandon all hope of a polite English double kiss and allow myself to be pulled into a hug and crushed against her soft breasts and enveloped in her heady scent as her laugh at my obvious confusion tinkles in my ear.

She's a veritable feast for the senses, this one.

She's all consuming.

I endup sitting between her and Mads, naturally. Everyone's in couples, and I seem to have been paired up with Darcy. Whether that's intentional or not is anyone's guess.

My plan for tonight involved zoning out this sex club as fully as possible while enjoying a pleasant catch up with Zach about the markets, or with Aida about current affairs. I need to get myself properly up to speed again on the European political landscape.

But no.

Instead, I'm on a low stool next to the most incandescent woman I've seen in a long, long time, as her scent invades my nostrils and her laugh rings through my ears. Her bare skin is far too close to my arm, and her energy is far too infectious. She makes Claudia's lean, groomed beauty look sterile. Forced. She's like happening upon a glorious, riotous tangle of wild roses in full bloom—natural. Irresistible.

And worst of all, when I turn my head to take her in under the auspices of good manners, that's when I spot it.

Her very own scarlet letter.

A huge, fresh love bite on the side of her neck.