“Well, then, Mr King, if I do get chosen for the position, I’ll have to prove to you that my looks pale in comparison to what my brain can achieve.”

King smiled.

I turned and left the office.

The very next day I received a call from Eleanor telling me that I’d gotten the job.

***

Gulping back the last of my coffee, I slipped my headphones over my ears, hit “play” on my favourite M.I.A. album, and set off for the tube. I lived on the tenth floor of a big grey tower block in Bethnal Green with my BFF, Karla. The stairs were a hassle, but I had to admit that hauling my arse up and down them every day did wonders for my glutes. Too bad my penchant for cake undid all the good work.

It was my first day working at Johnson-Pearse Bank. After the bizarre nature of my interview, and the even more bizarre fact that they’d actually chosen me for the role, I was putting my best foot forward. M.I.A.’s tracks always made me feel ready to take on a challenge; it was like my fight music.

I wore my most office-friendly pencil dress under my duffel coat. I also wore gloves and a scarf, which I buried my nose under in order to stave off the chill. It was January in London, which meant it was cold enough to freeze your nipples off.

Once I reached the tube, I savoured the heat of the carriage and head-bobbed my way through the journey, standing because it was rush hour, and I wasn’t going to get a seat to save my life. Finally arriving in Canary Wharf, I made my way out of the gigantic tube station and completed the walk to the glass and steel tower where Johnson-Pearse was located.

This area was referred to as The City, a single square mile that housed the most powerful financial institutions in the U.K. Some of the buildings had funny nicknames. For instance, you had the Gherkin, which I personally thought looked like a giant Fabergé egg.

You could divide the district into three sections. Canary Wharf was modern, towering, soulless, and where you could find the all-powerful investment banks. The Old City was historical, quirky, and mostly home to the insurers and brokers. And lastly, you had the stylish and cosmopolitan Mayfair, where you could find the hedge funds and private equity companies. I’d only become so well-informed about all this since I started my job hunt. Before that it was just another part of London to me. But now that I’d discovered this city within the city, I’d become fascinated. With just one glance, you knew that this was a place where there was only one God, and its name was Money.

I disappeared among the throngs of professional types as I entered the building. I had to sign in at the security desk, since I hadn’t yet been given my staff I.D. Once I was done, I stepped inside the elevator. I was still rocking out to my music, standing in the corner of the crowded lift, when I felt somebody’s eyes on me.

Quickly glancing up, I spotted Oliver King a few feet away, wearing a suit and a smile, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Pulling my headphones off and letting them rest around my neck, I gave him a polite nod. My first instinct was to be embarrassed that he’d caught me bobbing my head, away in my own little world, but I tamped that bitch down. If I’d learned anything from growing up in a tiny council house with three overbearing brothers and limited resources, it was that you had to hold your head high in this life. Take what was your due and never let anyone make you feel uncomfortable or inferior.

When the lift stopped at our floor, both Oliver and I stepped off, leaving the crowded carriage behind us.

“Good morning, Alexis,” he said in that refined accent of his that screamed of Cambridge and Eton, and all those other fancy places where the upper classes received their educations. He placed his hand on my lower back for a second as though leading me out.

“Mr King,” I replied, making sure to step away and put an end to the touching. I wasn’t sure if that was business as usual or what. I began removing my gloves and unwrapping my scarf from around my neck.

“Cold out there today,” he went on, eyes scanning me, and I nodded. We soon reached his office, which had a large atrium area with two desks, one for Eleanor and one for the other assistant, Gillian. Eleanor had told me about her on the phone, but we hadn’t met yet. The older assistant was already at her desk, tapping away at her computer, as was Gillian, who had short blonde hair and a slim build. She looked to be about my age. When she spotted King, she immediately jumped up from her seat, gathered a bunch of folders, and walked alongside him. She barely gave me a second glance.

“These are the briefs for this morning’s meetings, your coffee is inside, and Kenneth Green called to schedule a lunch meeting on Wednesday.” Her voice trailed off as they went into King’s office, and I looked to Eleanor, who gave me a warm smile.

“Morning, love, come sit. You’ll be shadowing me for the week, then next week we’ll see how you do going it alone. I’ll be here on and off for another month to make sure the transition runs smoothly.”

There was something about Eleanor that put me at ease, and I began to wonder if she was the reason I got this job. When we’d spoken over the phone, she’d been really apologetic for what Mr King had said to me in the interview, and stated outright it was the kind of carry-on that set the feminist movement back fifty years. Needless to say, I liked her already.

After I’d made myself comfortable, she ran through Mr King’s morning routine with me. I’d be responsible for ordering his breakfast and giving him a rundown of the headlines in each of the countries’ main newspapers, while Gillian took care of the morning and afternoon meeting schedule. Apparently, Mr King had a knack for absorbing the news and making predictions on which way the markets would turn. I was sceptical of that, but we’d see.