play-hard mentality, it got to a lot of them, but not me.’
At twenty-nine, he’d been running his own trading fund, a hedge fund.
‘That’s what it means,’ said Izzie delighted. ‘I never knew.’
The higher up the chain he went, the more risk but also bigger percentages to be earned, until finally he ended up as head of trading for a huge bank. ‘Basically, you’re trying to systematically beat all the markets through math,’ he explained. ‘You name it, we traded it. We were a closed fund.’
Izzie, mouth full of roasted peppers, looked at him quizzically.
‘Means we only reinvested profits and no new investors could get in.’
‘Oh.’ She nodded. This was like a masterclass in Wall Street. How many years had she known all those money guys and never had a clue what they were talking about?
Finally, he and a friend named Leo Guard had started their own closed hedge fund, HG.
‘Eventually, we were doing so well, we changed the fee structure from two and twenty to five and forty.’
‘I add up using my fingers,’ Izzie explained. ‘I have no idea what that means.’
He grinned and handed her some more bread.
‘That’s the typical fee structure: two and twenty means you get two per cent for management and twenty per cent of profits from performance.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘And you were trading in millions?’
He nodded. ‘Imagine having six hundred under management.’
Izzie hated to look thick. ‘Six hundred million dollars?’ she said, just to check.
He nodded.
‘You’re rich, then,’ she said, hating herself for eating all that antipasti as she already felt full and the main courses would be coming soon.
Joe laughed.
‘You’re the real deal, Izzie Silver,’ he said. ‘I like that.’
‘Honest,’ she said, pushing her plate away. ‘Not everyone likes it.’
‘I do. Yes, you could say I am rich.’
‘You don’t own a super-yacht, though?’ she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
He laughed again. ‘No. Do you want one, or do you simply want to date a guy with one?’
Izzie smiled at his innocence. ‘You haven’t a clue, do you?’ she said coolly. ‘I am so far away from the type of woman who wants a man with a super-yacht that I am on a different continent.’ She rearranged things on the table, pushing the salt and pepper around. ‘The pepper is me.’ She stuck it at the edge of the table. ‘And the salt –’ she moved it to the other side completely, ‘– is the sort of woman who wants to know a guy’s bank balance before she meets him for a drink. See? Big gap, big difference. Enormous.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Just don’t do it again,’ she joked. ‘I have never in my entire life gone out with a guy because of the size of his bank balance. Ever. I did briefly – one date – go out with a guy from next door in my old apartment because he knew how to work the heating, and he’d fixed it for me one day when the super wasn’t around and I went out on a date with him, but that was it. A one-off.’
‘You came out with me because I gave you a ride back to the office, then?’ he teased.
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Keep going with this life story of yours. Tell me some personal stuff.’
He was forty-five, his wife was a couple of years younger and they’d married young, kids, really. Izzie was sorry she’d asked for personal stuff.
‘Then, Tom came along quite quickly,’ he said proudly. ‘It all changes then, you know. Do you have children?’
Yes, in my handbag, Izzie wanted to say. ‘No, ‘fraid not. So I don’t know how it changes everything.’
‘Take my word for it, it does. It changes the couple dynamic, you get so caught up in the kids. But, hey, I didn’t come here to talk about my boys,’ he said.
‘OK, what did you come here for?’ she asked. She wasn’t sure why she was here. He was too complicated, there was too much going on in his life. She needed a rebound guy like she needed a hole in the head.
Besides, he wasn’t even at the rebound stage: he was still in the nursing-the-broken-relationship stage. A man on the hunt for a rebound relationship didn’t necessarily want to talk about his wife and kids.
Pity, she thought sadly. He was lovely, sexy, made her stomach whoop in a way she could never quite remember it doing before.
It just proved what she knew and what Linda had confirmed to her: all the good ones were taken. But he was a charming guy and she could enjoy lunch and mark it down to experience.
‘You still don’t know what I came here for?’ he asked.
Izzie shot him a wry look.
‘I might want to know more about the modelling industry so I can invest in it,’ he continued.
‘You might just want to be introduced to long-legged models?’ she countered. ‘I’m normally quite good at working out if a man is interested in me only as a means to get to the models. Although you –’ she surveyed him ‘– aren’t the normal type. You’re too nice.’
He pretended to gasp. ‘Nice? That’s not a word people usually use about me. I’ve been called a shark, you know.’
‘You’re nice,’ Izzie said, smiling back at him. It was true. For all that he was an alpha male, with all the in-built arrogance and intelligence, he had a solid, warm core to him, a devastatingly attractive bit that said he might be a rich guy but he’d been brought up to take care of people, to protect his family and his woman. Izzie felt a pang that she would never get to be said woman. There would be something wonderful about being with a man who’d take care of her.
‘You might pretend to be a shark but you’re a pussycat,’ she went on, teasing a little. ‘Besides, I know you don’t need me to get you introduced to the supermodels. You’re rich enough to buy all the introductions you need. Money is like an access-all-areas card, isn’t it?’
‘My but you’re cynical for one so young,’ he grinned.
‘I’m not young, I’m nearly forty,’ she said. If she’d thought he was interested in her, she’d have said she was thirty-nine. ‘It’s creeping up on me every day. I’m going to be over the hill soon.’
A few days ago, it might have been a joke. But since the Plaza and Linda, Izzie no longer felt complacent at the thought of her approaching birthday.
‘You’ll never be over the hill,’ he said in a low voice that made her think, ridiculously, about being in bed with him and having him slowly peeling off
