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This lent I will be reading #Live Lent, the Church of England’s Lent publication.Ash Wednesday this year is funnily enough, on Valentine’s day. Ash Wednesday is traditionally a day of soberness and reflection – a day where we remember that we are ‘dust and ashes’, a day where we are reminded of Jesus’ death on a cross. In February last year, a friend told me: ‘I know what I need to do. He was in his 40s and rumour had it that he was quite a player.
She was an 8 out of 10 on an attractiveness scale, which was where Todd liked to play: Eights were hot, but insecure about not being tens, so they worked hard to please. Cecil traders knew that what they were selling was crap made it unethical and worthy of fines. “So I’ll talk to my boss, Larry, he’s the one who will be in charge of the—” “No,” Josh corrected. “We can meet here tomorrow to finalize.” “Tomorrow? “I still need to get the contract together and—” He thought quickly: what else did he need? ” “Well, yeah, we’ll need to loop in a couple analysts and an associate from my group, plus someone from equity capital markets to advise on market conditions and the road show, and we probably—” “Three. Really excited to—” He heard the phone click off and looked at it. “We’re here,” the driver said from the front seat as Todd hung up the phone.
Right now, though, she was barely scraping by as a six with her smudged eyeliner and greasy blonde hair. ” she said softly, still for the first time since she’d left the bed. Her fingers clenched the sheets as she waited for the answer she didn’t want to hear. It was a bullshit argument—the role of a trader was to facilitate trades: it was up to the investor to determine whether or not the trade was worth putting his money behind. You can have three more people, max.” Todd laughed. Todd looked up, coming back to the moment, then looked out the window and saw L. He’d spent every weekday and most weekends of the last ten years there, save the annual two weeks’ vacation regulators forced bankers to take to curb insider dealing.
On the one hand, the expensive minimalism of his spacious one‑bedroom guaranteed any girl he brought back would have sex with him, even if she’d been committed to prudishness up to that point; on the other hand, away games had the advantage that he could leave on his own terms. “Okay.” She headed down the street, her four‑inch stilettos and tangled hair a scarlet letter on the Wednesday morning sidewalk. “So you can have three people on your team,” Josh continued, “but any slick dicks and the deal is off. Today, Todd realized, was his day: Josh might be an arrogant prick, but he was going to make Todd one of the most powerful investment bankers in history. “Michelle Miller's debut novel reads like a salacious, ripped-from-the headlines tell-all of Manhattan's young, wealthy, and uber-successful.
He should have gone to her place last night, given he knew she’d fuck him, but he’d had one too many tequila sodas at Monkey Bar and wasn’t thinking clearly when he’d written her a message on Hook. Todd climbed into the black car, and navigated to his list of “Favorites” on Hook. From the very first page, I felt like I'd met these characters in real life: Todd, the hot, rich, d-bag banker; Tara, the striver perfectionist who can't quite please everyone; Kelly, the good girl with a secret, and Josh, the creepy savant genius who just might change the world. A certain location-based hookup app that alters each of their lives in shocking ways.
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