than is legal for a twelve-year-old.”
The Baron ignored the murmuring. His focus was now solely on Jonah. “Maybe one day you’ll do a bit more than basic data inputting, eh? But today it is just inputting, so why don’t you give me a demo of these skills of yours.” He grabbed a handful of old trading tickets that were in a tray on the top of the partition and handed them to Jonah. He looked at his watch and said, “Three. Two. One. Hit it!”
Jonah whipped through the tickets, reading each one over andinputting the details as quickly as his fingers could type. He finished inside a minute. “Done,” he called out and pushed the pile of tickets back toward the Baron.
The Baron nodded, still looking at his watch. “Swift, sir.
Très vite
.
Mucho speedio
. I like what I see.”
Jonah was about to say thank you when a sudden bout of whistling erupted around the trading floor. He looked out across the floor to see what looked like an electric golf cart cruising toward them. It was driven by a woman dressed in a housemaid’s black uniform with a white apron and hat. The skirt was short, the heels were high, and the legs were clad in black stockings. Bright red lipstick provided the final touches to a very different dinner lady than the ones at his school.
“Ah! The gorgeous, pouting Miss Amelia is here with our breakfast,” the Baron called as she came to a halt next to his desk. “You are looking particularly gorgeous and particularly pouting this morning if I might say so.” He adjusted his prominently displayed neck tie, and Jonah instinctively drew his hand up to his collar, wishing that he had one of his own.
“All to keep you boys happy,” Amelia singsonged. “All to keep the wheels of finance suitably lubricated. I am here to please.” Jonah recognized the voice that had been at the end of the phone earlier. She stepped out of the cart and stood, one hand on her hip, posing provocatively for her audience. She was probably in her late twenties. “But enough of this idle talk. It is breakfast you need to keep the money flowing, not chatter.” With that, she sashayed around to the back of her cart and began to withdraw boxes from a heated compartment.
Jonah began to feel butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t thought about the order since he’d placed it. What if he hadn’t gotten it right?
“So true, Amelia. So true,” the Baron replied. “And we also need to find out whether our young friend here has been able to deliver on his confident statement that no pen and paper were necessary to ensure that my loyal foot soldiers receive their correct rations.”
Heat rose to Jonah’s cheeks. He watched anxiously as Amelia strutted around the desk and delivered the first box to Dog. “One double decaffeinated cappuccino, with just a dab of foam. One egg and bacon sandwich, lovingly made with brown bread, expertly toasted on one side only, and with a side order of tomato ketchup,” she announced.
“Correct,” responded Dog. He made a rude sign at Milkshake.
Jonah sighed inwardly, ignoring the sign which he knew wasn’t for him. One down.
Amelia delivered the second box to Jeeves. “One chai latte, a subtle blend of Indian spices mixed with steamed milk. One bacon sandwich on white bread with the bacon grilled to perfect crispness and not a trace of tomato ketchup. And one freshly squeezed orange juice, no ice.”
“Correct,” Jeeves proclaimed.
Two down,
thought Jonah.
Amelia worked her way around the Bunker, dropping off the boxes with a variety of pouts, hair tosses, and hip sways. Each time she arrived at a new trader’s desk, she’d repeat their order aloud and receive a “correct” in response, until she was back at the Baron’s side. “And finally, one herbal tea and fruit salad for the king of theHellcat trading floor, who wishes to keep his instincts sharper than a leopard’s claw.” As she handed the Baron his box, Jonah noticed she brushed against him like a cat does
The Baron ignored the murmuring. His focus was now solely on Jonah. “Maybe one day you’ll do a bit more than basic data inputting, eh? But today it is just inputting, so why don’t you give me a demo of these skills of yours.” He grabbed a handful of old trading tickets that were in a tray on the top of the partition and handed them to Jonah. He looked at his watch and said, “Three. Two. One. Hit it!”
Jonah whipped through the tickets, reading each one over andinputting the details as quickly as his fingers could type. He finished inside a minute. “Done,” he called out and pushed the pile of tickets back toward the Baron.
The Baron nodded, still looking at his watch. “Swift, sir.
Très vite
.
Mucho speedio
. I like what I see.”
Jonah was about to say thank you when a sudden bout of whistling erupted around the trading floor. He looked out across the floor to see what looked like an electric golf cart cruising toward them. It was driven by a woman dressed in a housemaid’s black uniform with a white apron and hat. The skirt was short, the heels were high, and the legs were clad in black stockings. Bright red lipstick provided the final touches to a very different dinner lady than the ones at his school.
“Ah! The gorgeous, pouting Miss Amelia is here with our breakfast,” the Baron called as she came to a halt next to his desk. “You are looking particularly gorgeous and particularly pouting this morning if I might say so.” He adjusted his prominently displayed neck tie, and Jonah instinctively drew his hand up to his collar, wishing that he had one of his own.
“All to keep you boys happy,” Amelia singsonged. “All to keep the wheels of finance suitably lubricated. I am here to please.” Jonah recognized the voice that had been at the end of the phone earlier. She stepped out of the cart and stood, one hand on her hip, posing provocatively for her audience. She was probably in her late twenties. “But enough of this idle talk. It is breakfast you need to keep the money flowing, not chatter.” With that, she sashayed around to the back of her cart and began to withdraw boxes from a heated compartment.
Jonah began to feel butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t thought about the order since he’d placed it. What if he hadn’t gotten it right?
“So true, Amelia. So true,” the Baron replied. “And we also need to find out whether our young friend here has been able to deliver on his confident statement that no pen and paper were necessary to ensure that my loyal foot soldiers receive their correct rations.”
Heat rose to Jonah’s cheeks. He watched anxiously as Amelia strutted around the desk and delivered the first box to Dog. “One double decaffeinated cappuccino, with just a dab of foam. One egg and bacon sandwich, lovingly made with brown bread, expertly toasted on one side only, and with a side order of tomato ketchup,” she announced.
“Correct,” responded Dog. He made a rude sign at Milkshake.
Jonah sighed inwardly, ignoring the sign which he knew wasn’t for him. One down.
Amelia delivered the second box to Jeeves. “One chai latte, a subtle blend of Indian spices mixed with steamed milk. One bacon sandwich on white bread with the bacon grilled to perfect crispness and not a trace of tomato ketchup. And one freshly squeezed orange juice, no ice.”
“Correct,” Jeeves proclaimed.
Two down,
thought Jonah.
Amelia worked her way around the Bunker, dropping off the boxes with a variety of pouts, hair tosses, and hip sways. Each time she arrived at a new trader’s desk, she’d repeat their order aloud and receive a “correct” in response, until she was back at the Baron’s side. “And finally, one herbal tea and fruit salad for the king of theHellcat trading floor, who wishes to keep his instincts sharper than a leopard’s claw.” As she handed the Baron his box, Jonah noticed she brushed against him like a cat does
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