“Nothing, she was cool, we all went home separately.”

“In separate cars?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. “Tod, this is the point at which I stop asking questions. It’s not good for you and it’s even worse for her if she gets caught with her hand in the corporate dickle barrel.”

“Don’t worry, nothing happened.”

“Whatever you say.” I finish off the Diet Coke, slurping it, then crush the can and throw it in the trash. If we were in Connecticut, I’d save it, it’d be worth a nickel.

* * * *

“Savage!” It was Nick.

“What’s up?” I yelled back.

“Softy April par calls, are you a buyer? It’s for Palmetto.”

I know instantly that this is a dangerous trade. It is impossible to do business with someone who is always right, and Palmetto is always right. They are implicitly betting that Microsoft is going to go down. Just the fact that they are betting on it, means that it probably will.

It looks like the options are pricing in a 19 percent move, which is too high.

“Not really. No interest. Less than zero interest. I’m a seller.”

Everyone on the floor is watching me and Nick, the head of trading and the head of sales, enemies, in a benign sort of way, getting ready to joust over a trade. Nick scrunches up his face; he thinks I am fading him just to be contrary. “Where can you show me a bid on two thousand?” he asks.

Dammit. That broker had better be at work by now. I hit the T22 light.

Ring ring ring. No answer.

I call Lamont at Carey, instead, who is at least three times slower on a good day.

“What’s up, turkey,” he says.

“Softy, April par calls, I need a bid on two G’s.”

I can hear Lamont lumbering across the floor. Jesus, move your fat ass. He mutes the phone.

He comes back, slightly out of breath. “I can show you a five-eighths bid for five hundred only.”

“Lamont, they just whacked the stock down a quarter.” Nick is going to be pissed. He’s pissed enough as it is, after I made him look like a jackass in the conference room this morning. This is not a good time for the locals to be frontrunning the stock.

“Hang on a minute.”

Phone goes silent.

“I can show you a half bid for your whole size,” he says.

“Half bid two grand!” I yell to Nick, relieved.

“Sold!” he says.

“Sold at a half,” I say to Lamont, “I buy none.”

“Take a fill,” says Lamont, and hangs up.

I just gave away half my commissions to a floor broker who probably can’t spell commissions so I wouldn’t have to take a trade that could possibly blow a hole in my P&L. Those Microsoft options are going to melt, I want no part of them. It is a common misconception that traders try to make money. Traders spend more time trying not to lose money. I am better at playing defense than anyone else at the firm.