2
Richard opened the folder. Inside were proposals, budget sheets, and a program summary. Real documents. Real numbers. He had arrived prepared.
“I’d like you to review the program and tell me where it fails.”
“Fails?”
“Most wealthy people have no idea how working families manage money. They assume poverty comes from poor budgeting. A budget cannot stretch money that never existed.”
I studied him more carefully.
“That almost sounded sensible.”
“I have occasional spells.”
“What would reviewing this involve?”
“One lunch.”
“With you?”
“That is generally how lunch works.”
“I could review it here.”
“I could ask someone else.”
I folded my arms. “Is this a date disguised as work?”
“It’s work disguised as an opportunity to spend time with you.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’ve reached an age where lying takes energy I prefer to invest elsewhere.”
There it was. The age. His awareness of it eased some of my irritation.
I turned the first page. The proposed consultant fee sat near the bottom.
My eyebrows rose.
“For one lunch?”
“For your initial review. Continued involvement would include a separate contract.”
“You could have started with this.”
“I started with twelve dollars.”
“You still haven’t received your refund.”
“I’ve gained something more valuable.”
I looked up.
Richard smiled. “Your attention.”
I hated how smooth that sounded.
I hated even more that it worked.
“Fine,” I said. “One business lunch.”
“I’ll send a car tomorrow at noon.”
“I have a car.”
“Does it always make that grinding sound?”
My face tightened. “Were you listening to my car?”
“The entire parking lot heard your car.”
“It has personality.”
“It has a cry for help.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“At least allow Vick to follow you in case the vehicle fulfills its destiny.”
The tall man near the entrance raised one hand without looking in our direction.
“That’s Vick?”
“He handles security and transportation.”
Vick glanced over. “And roadside assistance, apparently.”
I looked between them. “Do all rich men travel with a comedian?”
Richard stood. “Only the lonely ones.”
His delivery remained dry, yet something in his eyes shifted before he turned away.
That brief glimpse of sadness followed me home.
The next afternoon, my car refused to start.
I sat behind the wheel in the bank parking lot, turning the key while the engine clicked with growing disrespect.
A black sedan rolled to a stop beside me.
Vick lowered his window.
“Mr. Whitmore asked me to arrive early.”
I gathered my purse. “Did he damage my car?”
“He considered it. The car beat him to it.”
I climbed out and called Emma.
“Tell Hank I’m taking lunch.”
“Who’s Hank?”
Our branch manager’s name was Harold.
“Harold. Whatever his name is.”
Emma laughed. “Have fun with Big Rich.”
The name lodged in my head.
Vick drove me to an elegant restaurant downtown where the waitstaff seemed to recognize Richard before he entered. He stood when I approached the table.
His gaze moved over my fitted green dress and lingered for half a second longer than courtesy required.
“You look beautiful.”
“You look wealthy.”
“I am.”
“Good. We both told the truth.”
He pulled out my chair.
The restaurant menu had prices listed without dollar signs, as though money had become too sophisticated for symbols.
I opened the folder Richard had given me.
“We should establish a few things.”
He sat across from me. “I’m listening.”
“This is a business lunch.”
“Of course.”
“You’re paying.”
“Obviously.”
“I plan to order based on appetite rather than affordability.”
“I would feel insulted if you chose otherwise.”
“And I understand what you’re doing.”
Richard rested his forearms on the table. “What am I doing?”
“You want a younger woman.”
“I want you.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know you refused to refund twelve dollars even after learning I could buy the bank.”
“Could you?”
“Yes.”
“That would make my refusal even funnier.”
His eyes warmed.
I continued. “I have four children. A mortgage. A vehicle approaching the gates of glory. Romance has limited value in my current economy.”
“What has value?”
“Security. Opportunity. Money.”