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Impossibly (Dante's Nine MC #1) Page 16
Author: Colleen Masters

I gape at him across the table. Add “daredevil” to the list of things this man happens to be, I guess.

“But enough about my travel habits,” Declan says, leaning his forearms on the table, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Sounds good,” I say, pushing my folder of business plans and projections his way.

Declan takes it up in his hands, pretending to be startled by the weight of it. I smile softly, taken by his sense of humor. He opens the folder and thumbs through the pages, taking stock of my efforts. I expect him skim my plans and offer some vague feedback—if I’m honest, he doesn’t look much like the intellectual type. Not that I mind his looks a bit—I never thought I was one for the bad boy sort, but it’s kind of working for me right now. I just have a hard time believing that the man in front of me is any sort of entrepreneurial genius. How could he be?

“This all looks solid, Kassenia,” he says, reading over my mission statement once again, “You must have done a lot of market research leading up to your initial planning.”

“Oh...” I say, taken aback by his incisive comment, “I guess so.”

“Or was the seed of this idea more experiential?” he presses on.

“I...a little bit of both, I guess,” I stammer. Great, now I look like a dumbass for being surprised by his smarts. I need to get it together, and fast.

“Let me guess,” he smiles, “You weren’t expecting me to roll up on a Harley.”

“Am I that transparent?” I ask, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m used to surprising people,” Declan shrugs, “I’m sorry if I caught you off guard, Kassenia. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sure you were expecting a suit and tie, since this is technically a business meeting and all.”

“Either a suit and tie or boxing gloves,” I say, daring to be playful.

“Ah. So you’ve looked me up,” Declan grins, leaning back in his chair.

“I may have done a little research, sure,” I say, “You can’t blame a girl for being curious. Your ad was not exactly...conventional.”

“I think you’ll find that there are many unconventional things about me,” he replies, “But you know what, Kassenia? I’m guessing that I could say the same about you.”

Our eyes lock across the table, my hands tightening like a vice around my cup. I’m startled, and more than a little turned on, by the intensity that sears between us. If he can do that with just a look, then what can the rest of that body do?

“Can you tell me a little bit about how the idea for your startup came together for you?” Declan asks, moving our interview along at last. His gaze is open and enthusiastic, rather than challenging. He actually wants to hear what I have to say. I’m not sure if I’ve ever experienced that while talking to a man...ever.

“Well,” I begin, collecting myself, “I grew up in a pretty affluent part of the country—Fairfield, Connecticut, to be exact. All of the families in my neighborhood were carefree, when it came to money, until the economic crisis hit. It was startling, watching all of these people’s lives turn upside down. And it wasn’t just my town, of course. The entire country had to relearn what it meant to have to struggle, to prepare for the future.”

“Don’t I know that,” Declan whistles.

“The ideas of saving and retirement have totally changed,” I go on, “But our perception and expectations have remained fixed. So now, there’s this level of shame that goes along with not having enough money to retire at the ‘right’ age. And that embarrassment and insecurity can be...devastating.”

Unbidden, my father’s face swims up in my mind’s eye. The expression he wears is one of weariness, self-pity, hopelessness. I shake the image out of my head before it can overwhelm me. I focus instead on Declan, wanting to push ahead with my pitch.

“It sounds like you have some personal experience with this matter?” Declan asks, gently.

“You could say that,” I reply, not wanting to delve into specifics, “That’s how this idea really got lodged in my mind. How to rejigger methods of saving for retirement to reflect the state of the economy? It occurred to me that crowdfunding could be the answer. After all, friends and families are always chipping in a little monetary help around milestones that occur early in life—birthdays, bar mitzvahs, weddings—why not throw in $10 every year to help fund the important milestone of retirement?”

“I can see the marketing campaign already,” Declan smiles.

“Right,” I say excitedly, “It’s a totally accessible idea. Or at least I think so.”

“I think so too,” Declan says, raising his eyebrows, “That’s why I’m here. I was very impressed by your initial response to my ad, and I have to say that I’m even more impressed having met you in person. You seem like a mature, savvy businessperson. It's a rare quality.”

“I’m glad,” I say, thrilled by his approval. The way he lets his eyes rest on me, I get the feeling that it’s more than just my business prowess he approves of. Despite myself, I lean forward just a hair, letting the neckline of my blouse reveal a little more décolletage. The gesture does not go unnoticed by my potential employer, either.

“Do you have any questions about the internship itself?” Declan goes on, keeping his cool, “I hope you don’t mind that I had to be somewhat vague in the ad. Have to protect myself from being overwhelmed with responses.”

“Not at all,” I say, “Though I’d love to hear more about what the summer would entail.”

“Certainly,” Declan smiles, “Basically, should you sign on for the internship, you’d move to Las Vegas for the summer and develop your startup with me as your mentor. I’m a rather hands-on kind of teacher.”

I wouldn’t mind those hands on me, I think brazenly.

“I’d set you up with a place to stay in my apartment building, right on the strip. Most of the day would be yours to spend how you wish, though I’d require your presence at some networking and professional events. Cocktail parties, fundraisers, social events. Do you gamble at all, Kassenia?”

I hesitate at his question. What’s the correct response here?

“I...uh...enjoy a game of blackjack,” I say carefully.

A rowdy bark of laughter escapes Declan’s throat. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says, “You’d be amazed how much business gets done around a blackjack table.”

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Colleen Masters's Novels
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» Imperfectly (Dante's Nine MC #2)
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