“And,” Cal prompted.
“And”—Zeke did jazz hands—“you’re going to be a star.”
Chapter Six
Fin was the perfect student. Not only was she captivating, she could act—plus there was that hint of insecurity, the self-doubt that she pushed through, which made her instantly likable. Cal liked her a little too much. A lot too much. He liked the shape of her, the taste of her. He liked that she was restless and impulsive and still wide-eyed about the world. He liked she wasn’t afraid of calling him out.
Zeke liked her, too, once he’d realized Cal wasn’t about to share all their secrets with an outsider. “It’s a long way around to get in a woman’s pants,” he’d said, when they were in the corridor.
“It’s not about that,” Cal had snapped. Regrettably. He wasn’t ready to tell Zeke his ambitions for Fin stretched beyond the obvious challenge of getting her ready to crush her pitch and teaching her the techniques of the confidence game.
He wasn’t ready to admit he might need Fin more than she needed him, or how it had made him feel to get her phone call and then find her waiting in reception, one heel dancing as she tried not to show she felt intimidated.
He didn’t want to intimidate her, he wanted to sprawl on a bed and eat pizza with her, argue over sport, or debate the merits of action movies. And those were the thoughts that were safe to have in the office.
“We need to talk about who you’re going to target,” he said, trying to get his head back on task.
“Anyone with money,” Fin said. “We have a list.”
“Cola isn’t consumed by anyone with a mouth,” Cal said. “Targeting takes work.”
“Cola is mostly drunk by men who drink it out of habit for the sugar high,” said Zeke.
Fin nodded. “I need people with money who already donate to
charity so it’s not a big leap to get them to donate to mine. People who want to feel good about themselves when they donate, who know about D4D, and like what we do and…” She ran out of steam and her mouth twisted in obvious annoyance.
“That’s one way to think about it,” Cal said.
“What’s the other way?”
“The Sherwood way. Your best prospect is someone whose ego you can stroke. On a global scale, very few people give to charity. Surprising, huh,” he said, when Fin’s eyes goggled. “Most charities struggle unless they’re attached to someone high profile like a Bill Gates or a Bono or have a long history like The Red Cross. More to the point, wealthy people establish their own charities, so they can collect tax breaks and avoid being asked to give constantly. Some of it’s legit. Some of it’s a dodge. A lot of it’s about ego.”
“So rich people aren’t my target?”
“They are. You have to find the right rich people.” He stood and slipped his suit coat off and threw it over the next chair, unbuttoned his sleeves and flipped the cuffs back, and then took off his tie and undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt. Fin watched intently and when he sat again, she crossed her eyes and poked her tongue out at him; it made him laugh.
He regretted not taking her to bed, but he needed to keep the lines between them clear. What happened with Rory had reeducated him on the merits of that.
“The right rich people are the ones with money and not-so-obvious imposter syndrome,” he said.
“Imposter syndrome, meaning they’re acting a part?” she said. “Do you mean appearances are deceiving?”
That was a useful interpretation. “We all think we’re unique, and because we know our own inner fears and faults, we tend to think we’re the only one who’s flawed. But we’re all flawed. We’re all uncertain, confused, and afraid.”
“We all have heartaches, secrets, doubts, misgivings.” Zeke looked at Cal and then popped a brow at Fin and said, “Kinks,” making her grin. “We’re programmed from birth to think we’re the only ones who feel unworthy and everyone else is in on the secret to life.”
She shrugged. “I’m lost. I have no idea how I find these insecure, egomaniac, rich people who won’t hide behind their own charity as a tax dodge.”
“Ah, but we do,” said Zeke.
“We’ll lend you some of ours.” Cal stood and picked up the coffee pot and poured for the three of them. “Let’s work on how you hook them.”
Fin picked up her cup and studied it. “Like I’m fishing.
“Exactly, except without an obvious rod or net. You’re trout tickling, catfish noodling.”
She gave a cartoonlike shake of her head. “Are those real things?”