Dolly growls. I respect that. I lead Karina to my truck, a black F-150 that's seen better days but runs like a dream.
“No motorcycle?” she asks.
“Figured you might not want to climb on a bike.” I open the passenger door for her. “Didn't want to make assumptions.”
Her cheeks flush. “That's... really thoughtful.”
Is that disappointment I can sense? Maybe she wanted a ride. I’ll get a prospect to drop my bike at Casputo's so I can take her home on it, assuming she's willing.
I take her to Casputo's, a quiet Italian place tucked into a side street a couple of towns over in Bellford. Red checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, and the smell of garlic and fresh bread. Not my usual scene, but I figured she'd like it.
From the way her face lights up when we walk in, I figured it right.
“This place is adorable,” she says as I pull out her chair. “How did you find it?”
“I know people.”
She laughs, her face brightening. We order and I start asking questions; just a guy getting to know the charity he's volunteered to help.
“How long have you worked for Hearts United?”
“About three months.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Ty hired me right after I moved back to the area. I was temping, feeling pretty lost, and he took a chance on me.”
“That was generous of him.”
“Right?” Her eyes go soft. “No one else would give me a real opportunity. My family thinks I'm flaky, and my resume is... eclectic. But Ty saw something in me.”
I'll bet he did. A trusting, hardworking woman desperate to prove herself: the perfect mark.
“How does the charity work?” I keep my voice casual. “Donations go through you?”
“No, Ty handles all the financial stuff. I'm just the event coordinator.” She waves a hand. “I don't have a head for numbers. Ty says it's better to keep things streamlined.”
Red flag number one.
“And the donors? You work with them directly?”
“Ty handles the big donors. I do community outreach, local businesses, that kind of thing.” She smiles. “He's really protective of the donor relationships. Says it takes years to build trust.”
Red flag number two.
“Have you met any of the major donors?”
She pauses, bread halfway to her mouth. “Now that you mention it... no. Ty always meets with them privately. He says they prefer discretion.” A tiny crease forms between her brows. “Why all the questions?”
Because your boss is a con artist who's setting you up to take the fall, and soon you're going to be the face of a fraud investigation while he disappears with the money.
“Trying to understand the organization,” I say. “If my club's involved, I like to know how things work.”
The crease smooths out. “That makes sense. You seem like a details guy.”
“Something like that.”
Our food arrives. She moans at the first bite of carbonara, a soft, appreciative sound that goes straight to my cock. I focus very hard on cutting my steak.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Go ahead.”
