"What do you want to know?"
"Anything. Everything." He leans back slightly in his chair. "You flew across the country to meet a stranger. I'd like to know who you are."
"Shouldn't you have figured that out before you sent the check?"
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Fair point. But I want to hear it from you."
I take another sip of wine, buying time. "I'm not very interesting. I work three jobs, I write stories no one reads, and until a week ago I was drowning in debt."
"And now?"
"Now I'm sitting in a house in Malibu having dinner with someone I don't know, trying to figure out what he wants from me."
"Maybe I don't want anything."
"Everyone wants something."
Phoenix sets his fork down and looks at me directly. "That's a cynical view."
"It's a realistic one. My mother taught me that."
"Your mother sounds like she doesn't trust easily."
"She has her reasons." I don't elaborate. Don't tell him about the wealth she walked away from, the secrets she keeps, the way she's built her entire life around never depending on anyone. "But she's right. People don't give you things without expecting something in return."
"Then let me be clear." Phoenix's voice is steady, calm. "I gave you that money because I wanted to. Because you needed it and I could provide it. There are no strings attached. You don't owe me anything."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because I asked you to come. And you chose to."
The answer is so simple it throws me off. I search his face for signs of deception, manipulation, the things my mother warnedme about. But all I see is that intense focus, like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
"What do you do?" I ask, changing the subject. "For work, I mean. You said your last name is Crawford. Are you related to the investment firm? Crawford Ventures?"
"I own it."
My hand freezes halfway to my wine glass. "You own it?"
"Started it five years ago with family money and some early investments that paid off. We focus on tech startups, mostly. Companies that are trying to do something innovative in artificial intelligence, clean energy, biotech."
He says it so casually, like owning a venture capital firm is no more remarkable than owning a coffee shop. "You must be very successful."
"Successful enough to afford to help people who need it."
There's something in the way he says it that makes heat creep up my neck. Like I'm a charity case. Like I'm one of his investments.
"I'm not a project," I say, sharper than I intended.
"I never said you were."
"You're treating me like one. Bringing me out here, setting all this up." I gesture at the table, the wine, the perfect dinner. "What is this? Some kind of Pretty Woman fantasy?"
Phoenix's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?"
"It's dinner."
