“What are you doing?”
“Going straight to the source. Financier dot com.” She presses search and, lo and behold, a website pops up.
Huh, that almost seems too convenient.
She clicks on it and we are inundated with pictures of men. “Holy moly, look at this.” She turns the tablet toward me and I blink a few times, trying to focus my eyes, the margarita making it more difficult. “Look at all these men looking to invest.”
I take the tablet from her and swipe to the left, scrolling as best as I can through the cracks. “Why does it show their age?”
“Probably to let you know if they’re young and aggressive or older and experienced. Both positives for a financier.” She takes the tablet back. “Look at this guy.” She clicks on an older manwith salt-and-pepper hair, holding a small dog. “Looking for commitment, must love dogs, and works in tech. There is big money in tech.”
“Why would a financier be looking for someone who likes dogs?”
Aunt Kitty scoffs. “Please, you’re not going to go into business with someone who doesn’t share the same interests as you.” She taps the side of her head. “Think, Renley.” She continues to scroll through the onslaught of men. Goodness, there are a lot of guys looking to invest. Where are all the women entrepreneurs out there? Surely they should be here. “Ooh, this guy owns his own food truck. I bet he’s looking to expand into different cuisines. He’s a contender.”
“How is he a contender?”
“Candy is a cuisine.”
“I think you’re confusing what the word ‘cuisine’ means.”
Aunt Kitty shakes her head. “No, I’ve never been clearer. Ugh, gross, not this guy. He has a picture of a cat on his shirt.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.
“No serious investor is going to wear a shirt with a picture of a cat in his profile picture. I bet he’s surfing for good ideas to steal as his own. You’re a no, Sebastian, go poach someone else’s idea.”
I lean my head against the back of the couch and say, “I don’t think this is a very good idea. We don’t know these people; they could be criminals.”
“No, this website conducts background checks. Says in the top corner. These are certified financiers. We just need to find the right match for us.” She spends some time scrolling through, making comments here and there about the different men that are popping up. “Depressing that they’re all men. Wouldn’t it be nice to see a Lori Greiner on here?”
“Who is that?”
“FromShark Tank. Honestly, Renley. You claim to know things but it’s as if you were raised in a briar patch—oh…oh, I think I found our man.”
I glance over at the tablet, where there’s a picture of a guy on the fractured screen, wearing a suit while tugging on his curly brown hair. Long legs, square, broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and a carved jaw peppered in scruff that almost seems illegal to look at. He looks more like a model than someone looking to invest.
Or it’s a fake profile picture.
“He’s British, which is a plus?—”
“Why is that a plus?”
“Because Cadbury was created in the United Kingdom, and if I know anything, I know that Cadbury will capture the attention of any red-blooded tastebud, and we need that kind of experience for our candy store.”
Are tastebuds red-blooded?
“Does it say he works for Cadbury?”
“No, but it does say that he likes sucking on cherries.”
“That’s an odd thing for a financier to say.”
“Not if they’re looking to be in the food business. Oh, and look, says he wants a solid twenty years of commitment, nothing less.” Aunt Kitty nudges me. “Marjorie can take her three months, chew on it, and preferably choke.”
“Twenty years, wow, that’s long.”
“Twenty years of committed business sounds like a winner to me. Not to mention, he loves a long-lasting merger, and this says he can go all night. That’s what you want in an investor, someone who burns the midnight oil.”
