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“Donate it,” she says without missing a beat.
I laugh. “And I bet you anything, he knows that. So take this money now, set yourself and others up for success so that when you get a much larger inheritance from him someday, you can donate every damn penny if you want.”
I can see the wheels turning. “Honestly, I get that he wants me to set myself up for success, but I also know that I can easily do that with half of this trust. What I would love to do more than anything is set up my own nonprofit. One that would pay the people who work there actual livable wages.” Her eyes light up as she talks.
“You know, when I was waiting tables through grad school, I interviewed at this organization for inner city kids that ended up offering me my dream job, but I couldn’t take it because it would have been a fifty percent pay cut from being a waitress which was already scraping the bottom of the barrel with my school schedule and they didn’t offer health insurance. It broke my heart.”
I reach out and grab her hand, intertwining our fingers together.
“Imagine getting that offer now. You could take that job and not worry about anything because you have the money in savings to do so.”
“But I’ll never burn through fifty million; I just won’t. Even with inflation and buying a house, I prefer to live small.”
“I understand, but hear me out. I agree with your father in this sense. Keep even a fifth of that money for yourself. You can work with a financial advisor to find the best investments for you; maybe that’s just the stock market or a mix of real estate. And the rest, you can easily donate several million to different existing nonprofits and then use part of it to help startups. There’s a ton of young entrepreneurs out there who are dying to change the world for the better, but they just don’t have the capital or know the right investors.”
Her eyes light up and a smile spreads across her face.
“Imagine meeting young people like you who have innovative ideas that could help others, benefit our community and our planet, feed and clothe the homeless, help animals, or whatever it might be, and you could cut them a check to make that dream a reality all while collecting a dividend check every quarter when they become profitable. Or someday even cashing out your shares if you need to. In the meantime, you can create that nonprofit you want and start building it up.”
“See, this is why I knew I wanted to talk to you about this. You get it.”
“I don’t know about that but I’m happy to offer any input and listen as you talk through things.”
She nudges my shoulder. “This is why I like you so much.” She smiles and I feel that butterfly in my stomach again.
“Yeah? You like me?”
“Mm-hmm. We’re like-minded.” She points at her eyes, her fingers in a V before pointing them toward mine.
The air hangs heavy between us. I think we’re flirting; it certainly feels like it and I like it. In my past relationships or flings, there were never these kinds of moments. Moments that aren’t overtly sexual but feel more intimate than any physical interaction we’ve had.
“I appreciate your honesty and feedback tonight. Means a lot that I can trust you.”
“You trust me?” I can’t hide the smile on my face.
“I do,” she says and our eyes lock. “Hey…” She hesitates as if she’s second-guessing what she’s about to say.
“Yes?”
“Would you be willing to talk to my dad with me about all this—what we talked about with the trust?”
“Of course.” I smile.
I can feel the rhythm of my breathing increasing as she leans in a little closer to me and the tension builds.
“It’s getting late.” Brontë’s words are barely above a whisper as her gaze falls from my eyes to my lips.
“Yes, it is,” I murmur, reaching my hand out to run my thumb over her plump bottom lip. “You better get home before the big bad wolf eats you alive.”
She giggles, her tongue darting out and touching the tip of my thumb, sending a bolt of electricity to my cock. In an instant, my desires go from flirty and partly chivalrous to downright filthy and possessive.
“I should walk you to the elevator right now.”
“Or what?”
“I shouldn’t say it; it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Why not? We’re not at work.” I intake a sharp breath as her tongue grazes my thumb again, this time on purpose.
