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“I’m grateful to have it, and for your help in that too.”
“It’s just down to our plans aligning.”
“Honestly, Troy. I’ll never forget the stress of the math not mathing, how one bill seems to turn into five, and that sinking feeling when the rent is due but your paycheck hasn’t cleared. I want to help others navigate their way out of that kind of existence, like you do with your company.”
“But I do it to make a shit ton of money.”
“You’re still helping, just in your own way.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Cut yourself some slack. You’ve only been a billionaire about a minute.”
“On paper.” His lips quirk, and I try to harden my heart to the sight. “Out with it. You’re obviously gearing up to something.”
“Suspicious much?” I demand, pressing my hand to my chest. Then realize the movement shows a whole lot of side boob, so I drop down again.
“Clara.”
“All right. I want you for your contacts.”
“Speak.”
“Okay, Don Templeton, bestie of Benny the Brick and . . . Jimmy the Fish.”
“Clara.” For a minute, I think he might be about to deliver a lecture. Or a smack to my butt. I know which I’d prefer.
“This wasn’t a conversation I imagined having in bed, but . . .” Deep breath, here goes. Two feet. Jump on in. “I don’t want to host galas. I want to put systems in place. I want to provide emergency funds to help people—women—out of bad situations. I want to offer legal help to fight unfair contracts and give access to tools that teach people financial literacy. I want to help ordinary people get on in life instead of just feeling exhausted all the damned time.”
He exhales slowly. “Okay. I can see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“I’ve done better than that. I’ve lived it,” I say. “And so have you. Being poor makes desperate people invisible.”
“You’re gonna need a lot of money.” A silence falls, but it doesn’t feel wrong. “You’ll want leverage, not applause. That sounds like an impact fund.”
“I’d thought that would be the way to go, but I have no idea where to start.”
“I’ll help. Help set it up.”
“Really?”
“I can make a start. Introduce you to potential like-minded donors, people who care about outcomes over invitations. And you’ll need a board. One that sings from your hymn sheet and stays actively involved, in both the financial returns but also the impact that money makes. I can think of a few names already. I’ll set up some meetings. Do you wanna run this yourself?”
“Yes—if I can learn on the job. I mean, I have a little experience after working in the family office.”
“It’ll help.”
My heart feels like it has wings. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing,” he replies without hesitation. “No need to.” His hand lies still at the base of my spine. A boundary, I guess. Will he respect it? And if he doesn’t, do I have the strength to put up a fight? His thumb begins to move in a light caress.
“We shouldn’t tempt fate,” I say lightly.
“Shame,” he says. “I was gonna suggest we start tomorrow. You know, like a diet.”
“What?”
“No one starts a new diet on Sunday, Clara.”
