He’s just a good-looking man, I chide myself, as Declan walks my way. The most good-looking, interesting, exciting man I’ve ever encountered in my life, that is...
“Kassenia Bennett?” he asks, coming to a stop before my table. His voice is rich and smoky—like dark chocolate and good whiskey.
“That’s me,” I manage to reply, holding my hand out for him to shake.
“I’m Declan Tiberi,” he says, closing his fingers around mine, “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”
Sensation roars along my nerve endings, shooting up my arm from where his skin meets mine. As gently as I can, I remove my hand from his—fearing that I might catch fire if I go on touching him any longer. I run a hand over my elegant up do, hoping that he can’t see my heart beating like a hammer through my chest. For his part, Declan seems cool and composed, all easy confidence and charisma. I notice quite a few sets of eyes swing his way around the room, male and female alike. It’s hard not to take notice of so striking a man as Declan Tiberi.
“This is a pretty charming town,” he says, amiably, setting his cut frame into the chair across from mine, “Not quite as exciting as Vegas, to be fair, but what is?”
I remember suddenly that Declan’s traveled all the way from Nevada for this meeting. But how can that be possible if he came by motorcycle?
“You must be exhausted, having come from Vegas,” I say.
“Not really,” he shrugs, “I made good time.”
“Isn’t it an eight hour drive from there?” I ask, “You must have set off at five, or—”
“I shaved a couple hours off the trip,” he grins, “What can I say? I like to drive fast.”
I gape at him across the table. Add “daredevil” to the list of things this man happens to be, I guess.
“But enough about my travel habits,” Declan says, leaning his forearms on the table, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Sounds good,” I say, pushing my folder of business plans and projections his way.
Declan takes it up in his hands, pretending to be startled by the weight of it. I smile softly, taken by his sense of humor. He opens the folder and thumbs through the pages, taking stock of my efforts. I expect him skim my plans and offer some vague feedback—if I’m honest, he doesn’t look much like the intellectual type. Not that I mind his looks a bit—I never thought I was one for the bad boy sort, but it’s kind of working for me right now. I just have a hard time believing that the man in front of me is any sort of entrepreneurial genius. How could he be?
“This all looks solid, Kassenia,” he says, reading over my mission statement once again, “You must have done a lot of market research leading up to your initial planning.”
“Oh...” I say, taken aback by his incisive comment, “I guess so.”
“Or was the seed of this idea more experiential?” he presses on.
“I...a little bit of both, I guess,” I stammer. Great, now I look like a dumbass for being surprised by his smarts. I need to get it together, and fast.
“Let me guess,” he smiles, “You weren’t expecting me to roll up on a Harley.”
“Am I that transparent?” I ask, smiling sheepishly.
“I’m used to surprising people,” Declan shrugs, “I’m sorry if I caught you off guard, Kassenia. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sure you were expecting a suit and tie, since this is technically a business meeting and all.”
“Either a suit and tie or boxing gloves,” I say, daring to be playful.
“Ah. So you’ve looked me up,” Declan grins, leaning back in his chair.
“I may have done a little research, sure,” I say, “You can’t blame a girl for being curious. Your ad was not exactly...conventional.”
“I think you’ll find that there are many unconventional things about me,” he replies, “But you know what, Kassenia? I’m guessing that I could say the same about you.”
Our eyes lock across the table, my hands tightening like a vice around my cup. I’m startled, and more than a little turned on, by the intensity that sears between us. If he can do that with just a look, then what can the rest of that body do?
“Can you tell me a little bit about how the idea for your startup came together for you?” Declan asks, moving our interview along at last. His gaze is open and enthusiastic, rather than challenging. He actually wants to hear what I have to say. I’m not sure if I’ve ever experienced that while talking to a man...ever.
“Well,” I begin, collecting myself, “I grew up in a pretty affluent part of the country—Fairfield, Connecticut, to be exact. All of the families in my neighborhood were carefree, when it came to money, until the economic crisis hit. It was startling, watching all of these people’s lives turn upside down. And it wasn’t just my town, of course. The entire country had to relearn what it meant to have to struggle, to prepare for the future.”
“Don’t I know that,” Declan whistles.
“The ideas of saving and retirement have totally changed,” I go on, “But our perception and expectations have remained fixed. So now, there’s this level of shame that goes along with not having enough money to retire at the ‘right’ age. And that embarrassment and insecurity can be...devastating.”
Unbidden, my father’s face swims up in my mind’s eye. The expression he wears is one of weariness, self-pity, hopelessness. I shake the image out of my head before it can overwhelm me. I focus instead on Declan, wanting to push ahead with my pitch.
“It sounds like you have some personal experience with this matter?” Declan asks, gently.
“You could say that,” I reply, not wanting to delve into specifics, “That’s how this idea really got lodged in my mind. How to rejigger methods of saving for retirement to reflect the state of the economy? It occurred to me that crowdfunding could be the answer. After all, friends and families are always chipping in a little monetary help around milestones that occur early in life—birthdays, bar mitzvahs, weddings—why not throw in $10 every year to help fund the important milestone of retirement?”
“I can see the marketing campaign already,” Declan smiles.
“Right,” I say excitedly, “It’s a totally accessible idea. Or at least I think so.”