Chapter 13 - THE FIRST DATE WITH NO BODYGUARDS
Our first date happened ten months after the gala.
Not at the Continental.
I refused.
We went to a small Italian restaurant in Brooklyn.
No private room.
No visible bodyguards.
Although I suspected Luca—the driver Larkin claimed was “just nearby”—sat somewhere outside.
I let that battle wait.
Larkin looked uncomfortable in a normal restaurant.
I enjoyed that.
“You’re judging the table.”
“It wobbles.”
“Survive.”
He adjusted the sugar packet beneath one leg.
Problem solved.
We talked.
Not about Thomas.
Not investigations.
Not money.
At first.
Then I asked:
“Why did you really hire me?”
He looked surprised.
“Three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“You had the highest accounting exam score in the applicant pool.”
“That’s boring.”
“You also corrected my CFO during the interview.”
I remembered.
He had misclassified a liability.
I thought I lost the job.
“You liked that?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“I remembered it.”
Then:
“Why did you stay?”
The question was harder.
“Debt.”
“Only?”
“No.”
I looked down.
“Fear.”
He waited.
“I knew enough to understand leaving suddenly might be noticed.”
His expression changed.
That hurt him.
Good.
He needed to know.
“I built my whole personality at work around not attracting attention.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You noticed the quiet version. You didn’t notice why she existed.”
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
Then he said:
“I liked you before the gala.”
I almost laughed.
“You had a strange method.”
“I didn’t say I handled it well.”
“How long?”
“About a year.”
That surprised me.
“Why never say anything?”
“You were my employee.”
Good answer.
“Also?”
“I assumed you were terrified of me.”
Also correct.
“And now?”
“I think you’re selectively unimpressed.”
I smiled.
“Accurate.”
Dinner ended.
No kiss.
He walked me to my car.
“Can I see you again?”
I stared.
The feared Larkin Steves asking.
Not ordering.
“Maybe.”
He accepted that.
Two days later, federal prosecutors announced several plea agreements.
Thomas faced serious charges tied to identity fraud, money laundering, conspiracy, and false statements.
Marissa cooperated.
Ethan returned from London and entered separate proceedings related to financial conspiracy.
Larkin’s own case remained.
He told me before the news did.
“I may plead.”
I looked at him.
“To what?”
“Financial conspiracy.”
My stomach tightened.
“Prison?”
“Possible.”
There it was.
No billionaire immunity fantasy.
No magical clean slate.
He had committed crimes.
If we were building anything real, that mattered.
“How long?”
“Unknown.”
I sat quietly.
Then he said:
“You should walk away.”
I almost smiled.
“There’s the old habit.”
“What?”
“Deciding for me.”
His face changed.
I continued:
“I may walk away.”
He nodded.
“But I decide when.”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then:
“If you go to prison, I am not waiting like some tragic mafia bride.”
“I would never ask.”
“Good.”
“I also wouldn’t expect you to stop living.”
“Better.”
He looked almost relieved.
That worried me.
“Do not turn this into noble sacrifice.”
He laughed.
“Impossible with you.”
Then his phone rang.
Attorney.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Thomas wants to testify about you.”
I frowned.
“Again?”
“He claims the gala dress was purchased with criminal funds.”
I stared.
Then started laughing.
Hard.
Larkin looked confused.
I opened my banking app.
Showed the transfer.
$5,000 from my own emergency savings.
Receipt.
Debit card.
Boutique.
Hair.
Everything.
Thomas’s final dramatic allegation was defeated by the most ordinary evidence imaginable.
May you like
My own money.
The five thousand dollars I spent to stop hiding.
