Page 87 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“Yes. Employment schemes, mail-order bride schemes, student scams where kids end up working as slaves for years to pay for their so-called training. Immigration scams.”
“This is happening all over the world all the time? How do you keep from getting crushed by the enormity of it?”
I didn't.I couldn't.That was the problem. “Knowing you might lose a war doesn’t mean you stop fighting each individual battle. How can you?”
He studied me. “And you do this because you have a particular skill for connecting dots?”
I flushed. “I’m not the only one. Thousands of people do what I do every day.”
“A lot of them do it on behalf of government, I’ll bet.”
“Gathering actionable intelligence in the war on terrorism or drug trafficking is theoretically the same job, yes. It’s not rocket science. It’s boring for the most part. Then you find the thread…”
“You’ve worked exclusively in the area of human trafficking?”
“That’s right,” I said dryly. “I positioned myself where the big bucks aren’t.”
“Hm.” He tapped a pen on the table. “Do you really think this is your best recruiting speech?”
“What?” I sat back in surprise. My face got hot. “No, I’m not—I don’t—”
He laughed. “Settle down. God, you’re weird sometimes.”
“I develop potential donors too, but that’s not what I’m doing here.”
“Penniless waiters need not apply?”
“That's not—"
“It’s just that while you were talking, I realized I could probably contribute, given my education, which as you pointed out, is financial in nature.”
“But isn’t your area of expertise about theoretical mathematical modeling in the business sector?”
“Potato, potahto.” He leaned forward and took my hand. “Seriously, Ryan. If you ever need an extra pair of eyes, or hands, or whatever, I’ll do anything I can to help you put these motherfuckers away.”
“That’s very generous.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got some free time since I’m taking this adulting thing slowly.”
“But your parents are furious that you’re not using your degrees.”
“We made a deal after I graduated. I have time to figure out what I want to do. Plus, Grandma still believes in me, and she’s no pushover.”
“Well, since you so graciously offered me your help, if there’s ever anything you think I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Mm. I’ll probably be able to come up with something.” He gave me the bedroom eyes.
We finished breakfast while basking in the sunlight that filtered into the kitchen. I felt right at home, already attuned to the rhythm of the town and the scent of the ocean on the breeze. Unlike Santa Barbara with its ostentatious hotels and many upscale boutiques and restaurants, Santo Ignacio was a quiet kind of paradise—a legitimately peaceful place to take the time to think things over.
In Santo Ignacio, I could stay where I was and mark the sun’s passage across the sky. I could go out to catch the sunset and walk along the beach with the locals, kids, and dogs. I could be as alone as I wanted or surround myself with friends.
“What are we doing today?” Epic stretched dramatically, allowing his lean body to arch off the chair with his robe open.
“What would you like to do?”
He wrinkled his nose. “We should get your car back. Want to take a walk?”
“Sure.”
