I shouldn't be worried, but I am. Dante waits for me in the living room as I take a shower and get ready. Alone in the bathroom, I consider the job offer.
He really suspects that his boss is taking money from the investors and this would be the way to discover the truth. As a journalist, I'm interested in this angle and I am very excited about the possibility of writing a story of this magnitude: a five million fraud is something that would interest a lot of people.
I know that he needs my help and he's offering to pay for my accommodations if I do end up getting hired, but what would this entail? I've never gone undercover like this before.
I'm a little bit worried, but also excited. With nothing else on the horizon, it gives me something to look forward to.
I get dressed and opt for a short summery black dress to give myself a little bit more class. It's flattering and fits my body nicely.
Dante gives me a wink when I come out, grabbing my hand and pulling me down on top of him.
I love summers.
I love not wearing many clothes and being free with my body. There aren’t layers and layers of stuff to get through.
Dante slowly runs his hand up the small of my back as he pushes me down on top of him.
"These panties are cute," he says, pulling on one part and exposing my butt cheek.
“Yes, I like them. They don't leave a line," I say.
"I can see that. I thought you were going commando underneath there."
"I can't go commando in a dress," I say. "What if it flies up?"
"Exactly. How exciting would that be?" He winks again and I kiss him.
In just a day I feel like I have a boyfriend, someone to joke around with, someone to laugh with, a steady permanent thing that can't be removed from my life.
"So I thought about what you said about Vasko," I say.
He nods, pulling away from me.
"I think I'll do it."
"You will?" His eyes light up.
"Yeah, I think it might be a good opportunity. If they are stealing money from your investors, that shouldn't happen. That's wrong and I'd love to find out the truth."
"That's awesome."
"I mean, of course there are no guarantees that I'll get this job. I haven't heard back from about a million others."
"Yeah, I know. But I'll help you with your resume and we'll try to put together a package that is difficult to turn down."
I lean closer to him, running my finger along the edge of his jaw. "What are you talking about? Put together a package?"
"Well, you know, resumes, cover letters. You got to massage them a little in order to have someone hire you."
"You do?"
"You didn't know that?" he asks.
I shake my head no. "I just put down my experience."
"What about the cover letters?"
"It's kind of a generic form, so I change the name and who it's going to, but pretty much it's the same thing."
"No, no, no, that’s not right.” Dante shakes his head. "Each application needs to be unique. Well, not entirely unique, you can have a template but you have to tailor it to what they say in the job posting. Like if they're asking for a particular type of experience, you highlight that. I'm not saying you lie, but you emphasize."
"Really? Why do I have to do that?" I ask.
"Because most of the time, these applications and cover letters are run through a computer. The computer just looks for keywords, key phrases, and if you don't match up, you don't even go on to the next round with a human resources person."
"Oh my God, that's why I've been getting denied all the time."
"Yeah. Well, at least you knew about changing who the cover letter is addressed to, but there's a little bit more stuff that you have to do to make it work."
Still sitting on top of him, I hesitate, pause, and lose myself in a train of thought.
“So, all of these jobs that I had applied for, maybe I wouldn't have been rejected if I did that."
"Maybe not. That's probably why you haven't been hearing back for any interview requests."
I kind of feel like I should resubmit my applications according to what he said. He senses my hesitation.
"Look, I'm happy to help you with applying again and fixing your cover letters if you want, if you'd prefer to do that."
"What about the situation in Seattle?" I ask.
"That will just have to be how it is."
"Can you not hire someone else for it?"
Dante shakes his head no. "It has to be someone I trust. It's not exactly legal for a private investigator to do something like that. So a friend, a journalist, is a better option, but I understand if you're not into it."
"No, I didn't say that," I say, getting off of him and sitting up. "Let me think about it."
"Sure."
On the drive over to his house where Marguerite and Lincoln invited us to have dinner, he brings up something that I don't find particularly funny.
"You know, you technically owe me a very big favor."
"I do?" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I did pay for your mom's treatment, so you have this debt. I would say that you owe me a favor in return."
The tone of his voice is joking, but I find it anything but that.
"If you're trying to be funny, you need to stop," I snap.
"What? You don't agree?"
"Of course, I don't agree."
"Okay, sorry." He turns up the radio, but I turn it back down.
"You know, you had no right to say something like that. That puts me in a terrible position."
"I was just joking."
"Yeah, but you're not, you know? You need a favor back and you did this huge favor to me, so now you're thinking, 'Why can't she just return it?' But this is my job. This is my career. I mean, if I take this, if I even accepted to take this position, then I lose six months, nine months of my life working and doing things that are not going to help my career."
"And what if you can write a story about it?" Dante asks, pulling into the driveway.
"Yes, if it's a story and it's printed by Vanity Fair and the New York Times and blah, blah, blah. Yes, of course, that helps. But what are the chances of that, even if I do find out that there's fraud?"
"Your chances are pretty good," he says, turning off the engine and turning to face me.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask.
"This is a big account. We are a prominent company at the top of what they do. If there's this kind of fraud, a lot of people would want to know. Wall Street Journal being at the top of that list. This could be a huge investigation."
"And if they’re not committing fraud?" I ask.
"Then yes, you theoretically waste six, eight months of your life in the Pacific Northwest and there's nothing I can do about it."
I nod and get out of the car.
A little breeze comes off the ocean and I smell the salt in the air. We ring the doorbell and Marguerite answers wearing an apron around her protruding belly.
She looks stunning in her velvet pumps and a Lilly Pulitzer dress. Her hair is pulled up in a chignon. She welcomes us inside while Lincoln hands us glasses of wine.