30 million.

That’s how many dollars whoever in Carter Jeffries is stealing from me has taken so far. They’ve been quiet. They’ve been sneaky. And they’ve been very, very careful.

But they don’t know who they’re fucking with. Just because I live in a rarefied world of money doesn’t mean that I’ve lost touch with the world. I’m a shark. I know when there’s blood. I can take a scent. And then stalk my prey. Until I catch them and tear them limb from limb.

Right, sorry for getting carried away, but I get upset, I hope you understand. I have billions of dollars and 30 million isn’t that much in the big scheme of things. But being taken from me means that it can't be used in other operations. That’s the salary that could go toward many people who come look to me for jobs. That’s health insurance money. That’s retirement money.

What I’m trying to say is that money isn’t just mine. It’s money I would have spent that would have directly helped another person’s livelihood.

But like I said, I'm tracking it down based on the scent.

And I think I’ve found it.

All I need to do now is wait. Control myself from jumping in and letting my emotions run my judgment and just wait.

Four.

That’s how many weeks Alicia and I have been dating. When I first told her I didn’t do the whole boyfriend thing, I was telling the truth. I’m a mid-thirties self-involved, intelligent, good-looking, hard working loner. My sexual tastes border on the voracious. No woman has ever been able to keep up.

Except Alicia.

She seems to find it amusing in tempting me and then resisting just long enough to make it exciting for both of us.

Like the other day. It was a weekend so she was spending the night at my place. I was in the living room reading some reports when she walked by toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. Normally, this isn’t something that can cause me to lose focus, but she walked by in black stockings, a black lace thong, and a matching bra. She walked slowly, swaying her hips. I noticed. My cock began to twitch and I pretended to busy myself in my reports until she began to head back.

But here is where her innocence and naïveté show through.

Instead of walking by nonchalantly, she peeked around the wall dividing the kitchen and living room.

Directly into my gaze.

“What are you doing peeking out here?” I asked her sternly.

She literally squeaked. I can’t lie. My cock instantly turned to granite and I could almost feel my fucking boxer briefs rip as my 12 inches began to poke out.

“Noooothiiing…” Alicia said, pretending to be normal. “Just thought I heard a noise.”

This was too much to bear and I got up, my cock tenting toward her. Despite the fact that there have been numerous times prior to that where she touched it, held it, tasted it, and fucked it, her eyes still went wide.

“Is this what you want to see?” I asked her. “You wanted to tease me?”

That’s when she found an inner boldness that first drew me to her. When she nestled her ass against me.

She walked out completely from the kitchen.

“Is this what you want to see?” she asked me.

Gone was the innocent look. In its place was a slattern look in her eyes, as she let her desires consume her.

I don’t think we put clothes on the rest of the day.

Five.

That’s how many more times Alicia has asked me questions or pointedly made references to myself being connected to unorthodox banking.

“So you don’t know any bankers in North Korea?” Alicia asked me the other day as we were making a stir-fry.

It’s a pretty fucking strange question.

“No,” I said to her. “I know bankers in all countries, but none in North Korea.”

“And you don’t do any business in Iran?” she asked, her questions becoming more and more brazen, no longer poking around surgically.

“No one from the US is allowed to do business there,” I said to her.

“And it’s not one of those wink and nod kinda things, right?” she asked.

“No, it’s not, and what is this about?” I asked her. “Is this about work? These are the investment strategies you’re going to recommend? Invest in North Korea?”

But Alicia just stuck her tongue out at me. “Can’t a girl ask her guy a few questions so she can answer her mom when she calls and asks oh who is this guy you’re dating?”

“Is your mother going to ask if I’m an international terrorist with money laundering operations in countries that are sanctioned by the US?” I ask back.

But Alicia has a trump card that she uses to shut me up.

She takes off her shirt and presses herself against me.

Sometimes it’s wise to just pick your battles and know when to give up.

Three.

That’s how many days ago I finally told Alicia how I felt about her.

“Do you like Brussels sprouts?” she asked me as we walked through Central Park toward One57 where I live.

“I like Broccoli,” I replied as we navigated the joggers and bikers. We had gone out to play tennis in the Central Park courts and decided to casually stroll back.

“I don’t think I can be with a guy who doesn't like vegetables as healthy as Brussels sprouts,” Alicia teased, sticking her tongue out at me.

“I like them just fine,” I replied, not sure where her banter was going. “I really don't spend time thinking about them.”

We walked in silence for a while before she asked again. “What about brown rice?”

I looked at her.

“Do you like brown rice or does it have to be white rice?” she asked me. I raised my eyebrows at her. “Just answer me, babe. Please.”

“I’m indifferent,” I replied, entirely confused.

“It’s important,” she continued.

I stopped walking and turned to her.

“Why?” I asked.

There was a moment of silence on her part. She was hesitating.

I pulled her close to me, and her head came to nestle on my chest. “Tell me why it matters,” I asked her.

She looked up at me. “I’m just thinking about all the things I like, and seeing if you like them, because if you don’t then I need to figure out how to still enjoy them in case … you know,” she said and it finally dawned on me.

Alicia was envisioning a future. With me.

The cold, successful loner had not just gotten himself a girlfriend.

I now felt happy thinking of this girl thinking about me in the long term.

But there was something that needed to be said on my part.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Alicia,” I said to her gravely. “And it’s more important than brown rice. I think we need to sit down.”

I guided her to a bench as her face began to grow fearful for a second. This was New York City. Stories abound every weekend of women who believe they have a future with their significant other only to realize he has a wife and family in Kansas City.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I need to tell you something important,” I said, looking down.

“Please tell me,” she said, anxious and breathless.

Almost too much fun.

“I guess, I mean,” I began and I could see the look of impatience on Alicia’s face as she probably waited for me to tell her I was married and my wife lived in Vail. “It’s just that if we’re going to talk about brown rice and Brussels sprouts then I should tell you that … I love you, Alicia Sullivan.”

For a moment, Alicia looked at me with puzzlement. Then delight. And then happiness, satisfaction, and love.

The weather was perfect and it was only 11 am in the morning. A perfect day in a perfect park in the perfect city with the perfect girl.

“Oh my God Derek Lowell,” Alicia said, a broad smile lighting up her face. “I love you so much!”

She brought herself forward and wrapped her arms around me as we kissed for a long moment on the park bench.

When we finally disengaged she looked at me and wrinkled her nose. “And if you ever do something like that again to scare me, I’ll … break both your arms!”

I laughed. We had talked earlier of going to Paris and she had told me she really wanted to see the Venus de Milo more than anything else.

Eventually we began to walk back to my apartment.

“So, do you like your oysters raw or fried?” I found myself asking her.

Yes. I was really in love.

Let's hope she stayed in love with me after this was all over.