“Alan Bennet,” he answered finally, proffering a smile and shaking my hand. “VP of Production for Smythe. How do you do?”

“So this is your office,” I said, wondering what kind of man kept a photo of himself on display on his own desk.

“Yes,” he said. “I was just out running some errands. Bank, post office, things like that.”

I nodded, explaining that Gwen had offered me the room while he was out, but that as soon as my printer was finished I would be able to get out of his way.

“No hurry,” he insisted, gesturing for me to take a seat again behind his desk. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his door then came and sat across from me, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his cuffs, flashing me a sudden grin in a manner that suggested instant intimacy. Somewhat disquieted, I averted my eyes. I’d been a widow for three years, and I was not at all comfortable with the rhythms of casual flirtation.

“I take it you’re here on business?” he asked, glancing toward the printer. There was something a little too aggressive about the man, and I was glad suddenly that my printer pages came out from the machine in a face-down position.

“I’m here meeting with Mr. Smythe,” I said evasively.

“For Feed the Need business or Smythe Incorporated?”

I felt strangely reluctant to answer his questions. As an experienced “snoop,” I always hated when someone tried to turn the tables on me. I ignored his question, changing the subject.

“VP of Production, huh?” I said. “I imagine you travel a lot.”

“A fair amount,” he replied. “But I don’t mind. It’s an exciting job, full of—”

We were interrupted by a knock, and then a young woman stepped into the room, looking toward Alan Bennet adoringly. I recognized her from the Feed the Need office next door.

“I’ve got the budgets for Haiti and the D.R. that you asked for,” she said, holding out a small stack of papers. He took the papers from her and asked her some questions about them, the woman smiling shyly at him as they spoke. He was stunningly handsome, I’d give him that. But with his blond hair, bulging biceps, and model-perfect jaw line, he wasn’t at all my type. I preferred the quiet, understated good looks of my late husband, Bryan. He was the kind of man you didn’t double take on the street for, but when you looked into his eyes and listened to him speak, you knew he was good-looking through and through.

“Sorry about that,” Alan said after she left. “I’ve been helping out with Feed the Need’s finance department. Their CFO’s on maternity leave.”

I was surprised, thinking again of the blurry line between these two ventures. It was bad enough that they already shared a building and a brochure. Crossing over to share fiscal responsibilities was really pushing it!

“Nonprofit accounting is quite different from regular accounting, isn’t it?” I asked evenly.