Fashion and retail, Ana had said. Despite the glitzy glamour that surrounded Cal's life, it was an industry he hadn't touched, even in passing, and wasn't particularly knowledgeable in. When she gestured to her own attire, his gaze followed appreciatively. She was certainly fashionable, and looked polished and put together. Not that such a thing would be difficult for a woman like her -- he imagined that with her face, those sapphire eyes and cupid's-bow lips, she could make a t-shirt and basketball shorts look good. If he had his way, he'd like to see her in one of his t-shirts one day, picked up from the pile of clothes they'd left on the floor the previous evening. The corner of his mouth tilted up into a smirk at the thought.

[i]"How can you not be impassioned by the things you do?"[/i]

This question, finally, gave Cal pause. He had no smooth, practiced answer to give her. He contemplated a moment, his gaze burning into hers as if the answer lied there somewhere. "It's not that I lack passion for my work. I'm quite good at what I do, and I put my all into every task. It's more that..." he brought a hand to his chin, rubbing his jaw in thought. "It's all a means to an end. Sure, I could go scoop poop at the humane society and technically be making a difference. And I wouldn't be opposed, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. But I want... more. I wanted to build something, something that would generate enough excess revenue that, beyond the few things I and my companies need to succeed and live comfortably, I could fling at whatever [i]does[/i] impassion me on a given day. My main jobs are more of a side-project that end up funding the things I really care about: Sponsoring adoptions for parents, constructing homeless shelters, or things like the fundraiser gala last night. Does that make sense?"

It was more than he's said about himself all day, and he was rather surprised by his own willingness to talk about his motivations. Even Marcus, his best friend, didn't ask him things like this. The philanthropy portion of his life wasn't some facade to gain public favor -- it was what he'd rather be doing with all of his time. He'd set up foundations, broken ground on shelters, provided schools with supplies. None of it ever felt like enough. 

Taking out evil assholes who preyed on those people felt a lot better. It was one thing to push in the direction of good, to try and cover up for the mistakes of the city and care for those who were born into shitty circumstances, or struck with bad luck. It was another to try and eradicate the things that put them there in the first place. That was much more satisfying.

He was glad for the change of subject when she asked what he did to unwind. "I love to read," he admitted, surprising even himself that he'd started with that. Why he wasn't gushing about spending weekends on yachts and attending fabulous parties, he wasn't sure. "And I'm a bit of a wine-o. I'm hardly ever home, but when I am, you'd easily find me with a glass of cabernet and a trashy novel. They're a bit of a weakness for me." He reddened a bit, looking off a bit distantly with a grin. "I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic, I suppose. And what about you?" He returned his gaze to her, shaking his head as if physically shaking off his own train of thought. "When you're not enthralled in the world of fashion and retail, what occupies your time?"