I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the heartfelt and endlessly awkward confession of romantic allegiance that one of my customers was currently delivering. Would he notice if I stealthily put my headphones on?
On a normal day, I let men down easy. An 8-hour shift at the bank immediately following 48 hours of no sleep and two very difficult midterms does not constitute a normal day. I squinted at the gentleman in front of me, who seemed mesmerized by the palms of his hands based on the way he was staring at them. Mitch? Mark?
“And, you know, I come here, like, every day at the same time because, you know, like, that’s when your shift is,” he was mumbling, eyes firmly on his palm. “Sometimes I, like, just come and deposit some cash only to withdraw it the very next day for no other reason than to see you.”
Really? I could have never guessed. It’s pretty normal for people around here to make daily deposits and withdrawals of exactly $200 without fail for a whole month. Moron.
“Listen,” I said finally. He looked up and made eye contact just for a split second—long enough for me to notice the droplets on his horn-rimmed glasses. Sweat? Oh God. “I am really flattered but-”
“But girls like you don’t go out with guys like me.” I could almost hear the whimper in his voice now. “I get it.”
Shit.
“No, no, no, no! I’m engaged,” I blurted without thinking. “To – to…” Surveying the room frantically, I pointed at the only logical direction, cringing with fear and embarrassment at the thought that this interaction might have an audience. “To him. My boss. He is very possessive, so you should be careful. He owns the bank and he is well-connected. If he learns of this, he has the power to ruin your credit, and believe me, he will do it. You should find a different branch to go to from now on to be safe – switch banks if you have to! It’s in your best interest.”
The man I was pointing at flashed a crooked smile, his eyes firmly rested on his computer, and I felt my chest fall. Don’t be silly Aria, there is no way he can hear you. He was at least 50 feet across the hall, inside his office,
behind a solid glass door. He would have to have superhuman hearing abilities to be able to hear this conversation. Although, it would hardly surprise me if he did possess such a skill; almost everything about Zayden Sinclair was a notch above the average human.
At 32, he was the owner and CEO of the Southern National Bank empire, but you didn’t need to know about his economic stature to feel the power that he exuded through sheer physical presence. He had the tendency to command the attention of anybody within a 5-mile radius without so much as saying a word. Women of all ages gravitated towards him, and his dashing looks and defined physique were only partially responsible for the effect. In fact, dashing did not begin to accurately describe his rare combination of piercing blue eyes, perfectly chiseled jawline, and dark, wavy hair straight out of a men’s shampoo commercial. Sometimes I could swear I saw his six-pack defined through his shirt, or even his sweater. Maybe my imagination interfered at that point.
And my imagination is where Zayden’s shirtless body should remain. I had seen too many girls f
all prey to his charms and had no interest in losing the job that kept me in college just because I couldn’t control the desire to touch whatever was underneath that shirt. This branch went through tellers faster than the days of the week, and I wasn’t going to become a number in the statistical chart of Zayden’s conquests.
***
Half an hour later, I was thankful for the clock to indicate it was my lunch break. After my admiring customer left holding back tears, there was a sudden stream of traffic in the teller’s booth, and I had to deal with an old woman who accused the bank of stealing from her. It shouldn’t be that difficult to convince somebody that a multimillion-dollar corporation would gain nothing from robbing an old lady of 50 bucks.
I was relieved to find that the pantry in the back end of the bank was empty. Normally, I enjoy some commotion, but today I was just really tired, mentally and physically. And hungry. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I sat down on the first table looking away from the door and removed the box of leftover sushi from my bag. Before I could open it, however, I heard a very familiar voice.
“So, when’s our wedding?”
Shit. I could hear the thudding sound of my chest as though it were adjacent to my ears. It must have been a whole minute before I gathered the courage to slowly turn around, ignoring the chills in my fingers.
“You heard that?” I laughed. Thank you, Acting 101 Gen-Ed requirements. “Spying on your tellers now? The NSA would be so proud.”
Zayden’s lips crooked very slightly. Was that a smile? Was he amused? Angry? Oh God, I really couldn’t tell.
“We keep a microphone at the teller’s booth in every branch for surveillance, in case there is any suspicious activity from a customer. Handling money is serious business.”
I actually knew that. How could I have been so stupid?
“Which is why I made up that little story about us, so that guys like that don’t continue to distract me from my very serious job of handling your money.”
I was quite surprised by the confidence in my own voice.
He laughed. Phew. It was an adorable laugh, and I wouldn’t mind kissing him while he did it. No wonder the other tellers couldn’t keep their hands off of him, with his dashing looks. Men this powerful are hard to turn down.
He was fumbling with a button on his coat and I tried hard not to wish that my nipples were his buttons. I should have been embarrassed; he had heard me claim I was engaged to him, and imply he was connected to the mob. If embarrassment was the socially acceptable reaction to such a situation, then why the hell was I so aroused? He was coming closer and I momentarily forgot how to breathe.
“Let me make you a proposition,” he said as he sat down across from me. “We will never have to speak about of your encounter with that bespectacled guy if you let me take you out to lunch tomorrow.”
“I have to work,” I said automatically.
Was I even breathing? I couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll pay you to take the whole day off. And maybe after lunch we can spend the whole day in my apartment being, you know, ‘married’ for the day.”