The Banker (Banker 1)

After I finished work at the gallery, I walked a few blocks until I reached the café Cato liked to frequent. This time, I didn’t stop by in the hope of seeing him. After the long day I’d had, I wanted an iced coffee and a muffin to rip apart with my fingertips.

Most people hated the brutal summers here in Florence, but I didn’t mind them at all. I’d grown up in this treacherous heat, and I couldn’t imagine my life without that experience. So I took my coffee and muffin and sat outside. I had a client who’d recruited me to decorate his summer home in Tuscany, and now I was studying images of his living room and dining room to determine the size and color of the frames as well as the artwork that would complement each one. That was my job—finding artwork for rich people. Sometimes people just wanted cheap stuff to cover the walls, but occasionally, my clients had more refined taste and preferred masterpieces by local artists. Those always took longer to locate, but since I charged by the hour, that worked out in my favor.

The chair across from me shifted, and then a heavy body filled its vacancy.

When my eyes flicked upward, they landed on the man I’d been hunting. With blue eyes that matched the summer sky and a hard jaw that looked like it’d been carved with a knife, the beautiful man I’d been watching from afar sat in front of me.

He didn’t greet me with that handsome smile I’d seen him flash to his women. Instead, his eyes were hostile and his lips were slightly pressed in amusement. He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie like he usually did when he frequented this spot. Today, he was dressed in jeans and an olive green t-shirt, a V in the front so his chest muscles were unmistakable. At this close distance, I could clearly see the tight cords in his neck, the obvious tension of the muscles of his physique. His sunglasses hung from the vee in his shirt, and he rested his forearms on the armrests of the chair. They were flanked with the same veins that matched his neck, and he was the tightest and fittest man I’d seen. It seemed like he only worked out and ate protein. No wonder he could get three different women in a row to make out with him without even making an introduction.

He’d caught me off guard and he knew it, judging by the hint of arrogance in his eyes, but I refused to acknowledge it. My table was scattered with images of a living room and I was looking up artwork online, so it was clear I was actually working on something. I never allowed fear to enter my expression, so I remained as calm as ever. “Hello.” That was the only response I would give him. Saying the least amount possible was the smartest thing to do in this situation. Maybe he’d figured out I’d been following him. Or maybe he was making a pass at me. There was no real way to know until he stated his intentions.

“My stalkers aren’t usually young and beautiful women. This is a nice surprise.” He sat forward and moved his forearms to the top of the table. His hands rested on my paperwork, but he didn’t look down to examine my project. His eyes were glued to me and focused, like there was nothing else more important in the world than watching me. He didn’t blink as he took me in, and it seemed like I was sitting across from him in a business meeting. I wouldn’t be able to leave until I gave him what he wanted.

I kept my eyes on him as I shut my laptop. “Thank you. But I’m not a stalker.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he examined me. “Don’t insult me. There’s nothing that goes on around me that I don’t notice.” His voice complemented his appearance perfectly. It was deep and sharp, just like the edge of a knife.

Even though his assumption was totally accurate, I didn’t like his arrogance. He was the conceited playboy I’d assumed he was. The whole world revolved around him—and him alone. Maybe I was just jealous that he could have hot sex every night of his life when I hadn’t gotten action in over a month. Or maybe I hated men who thought they were better than everyone else. I used to be rich once upon a time. I knew how rich people thought—that they were above everyone. “Maybe if you weren’t so cocky, you would realize it’s just a coincidence. Not everyone wants your balls.”

The corner of his mouth ticked slightly, like he wanted to smile but stopped himself from doing it. “If you don’t want my balls, then why are you following me?” Within the short time he sat there with me, he’d drawn attention from the other tables. Women turned around to look at him, aware that the sexiest bachelor in Italy had spotted a random woman he liked.