Benjamin Kempball: The Way To A Banker’s Heart

Chapter 1: Benjamin

Leaving the restaurant, I took a deep breath, trying to shake the date off of me. It had been awful—no, dreadful. Normally, I could endure an entire evening, make it through with polite smiles and superficial conversation. But this time, I couldn’t. I had cut it short with a parting line: Something’s up at work. It wasn’t even creative. It didn’t need to be; I just needed an escape.

As I stepped into the crisp evening air, the tension in my shoulders began to ease, but the lingering frustration gnawed at me. Joshua’s unrelenting pursuit of Lydia had been a spectacle, a comedy of errors that left me both amused and contemplative. If he could fall so hopelessly and earnestly, maybe—just maybe—there was someone out there for me too.

So, when Katie Kim had practically thrown herself at me during the last function, I’d figured, why not? Her smile had been alluring, her laugh effortless, and she had a confidence that commanded attention. I’d asked if she wanted to meet for dinner sometime, and she’d practically purred her acceptance. But I hadn’t considered that beneath her polished exterior, we might not connect.

Over the course of forty-five agonizing minutes, she’d waxed poetic about her love for shoes, handbags, and anything expensive. Her enthusiasm for high-end brands was admirable, I supposed, but not exactly my idea of riveting conversation. I’d smiled and nodded, but with every word, I felt the gap between us widening, her eyes lighting up not at me but at the thought of dollar signs.

The thought was almost laughable. She saw money, and I saw... well, nothing of substance. Needing something to strengthen myself but unwilling to walk back into that restaurant, I started down the street, leaving my car behind.

The city buzzed around me, alive with the energy of countless stories unfolding. Couples strolled hand in hand, their faces soft with affection, their smiles practically glowing in the light of streetlamps. Love-sick fools, I thought, though the bitterness in the observation surprised even me.

Normally, I would have dismissed the notion of love as a myth, an illusion people clung to out of hope or habit. People, like money, were fluid. They changed, moved, slipped through your grasp. Look at my parents. Their love had been legendary, or so I’d been told as a child. Yet when my siblings and I moved out, their shared purpose seemed to evaporate. Within a year of Lauren leaving for college, they were divorced.

Relationships were like investments. Some thrived with attention and care, others fizzled out, and a few were doomed from the start. Yet, watching those couples walk by, I couldn’t ignore the flicker of longing buried deep inside me.

I stopped mid-stride as a neon sign caught my eye: Jack’s. The letters glowed faintly, the kind of place you might miss if you weren’t looking. Music filtered through the door—something old, familiar. Through the windows, I glimpsed a bar, a pool table, scattered tables, and a handful of patrons. It wasn’t polished or pretentious, just a humble watering hole where people came to unwind.

Perfect. A place where no one knew my name, where I wasn’t the investment banker with all the answers. Just another face in the crowd.

Pushing the door open, I loosened my tie, the pressure around my neck easing immediately. The air inside was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, cheap booze, and faint traces of cigarette smoke. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was grounding, almost nostalgic.

An old Elvis tune drifted from the speakers, wrapping the room in its timeless charm. I couldn’t help but smile faintly. It reminded me of simpler days, sneaking into the local bar back home as a teenager, trying to act older than I was.

Sliding onto a barstool, I opened the top button of my shirt and let out a sigh. The chair was uncomfortable, the kind of worn-in seat that felt like it had seen more stories than any of the people currently occupying the bar.

“Hello there, sugar,” came a raspy voice, warm and teasing. I looked up to see a middle-aged woman smiling at me. Her name tag read Denise.

Her face told a story of its own—laugh lines etched around bright blue eyes that sparkled with humor and a lifetime of experience. Her blonde hair was cropped short, practical, and unpretentious, much like the woman herself.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, her tone easy, her smile inviting.

“What kinds of whiskey do you have, Denise?” I asked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Her laughter was rich and full, genuine in a way that was rare. “Oh, sweetie, none you’re gonna like,” she teased, shaking her head.

“Then a beer,” I conceded, my fingers interlocking as they rested on the counter.

“Beer it is,” she replied with a wink before turning to grab a bottle from the fridge. With practiced ease, she popped the cap and slid it in front of me.

I took a swig, the cool liquid a welcome contrast to the frustration lingering from earlier. The beer wasn’t exceptional, but it didn’t need to be. It was simple, familiar, and exactly what I needed.

The bar was alive with subtle energy. Denise bantered with a tipsy patron complaining about the volume of the music, her sharp retort drawing laughter from nearby customers. The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the muted commentary of a game on TV—it was a symphony of ordinary life, and I found myself relaxing into it.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt untethered. Not in the way that left me restless and searching, but in a way that allowed me to breathe.

I let my mind wander, the buzz of the room blending into the background. Thoughts of Ohio drifted in. Perhaps I missed it more than I realized—the familiarity of home, the simplicity of it.

I thought of my mother, of the way she’d always insisted on sending me home with leftovers, no matter how old I got. I should call her, check in, make sure she wasn’t worrying about bills or feeling lonely. I thought of Sophie and little Max, probably getting into trouble at preschool, his energy endless. Were they coming home for Christmas this year?

Then there was Lauren. She’d mentioned a guy giving her trouble at Yale. Maybe I should swing by and remind him what happens when you mess with my little sister.

And Kristine. Sweet, dependable Kristine. I should visit her and Amber, offer to help with wedding expenses. She’d never ask, but I knew she’d appreciate it.

Or perhaps it was simply a yearning. A yearning for something else, something new, something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe that was the reason I’d asked Katie Kim out in the first place. Perhaps it was why my heart had ached, just a little, when I saw Lydia and Joshua singing together last Saturday at karaoke.

They’d been so carefree, so utterly consumed by each other, that the world around them seemed to blur. I envied that simplicity, that intensity of connection. It had been years since I felt anything close to it.

“Something you wanna talk about, sugar?” Denise’s voice cut through my thoughts, her tone equal parts curiosity and care. Her question made me straighten up, and I glanced at her as she dried a glass with a rag that had seen better days.

“It’s part of the job description,” she added with a smile, her blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“Oh, just the usual,” I said, shrugging as my fingers absentmindedly picked at the label on my beer bottle. “Work,” I added, though we both knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

Work was amazing. Work had become everything I’d ever wanted it to be and more. Numbers had always been my strong suit—clean, logical, unwavering. They didn’t lie, and they didn’t change their meaning on a whim. Numbers made sense when nothing else did, and that had been my ticket.

My math skills earned me a free ride to Harvard Business School. Add to that my reputation as the best quarterback in the state, and my path seemed paved with opportunity. From there, I landed a brilliant position under an investment banker who had been in the game for an eternity. He taught me the ropes, guided me, shaped me.

When I eventually succeeded him, he offered me the chance to buy him out entirely. At just twenty-six, I found myself running the entire company, a meteoric rise that landed me on the Fortune 500 list—the youngest outsider ever to make it.

But that’s the thing: I was an outsider. I wasn’t born into privilege like Joshua, Christian, or Mathéo. My childhood was a world away from Manhattan penthouses and private schools. I grew up on a farm, where hard work wasn’t a choice but a necessity. After school, I’d help my parents until the sun dipped below the horizon.

We didn’t have luxury, but we had enough. My clothes came from Target, and we ate at restaurants once a year—on my parents’ wedding anniversary. But what we lacked in material wealth, we made up for in love.

New York, though, had hardened me. The city didn’t have room for the starry-eyed boy I’d once been. It taught me to trust no one and nothing. In business, people were just another set of variables—unpredictable, volatile, and often self-serving.

It was a philosophy that had made me successful, but it also made me lonely. I didn’t make many friends, and I certainly hadn’t found a partner.

“Work is always tough, sugar,” Denise said, her smile tinged with understanding. She tilted her head slightly. “I haven’t seen you here before, have I?”

I shook my head. “First timer,” I replied, offering her a weak smile as I lifted my bottle in a mock toast before taking another swig.

“Well, you’re always welcome here in my bar,” she said with a wink and a grin that made me feel, oddly, at ease.

“You own the place?” I asked, curious despite myself.

“Sadly, no,” she said with a chuckle. “My husband owns it, but since I stand here more than he does, it’s mine.”

I nodded, appreciating her candor. “I’m guessing your husband’s name is Jack.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “However could you guess that?” she asked with mock surprise, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

I chuckled, a low sound that rumbled through my chest. It was a sound I hadn’t made in a long time, and it felt good—like shaking off a layer of dust I hadn’t realized was there.

“I must be telepathic,” I said, my smile growing slightly.

Denise opened her mouth to reply, but the door swung open, and the small bell above it chimed.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! The dog ate my homework, my grandfather died, there was a terrible storm, all the buses stopped working, I passed out and broke a leg—but now I’m fine!”

The voice was a whirlwind of words, each more absurd than the last, delivered with a dramatic flair that turned heads. A petite, curvy woman closed the door behind her before turning to face the room.

And then I saw her.

My breath caught in my chest. Her auburn hair was braided into two loose plaits, the kind that started high on her head and cascaded down to her shoulders. A few stray strands escaped, framing her face in a way that felt both casual and deliberate.

Her eyes—caramel and warm—shone with mischief as she greeted a few regulars by name. When she smiled, her round cheeks and dimples transformed her face, radiating a kind of joy that was almost infectious.

She wasn’t tall—no more than five feet—but her presence filled the room. Her curves, her swaying hips, the way her jeans hugged her thighs—it was impossible not to notice. The black T-shirt she wore, matching Denise’s, clung just enough to highlight her figure before flowing loosely where it was tucked into her jeans.

She was utterly captivating.

“As long as everything’s okay,” Denise said, though her tone carried a hint of a question.

The woman dropped her bag onto a hook behind the bar before wrapping Denise in a quick hug. She whispered something, her expression briefly serious, before pulling away with a sheepish grin.

“It won’t happen again,” she said louder, her tone sincere.

“Of course it will,” Denise teased, shaking her head. “But we’ll survive when it does.”

The woman laughed, a soft, musical sound, and turned—stopping abruptly when she noticed me.

Her caramel eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the noise of the bar faded. Her smile widened, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth, though her bottom two front teeth crossed slightly, giving her an endearingly imperfect charm.

My gaze flicked down for a split second—to her nametag. Violet.

The name suited her perfectly.