Benjamin Kempball: The Way To A Banker’s Heart

Chapter 2: Violet

Holy mother of all that is holy. Or however that one goes. Denise left me alone behind the bar rather quickly, wanting to get home to Jack. It was fair—more than fair, actually. I’d been over thirty minutes late, thanks to Rich’s inability to man up and get there on time to pick up his daughter. That left me scrambling to find someone else to look out for her while I dashed to work.

By the time I got there, I felt frazzled, my hair a little messy from pulling it back too quickly, and my mood hovering between irritation and guilt. But I had no time to dwell on that because once Denise left, it was just me.

And him. And Tony as usual.

The guy sitting at the end of the bar had thrown my concentration completely out of whack. Some kind of GQ model—or at least he could’ve been. He didn’t belong here in this worn-down, hole-in-the-wall bar with its dim lights and sticky counters. Yet, there he was, perched like a misplaced masterpiece in an attic.

Every time I glanced his way, I caught him already looking at me. It sent heat rushing to my cheeks, a flush so obvious I wanted to smack myself. The last thing I needed was for him to think I was flustered.

Normally, I had a type. And normally, my type was the exact opposite of him. Blue eyes had never been my thing—they were too cold, too piercing, like looking into endless winter skies. But his eyes weren’t like that. They were warm and deep, the kind of blue that felt like falling into a soft ocean. They weren’t just captivating; they were comforting, like they could shield you from everything else.

Blonde hair had never done much for me, either. It was cute on little boys, sure, when it was all messy and maybe a little dirty from playing outside. But on men? No. It always looked too clean or too try-hard. Yet, here he was, with thick, golden hair that looked so luscious and soft I had to stop myself from imagining running my fingers through it.

His rugged face didn’t scream pretty boy. It wasn’t the kind of face you’d see in a glossy magazine ad where every angle was manicured and perfect. His was lived-in, the kind of face that hinted at a life that hadn’t always been easy. His suit, however, was pure perfection—tailored to fit every inch of him like it was painted on. He didn’t look like someone who belonged in a suit, yet he wore it so effortlessly it might as well have been his second skin.

Everything about him screamed s*x. Raw, magnetic, undeniable. And everything about him made my body come alive in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Vi!”

Tony’s voice snapped me out of my daze. He tapped his beer bottle against the bar with a kind smile before his eyes flickered back up to the TV above me.

I grabbed another beer from the fridge, popping the cap as I made my way over to him. “There you go,” I said with a quick smile, eager to focus on anyone other than Mr. Rugged Model at the other end of the bar.

“Thank you, Vi,” Tony said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Are the right ones winning?” I asked, glancing up at the screen myself. A bunch of men in helmets were running around a green field, though I couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on.

“Hopefully,” Tony muttered, right before he broke into a string of curses, gesturing wildly at the TV as if it had personally betrayed him.

I stepped back, not wanting to be in the line of fire if his team lost. It was a shame, really. Tony always tipped generously when his team won, and I could’ve used the extra cash tonight.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, more a rumble than anything else.

I turned to find the source and froze. Mr. Rugged Model was looking directly at me, a small, polite smile tugging at his lips as he waved his empty beer bottle.

“Could I have another?” he asked, his tone smooth but not pushy.

“Sure,” I said quickly, nodding as the familiar heat crept back up my cheeks. Damn it, Vi. Get it together.

I grabbed another beer from the fridge, popping the cap with more force than necessary. I set it down in front of him, seamlessly taking the empty bottle and tucking it into the recycling bin below the counter.

“Thank you,” he said, giving me a small nod. His large hands curled around the new bottle, his long fingers tapping along to the soft music playing from the speakers overhead.

Feeling awkward, I grabbed a rag and started wiping down the bar where I’d mixed drinks earlier. It wasn’t dirty, but I needed something—anything—to do. Standing idly this close to him felt unbearable, like I’d crumble under the weight of his presence.

“Have you worked here for a long time?”

The question startled me, and I turned to find his blue eyes locked on mine. They were so intense, I almost forgot how to breathe.

“About four years,” I said, trying to calculate it in my head. “Yeah, just about four years,” I added with a small nod.

He nodded in return, his gaze dropping briefly to the bottle in his hands before lifting again. “Do you like it?”

He was fishing for conversation—that much was clear. But why? Why would someone like him want to talk to someone like me? What was he even doing in a place like this? Shouldn’t he be at some high-end lounge with a gorgeous girlfriend hanging on his every word?

“Sometimes I do, other times I don’t,” I replied honestly, tilting my head slightly as I studied him. “What’s your name?”

His eyes flicked downward for the briefest moment—probably catching the nametag pinned to my shirt—before meeting mine again.

“Benjamin,” he said simply, his voice rich and smooth like honey.

Wiping my hand on the side of my thigh, I held it forward towards him. “Hello, Benjamin, I’m Violet. Pleasure to meet you.”

Something resembling amusement danced in his blue eyes as he took in the sight of my hand outstretched toward him. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his own. His hand completely engulfed mine as we shook, his grip firm but not overwhelming, the warmth of his touch lingering longer than it should have.

“The pleasure is mine, Violet,” he replied, his voice deep and smooth, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. That smile should have been illegal—especially for a woman like me who hadn’t been sexually active in over four years. It was almost unfair how effortlessly charming he was.

“Now,” I said, turning back to wipe down the counter again, using it as a shield to steady myself, “that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, I can ask what you’re doing here.”

“Curious?” he asked, one eyebrow c****d in a way that made him look even more devastatingly handsome. His hands returned to the beer bottle, his fingers absently tapping along its neck.

“Born curious,” I answered truthfully, shrugging as I kept my eyes on the counter.

My mother had always warned me that curiosity killed the cat. She loved that saying, reciting it every time I asked too many questions. While I understood the message, it never stopped me from interrogating her about the cat. What kind of cat was it? Did it have a name? What exactly did it stumble upon that was so compelling it got itself killed? My endless questions would eventually make her roll her eyes before brushing me off.

“Very well,” Benjamin said, his smile growing as his eyes seemed to search mine. He wasn’t just speaking; he was studying me, as though he were piecing together a puzzle. “I had an awful date and needed something to help me forget about it.”

My brows shot up, and whatever expression I made must have been ridiculous because he chuckled softly, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver through me. “How could you have a bad date?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“What does that mean?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. His curiosity felt genuine, and I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“Oh, you know,” I said quickly, gesturing vaguely at him with the rag in my hand.

“I do not,” he said, his brows furrowing as though my words were a riddle he needed to solve.

“You’re hot,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could reconsider. I just wanted the awkwardness to be over. “And if you’re out here having bad dates, then what hope is there for the rest of us?”

His smile widened into something almost boyish, and for the first time, I noticed the hint of a dimple in one of his cheeks. It was unfair how his charm could shift from smoldering to endearing so effortlessly. “You think I’m hot?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Hey, Tony?” I called out across the bar, raising my voice just enough to be heard.

“What?” Tony replied, sounding annoyed but not taking his eyes off the game.

“Is he hot?” I asked, pointing toward Benjamin without looking away from him.

There was a pause, a moment of silence that felt far too long. Finally, Tony answered, his voice matter-of-fact. “If I looked like you, I’d consider myself the luckiest man alive.”

“See?” I said, fiddling with the rag in my hands as I tried to ignore Benjamin’s amused expression.

Benjamin c****d an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward. “So, Tony thinks I’m hot, but you still haven’t confirmed it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, please. You don’t need women telling you you’re hot,” I said, shaking my head and setting the rag on the counter. Placing my hands on my hips, I added, “But sure, if you need the ego boost—yes, you’re easy on the eyes.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly the effect he had on me. The look sent a shiver of heat through my body. My mind wandered somewhere it shouldn’t, and before I could stop myself, I wondered what he looked like when he came. If he would have that satisfied smile on his lips, a slightly dazed look in his eyes.

The thought hit me so suddenly, I choked on the breath I had just taken, coughing violently. My back turned instinctively, and I doubled over, trying to suppress the mortifying sounds coming from my throat.

“Jesus,” I heard Benjamin mutter. A stool scraped against the floor, and a moment later, I felt a warm, steady hand rubbing up and down my back. “Just breathe. You’re okay,” he soothed, his voice low and calming.

I nodded, giving him a thumbs-up as I fought to regain control of my own body. My lungs burned, and for a moment, I wondered if I might actually cough them out entirely. But after what felt like an eternity, I managed to draw in a deep, steadying breath.

“You should probably drink some water or something,” Benjamin said. His concern was genuine, his brow slightly furrowed as he leaned across the counter, his long arm outstretched toward me.

That’s when I realized just how tall he was. His reach was impressive, almost comical. Of course, life would make someone who looked like him that tall, too. It seemed all the good things were handed to one person while the rest of us struggled with basic things—like breathing.

“I’m okay,” I rasped, clearing my throat a few times as my voice returned to normal. “I’m okay,” I repeated, more firmly this time.

“It looks that way,” he said, grinning in a way that made him look utterly edible.

“Don’t mock me,” I said, narrowing my eyes playfully as a teasing smile tugged at my lips. “Breathing can be a very difficult thing to do.”

“I’m sure,” he replied, nodding with mock seriousness. “It’s not like your body does it automatically for you or anything.”

“I just told you not to mock me,” I scolded lightly, but I couldn’t keep the chuckle from escaping my lips.

He chuckled too, his laugh low and rich, and for a brief moment, I forgot how embarrassing the last few minutes had been.