Benjamin Kempball: The Way To A Banker’s Heart

Chapter 9: Benjamin

She was positively gorgeous. My eyes followed her as she swayed her hips in front of me, the soft fabric of her dress flowing with her movements and shaping her body in the most teasing way. The dress wasn’t tight like the things Kat or Lydia sometimes wore, but it still hinted deliciously at her curves, leaving just enough to the imagination to make my thoughts wander.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder as she led me into the kitchen. Her tone was light, almost playful, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness in her voice. “I wasn’t exactly prepared to let you in.” She tried to laugh it off, but I could tell she felt self-conscious about it.

“I don’t mind,” I replied, hoping my reassurance would ease some of her discomfort.

The kitchen wasn’t messy at all, at least not to me. A pan and a pot stood on the stove, and two plates sat in the sink, but it was nothing compared to the chaos I’d seen growing up. I remembered how the kitchen used to look after my mom cooked dinner—sometimes like a small explosion had gone off, with pots, pans, and utensils scattered everywhere. In comparison, Violet’s kitchen looked almost pristine, though the signs of its age were hard to miss.

The cabinets bore the wear and tear of years and likely several tenants, their corners scuffed and paint faded. The fridge hummed a little louder than I’d expect, its sound filling the quiet space, and the sink had a slow, steady drip. In the corner of the room was a small table, modest but cozy, with a single chair and a high chair placed neatly beside it. It was a quiet reminder of her role as a mother, and I found myself picturing her and Rose sitting there, sharing breakfast together.

My gaze shifted to the fridge, its surface adorned with an eclectic collection of drawings. Most of them were simple—circles in various colors—but one stood out: a giant rainbow with the shaky letters MOM written in the middle. My chest warmed at the sight, a smile tugging at my lips. The artwork was pure, innocent, and so full of love.

As Violet rummaged through a cupboard, likely searching for a vase, I noticed something else on the fridge. In the center of the collage of drawings was a small photo. I leaned in for a closer look, unable to hide the awe that spread across my face. The picture showed a younger Violet holding a smiling baby in her arms. Her expression in the photo was one of pure joy, her eyes bright with pride and love.

“This is Rose?” I asked, my voice soft as I turned toward Violet. She was now at the sink, filling a clear glass vase with water.

She glanced over her shoulder to see what I was referring to, and her face lit up with a mix of pride and tenderness. “That’s her, yes,” she said, turning off the faucet and placing the vase on the counter. She crossed the room to join me, her eyes fixed on the photo. “She’s only three months old in that picture,” she added, her voice warm with nostalgia. “The nurses at the hospital used to call her the happiest baby they’d ever seen.”

“Is that still the case?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away from Violet as she gazed lovingly at the image of her daughter.

“I hope so,” she said, her smile softening slightly. There was a hint of something else there—maybe worry, maybe longing. “I try to do whatever I can, but it can be hard sometimes.”

I nodded, acknowledging the weight of her words. I couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it must be to raise a child on her own, to always be the one her daughter relied on, without anyone to lean on herself. My chest tightened at the thought, and I felt an overwhelming urge to be that person for her—to be the one she could lean on, confide in, rely on for anything.

“What is she doing today?” I asked, noticing the absence of the little girl who so clearly dominated this space.

“My mom,” Violet answered, turning back to her task of arranging the flowers. “She’s probably spoiling her rotten right now. My mom’s an absolute angel—I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“That’s great,” I replied, though deep down, I wanted to ask more. I wanted to know everything. What had happened to Rose’s father? Why wasn’t he here? How could anyone leave Violet and her daughter behind? And then there was Sam. I wanted to know about him too—what their history was, what role he played in her life now.

But I bit back the questions. It wasn’t the time.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she said again, fluffing the petals in the vase.

“Don’t mention it,” I said, feeling a small pang of guilt. The bouquet was modest, smaller than I’d planned. I’d wanted to get her something more extravagant, but apparently, everyone in New York City had decided to buy flowers today, leaving the pickings slim.

“Well, I’m going to,” she teased, turning toward me with a playful smile as she leaned against the counter. “It’s been a while since a man brought me flowers.”

“You should get flowers every day,” I said with a casual shrug, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. If it were up to me, I’d spoil her every single day.

Her cheeks flushed, the soft pink deepening her natural glow as she looked away shyly. Her auburn hair framed her face, tumbling loosely to just above her chest. The dress she wore hinted at the curve of her breasts, a teasing glimpse that made it impossible not to notice how beautiful she was.

Get a grip, I told myself firmly. I sounded like a hormone-fueled teenager, letting my thoughts drift toward her in ways that weren’t exactly appropriate. But after having Violet star in every one of my fantasies for the past two weeks, I couldn’t help it. It was like my body was attuned to hers, every movement and glance speaking to me in a way I’d never experienced with anyone else.

“Maybe we should get going,” she said, breaking me out of my thoughts. She stood up straight, pushing off the counter, and offered me the softest smile I’d ever seen.

“Of course,” I answered, taking two steps closer to her. I reached up, my fingers brushing against a strand of her hair, which felt as smooth and silky as I had imagined. I gently hooked it behind her ear, the soft, delicate motion making her caramel eyes lock on mine. Her gaze was filled with surprise at first, her lashes fluttering slightly, but then the heat returned to her expression. Her eyes softened, darkened, filled with an intensity that sent a thrill racing through me.

“You look beautiful,” I muttered, my voice low and rough, tinged with the intimacy of the moment.

Her lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to trace along her lower lip in a quick, almost instinctive motion, wetting it. The way she held my gaze made her look utterly irresistible, a temptation I couldn’t look away from. She looked more than ready to be devoured, and the thought made my pulse quicken.

But then, as if we both suddenly remembered where we were—and the time of day—we instinctively stepped back from each other. She cleared her throat softly, her cheeks tinted a faint pink, while I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing and gather my bearings.

“I thought we could walk there?” she said, turning toward the hallway again, her voice carrying a note of casualness that didn’t quite mask the tension still lingering between us.

“We can do that,” I replied, though my voice came out a little gravelly from the intensity of the moment we had just shared.

“I mean, for you, it might only be four steps,” she quipped, clearly trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

“I’m not that tall,” I shot back, falling into step behind her as we moved toward the front door.

“Alright,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes and opened the door, gesturing for me to step outside first.

“Six feet eight inches isn’t that tall, Violet,” I said, trying to prove my point as I followed her outside.

“Maybe not on a basketball court,” she countered, slinging her purse over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her. She pulled out her keys and locked the door with a soft click before glancing up at me with a smirk. “But I feel like I’m standing next to a giant.”

“Well, I can’t help that you stopped growing when you did,” I teased, shrugging as I noticed the smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe we’re just taller in Ohio.”

“Maybe you are,” she replied, her grin widening. “But I suck in heels.”

“I never asked you to wear them,” I said without hesitation, stepping closer to her. My hand slid to the small of her back, resting there for a brief moment before trailing to her hip. “I like your height, Violet,” I promised, my voice soft yet steady. “I like everything about you.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching my face. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down. Then, as if she had decided something, she slipped her arm around my waist, pulling us even closer together. “I like you too, Benjamin,” she said softly.

We continued down the stairs, her arm still resting comfortably around me while mine stayed draped across her shoulders. She fit perfectly under my arm, her smaller frame nestling against me in a way that felt so natural it was almost surreal. It was as if she had always belonged there, as if she had been meant to stand by my side.

Suddenly, she let out a low whistle, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. I followed her gaze to see what had caught her attention and realized she was staring at my car, the one I had parked just ten minutes earlier.

“That’s a nice one,” she muttered appreciatively, her eyes sweeping over the sleek lines of the vehicle. She glanced around the lot, as if searching for the car’s owner. “I hope whoever owns it comes back soon—it’s way too nice to leave out here.”

“You think so?” I asked, pulling the key fob out of my pocket and pressing the lock button. The car beeped softly in response.

She stopped abruptly, her eyes wide as she turned to face me. “That’s your car?!”

“It is,” I confirmed, watching her reaction with amusement.

“Wow,” she murmured, walking over to it for a closer look. Her fingers hovered just above the glossy surface as she chuckled lightly. “It looks so fancy. The payment on this must be a nightmare.”

I shrugged casually, slipping my hands into my pockets. “I paid cash.”

Her head snapped up at that, her eyes locking on mine with a mixture of shock and disbelief. “You paid cash? What exactly do you do?”

I hesitated, tugging my hands deeper into my pockets. I wasn’t one to flaunt what I did, but Violet deserved the truth. All I could hope was that it wouldn’t change how she saw me. “I’m an investment banker,” I said, watching her face carefully. “I work with stocks.”

“Like The Wolf of Wall Street?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yes, but without all the cocaine.”

“So, you’re, like... rich?” she asked, her tone hesitant, as though she didn’t want to use that particular word.

“A little, yes,” I admitted, trying not to sound like an arrogant jerk.

Her lips curved into a teasing smile as she shook her head. “And to think I was actually going to offer to pay for the drinks tonight.” She laughed softly, her eyes meeting mine. “You’re at least going to let me pay half.”

I raised an eyebrow at her and opened my arm, inviting her back to my side. She stepped into my embrace easily, her arms wrapping around me again as we began walking. “I was never going to let you pay for anything, Violet.”

“I asked you out,” she pointed out, her voice light but firm. “And the dating rules clearly state that the person doing the asking does the paying.”

“Technically, I asked you out first,” I countered, not at all minding this playful debate she seemed so fond of.

“But I never really accepted,” she shot back with a grin, “which led to me asking you out, which means it’s my responsibility to pay.”

“Well, I don’t give a damn about that,” I replied, grinning as her laughter rang out in response.