“I’ll think about it,” I grit out.
“I’m trying very hard to be civil, Ms. Beaumont.”
At that, he smiles. And worse… it’s beautiful. Sharp, slow, and devastating.
His jaw looks like it was carved with intention. Dark hair that looks effortless. Eyes too intense, too focused, like they don’t just see you, they assess, claim, decide. He’s the kind of man people stare at without realizing it, the kind that draws attention without asking for it.
The kind I should absolutely not be noticing.
Especially not now. I drag my gaze away anyway, refusing to let it linger.
He steps closer, towering over me in a way that makes my breath catch.
“Ah, but I’m not a mobster, princess. I’m an accountant. And a very rich, successful one at that.”
“Honesty and humility aren’t traits you’re familiar with, I’m guessing,” I mutter.
“When it comes to you, neither is patience,” he retorts, finally handing me my phone. He slides it into my hand. When his fingers graze mine, I feel the warmth radiating off him and hurriedly rip my hand away. “Don’t test me, Ms. Beaumont.”
“I could say the same thing to you, Mr. Vitale.”
He’s quiet for a couple of breaths, watching me once again. Like he’s trying to figure me out. Or like I’m a wounded animal that may lash out at any moment. I like the latter option better, because while I might not be wounded, I’m waiting for the slightest opportunity to lash out at the Vitales. And take them all down.
His jaw clenches like he can read my thoughts.
“You and I need to talk,” he informs me.
“Sure,” I state, placing my phone back into the pocket of my dress. “When hell freezes over.”
I turn around at that, making my way to the parking lot where my car is located. I need to get out of here. He’s not done speaking and slowly walks behind me until I reach my car.
“That wasn’t a request.” The deep, low cadence of his voice is sexy, not that it matters. It’s nothing but irritating in this moment. “Considering what happened at the wedding, several things require my attention. I’ll come find you soon, and then we’ll have a very important conversation.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get a subpoena from my office soon enough.”
He steps closer, and I hate how my body reacts instantly. I hate it even more that he notices.
“How about we continue this conversation at my penthouse?” he offers, like I’m supposed to be impressed.
“I’d rather be at mine.” I hold his gaze. “I have a very large toy that would put you to shame.”
He closes the gap completely, and the sheer size of him pressing against my stomach steals the breath right out of my lungs.
“You sure about that, princess?” The words are barely a whisper against my ear.
I gasp before I can stop myself.
“Move,” I order, and he steps back.
Despite every attempt to be dignified about it, I can’t resist throwing my middle finger up over my shoulder as I drop into the car. He says nothing, does nothing, but even through the window, I feel his eyes on me like a brand, burning straight through the glass.
I face forward. I will myself to stay that way.
The urge to look back is irritating more than anything, like an itch I refuse to scratch. I don’t want to meet that gaze again. I refuse to get pulled into whatever that was.
PRESENT DAY
Our café has the best coffee cake in the city and genuinely terrible parking, which is probably why it’s survived twenty years on the corner of Main Street without turning into a juice bar. Valentina and I found it in our first year of college and have been coming back ever since.
