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The waiter comes into the room again. “And for your second course, a sweet potato crisp with a goat cheese caviar.” Somehow, he manages to replace our old plates with new ones in a fluid and swift motion.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he leaves, and then focus on Savini. “Do you have a pen?”
“Why?” He straightens in his seat, coming closer to the table.
“For your social. That’s a lot of numbers to memorize.”
He ignores my request and pours another round of rye into the glass I hadn’t realized I’d emptied. “Why law?”
"Why not?" My own walls fight to stay intact with such a simple, yet personal question. I chose law for many reasons, one being that I'm great at arguing with people and winning debates, but mainly because I wanted to be strong enough to protect those that needed protection. It was never about the money or accolades. No, it was something more. Something that haunts me to this day.
“You care about justice.”
I pick up the sweet potato thing and look at him. “Don’t you?”
“Believe it or not, I do.”
His response is almost laughable, considering the dirt I already have on him. How can he possibly think that killing innocent people for hire is a noble or just career?
“And what is it you do for a living, Mr. Savini?”
“My job has many titles, really.” He finishes his second course before continuing. “Enforcer…exterminator…pest control…handyman…you name it. If there’s a situation that needs my attention, I take care of it.”
“A…situation?” I bring my cup to my lips again and sip the sweet relief of the alcohol.
“Mmhm.” He mocks me and does the same.
“We do have attorney-client privilege, Mr. Savini. You ensured that, when you spent fifty grand for two hours of my time. What you say in this room, stays in this room. It’s my ethical duty to protect your confidentiality.”
“How do I know you’re not wearing a wire?”
“Suspicious much?” I stand from the table and motion to my body. “Check me.”
“You’re giving me permission to put my hands on you?”
“I’m giving you permission to verify I’m not wearing a wire.” I swallow and wait for him to move.
His jaw tightens, and his fist clenches his napkin. Finally, he rises and comes over in front of me. Savini kneels before me, his large palms wrapping around my ankles and slowly inching their way higher, over my calf, the back of my knee.
I keep my sights trained forward, focusing all of my efforts on maintaining my breath.
Savini continues on his path, his hands swirling higher, under my dress and over my thighs. "You're not wearing any panties." His fingers graze my hips but don't go any farther. Instead, he removes them and rises to his feet, returning his grasp to the outside of this expensive dress. His dark brown gaze forces my attention.
I stare up at him as he slides his hands over every inch of my body he can touch. My hands, my arms, my shoulders, the small of my back, all the way up to the sensitive skin on the nape of my neck, finishing with both of his hands wrapped around my cheeks, his fingers weaved through my hair.
If I didn’t already want him badly, the lust I’m consumed in now…
Savini leans down, his nose resting against the top of my head. He breathes in, savoring me more than the twelve-course meal the chef has prepared us. “Fawn,” he whispers.
The door to the kitchen swings open, pulling him out of his trance. He steps back, but I remain there, unable to gather myself. I suck in a long draw of air and steady the whirlwind of thoughts running through my head.
He is the enemy, Banks. Nothing more.
CHAPTERFIVE
Course after course. Drink after drink. We continue this mindfuck of an evening.
We went back to small talk once he confirmed I wasn’t wearing a wire, but with more alcohol filling our systems, I hope to uncover more of the truth than just his favorite color.
