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He gave his name to the young, just-above-cheap-suited man behind the massive desk and took a seat in the black leather club chair. Magazines in four different languages were fanned on the iron table next to him. He aligned the one on top to sync with the others and the rhythmed echo of high heels ricocheting off the hallowed walls made him look up.
Madonna mia.
The picture had done her no justice. Claire Favre’s sharp hip bones pointed behind the fabric of her tight black skirt and they swayed in a hypnotizing motion as she drew nearer. The formfitting blazer matched the skirt, and a pink silk blouse formed a deep V below. Different from the photo, where her blonde locks had been loose and casual as she’d smiled, her hair was now pulled back into a low, tight bun and her lips remained firmly locked together.
Luca stood, happy his height put him at an advantage, and buttoned his jacket at the waist. The momentary shock of her in-person beauty sank into his gut. It had no business in his throat or chest.
“Herr Bernardi.” She extended her small, manicured hand but barely smiled.
“English, please.” Luca ignored the slight jump in his heart rate as they touched.
“As you wish.” Her light shrug remained formal.
Surely a coincidence.
He narrowed his eyes.
Ms. Favre’s smile grew tighter and she spun around. “My office is just down the hall.”
Luca followed the banker and stared at the back of her exposed neck. He would not check out her ass, not in a professional setting where the woman deserved respect. He would not.
He did. He most certainly did. And damn it all to hell and back if his palm didn’t twitch with desire.
When the penance of being a gentleman and walking behind a woman to whom he owed respect—not ogling—had finished, he squared his shoulders at the threshold of her office and renewed his purpose—business.
Ms. Favre ushered him to a cubed leather chair opposite her desk and he reached for the button of his jacket while she floated to the other side of the impressive oak plank.
A quick glance of her surroundings revealed nothing—no framed photos of her and the late husband the article had referred to or children it had not hinted at. Truly nothing. This woman was clean, uncomplicated and professional—everything Luca desired in a banker…and perhaps other things.
“Please,” she said and motioned to the seat behind him. With a quick brush on the back of her skirt—is hand jealousy a thing?—she gracefully sat. “Tell me what brings you here, Mr. Bernardi.”
Where to begin? The long and challenging path of fully respecting and refining one’s own needs? The obvious motivation of a man-made success? Best to start with the not-so-shocking. One never knows.
In the warmest, most casual tone he could muster he said, “I am in negotiations to buy a business. A private club, actually. And I was hoping to keep said investment separate from my others.”
Her blue-gray gaze pierced him and she drew her light, thin eyebrows together. “You have a business you’d like to hide, and you want to use my bank to do so?”
“No.” Convincing her was going to take some massaging, especially since the bulk of his wealth would not be coming along for the ride. “I have a business I’d like to keep to myself, but I’d like you to handle investing and growing the worth of the account.”
Claire crossed her fingers on the desk and circled a thumb slowly into the opposite palm.
“Is it an illegal business?” she asked.
“No, but it is private, much like your bank.” Luca flattened his lips and fought a smile. The woman calmed herself with touch. He admired and recognized the gesture. In a cold room full of stark decorations, her softness slammed into him.
He blinked. Business. And the need to hide his new project.
“And what is this soon-to-be-acquired opportunity?” She creased her pink lips.
There was the catch. The hitch. The hard-sell.
He stared into her eyes. “A private club.”
She stilled her hands and cocked an eyebrow. “A misogynistic group of racist old men smoking cigars and plotting world domination?”
Interesting choice of words.
“No.” This time he allowed the smile to shine. Her spunk and terseness must have helped her along the way.
