3. Lindsay
Lindsay
One second I’m taking a sip of my tequila, bemoaning my luck because there’s absolutely no man in here that’s worth my attention. The next I’m nearly choking on my saliva as a man slides into the seat beside me like he owns the place.
He’s the last person I’d been expecting.
I can’t even hide my shock at the sight of him, and even more puzzling is him sitting beside me like it’s the most normal thing in the world. My mind drifts to the thoughts of him I had just an hour ago and my cheeks burns.
It takes a couple of seconds for me to recover. I blame the two glasses of tequila I had earlier. I’m buzzed and having slight trouble computing his presence by my side.
He signals at the waiter to bring him a beer, which is so unrefined and extremely unlike him that I pause once again.
He’s dressed head to toe in luxury. A network of clean, straight lines, from the cut of his suit to the angle of his cheekbones and jaw. He looks exactly like he did in the photo I’d been staring at. Even better, in fact.
Much better.
Matteo Vitale is a picture of polished perfection. His entire aura feels like a challenge. A dare to try to match up and fail. But I’m Lindsay Beaumont and I never fail.
The man is inherently sexy and the way he carries himself makes it clear that he aware of this fact. His beauty aside, though, he also carries this quiet elegance that comes from old money, the aristocratic kind.
I don’t know any aristocrats that would walk up to a bar in one of the best hotels in the city and order a beer. And I know many aristocrats.
“You’re drinking a Peroni,” I say, feeling the need to state the obvious. My voice perfectly conveys my surprise.
“She speaks,” he says, intense dark eyes show visible amusement.
He wraps a large hand around the neck of the bottle. My throat dries when I notice the way a tendon in his large hand flexes. His dark eyes are still on me, like he can tell exactly what is running through my mind.
I fight the shiver that threatens to roll through me. He’s toying with me and I’m letting him. Fuck.
I frown, remembering the man I’m dealing with. And then I remember I have to bite first when I’m dealing with wolves or leopards. Lest they consume me whole.
“I’m pretty sure I asked what the hell you’re doing here.”
He watches me with an almost pleased expression, like my reaction is exactly what he expected. I hate that I’m playing into his hands.
“I wanted to have a conversation with you,” he says.
His voice is so deep, yet so soft at the same time. It wafts over me, settling within me in a way that has me shifting in my seat. I bet he could talk most women in dropping their panties without a second thought.
Hell, if I didn’t know exactly who he was, I could see myself being one of them.
“So you ambushed me at my hotel?”
“Which brings me to my next question, why have you been living here the last couple of weeks?”
My mouth opens and nothing comes out because I am truly flabbergasted.
Get a grip, Lindsay.
It’s embarrassing just how easily he’s been able to sweep the carpet from under me. I just truly wasn’t expecting this and I don’t know why. Of course he could find me here. They run this city. I can’t believe I lulled myself into a false sense of safety.
Reality crashes into me like a bucket of ice.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I seethe and then, mustering the last piece of dignity I’ve got, I get to my feet, pushing back the chair.
“Sit down,” he commands, his voice deceptively soft. The sound practically travels up my spine. “We haven’t even started yet.”
I take a second to look him in the eye, leaning closer as I say, “Go to hell, Vitale.”
Before I can take a step though, he clamps a hand around my wrist. My eyes widen and I try to wrench my hand back, but he doesn’t let go. While the pressure isn’t strong enough to be painful, I’m effectively pinned.
“Don’t cause a scene,” he warns, eyes flickering to a nearby table whose patrons are casting glances at us both. “If you draw any more attention to us, I’ll be forced to start acting like the bad guy you so desperately want to think I am.”
“You are a bad guy,” I say incredulously.
“No,” he intones. “I’m a businessman.”
My eyes roll and the levity with which he says that is almost humorous. If it were anyone else I might even crack a smile, but the man is holding me hostage so all he gets is a glare.
“Let me go,” I grit out.
“Will you sit down and listen?” he asks, still infuriatingly calm.
“Alright, fine,” I concede and he finally releases my wrist.
I wrap my other hand around it, rubbing softly like I can erase his touch on my skin.
“I already know what you’re here to say,” I state as I take my seat. “Make your threats, tell me you’ll kill me if I don’t drop the RICO case. Or that you’ll kill the people I love, blah blah. It’s how you people operate, isn’t it?”
He arches an unimpressed brow but doesn’t say anything.
“Let me make one thing clear, though,” I begin, leaning forward.
“I am not going to drop the case, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
I’m a Beaumont, I’m sure you’re familiar with that name.
My father’s the mayor of this city and I recently learned he’s somewhat of a business partner to your family.
I’m guessing harming his daughter would be bad for business.
Not to mention my best friend is also a part of your family now.
I’d wager she wouldn’t be happy if anything happened to me. ”
“Fascinating,” he drawls. “You’d use her for protection while aiming a gun at her head.”
“It’s not at Valentina I’d be aiming the gun.”
He chuckles at that.
Silence stretches between us for a beat.
“I have no desire to kill you, Ms. Beaumont. It would be a waste. You could be an asset in the future. A woman like you, fearless, intuitive, and unwilling to back down from her cause.”
My eyes narrow. “Was that a job offer?”
“Would you take it if it was?”
“I’d rather bash my head into a wall.”
He offers me a controlled smirk. “That can be arranged.”
The threat is delivered cooly and ice floods through my veins. He must notice because he rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair.
“Relax, I would never hurt you. I don’t hurt women.”
“How gentlemanly of you,” I bite out.
“Have a drink, Prosecutor,” he says smoothly, leaning back. “It might help you loosen up.”
His gaze drags over me slowly, lingering just long enough to make heat crawl beneath my skin.
“I’m not here to fight you. I just want to talk.”
I scoff softly, but my fingers tighten around the glass anyway.
“Like you said,” he continues, voice maddeningly calm, “our families are intertwined.” His mouth curves slightly.
“Your father and I have a longstanding arrangement, and my brother is married to your best friend.” His eyes darken as they lock on mine.
“Which reminds me… how did that meeting go without me?”
By meeting, he means the deposition he’d been ordered to attend regarding the financial records tied to the Vitale family’s allegedly legitimate businesses.
I’d gone to visit Valentina after she found out she was pregnant and found him standing outside, commanding like temptation wrapped in an expensive suit. Our process server had spent weeks trying and failing to serve him. Matteo Vitale has a talent for disappearing when it suits him.
So I took matters into my own hands.
I still remember the way his eyes followed me as I crossed the yard toward him. Calm. Curious. Dangerous.
“Matteo Vitale?” I asked, even though we both knew exactly who he was.
He looked up slowly, dark eyes sliding over me in a way that felt entirely inappropriate for the situation. Like he wasn’t looking at a lawyer. Like he was imagining something else entirely.
I slapped the subpoena against his chest. “You’ve been served.”
His men had gone quiet.
But Matteo hadn’t even glanced at the paperwork.
Instead, his hand closed over mine, large and warm against my skin, pinning my palm against his chest along with the documents. The heat of him seeped through the fabric of his shirt instantly. Steady heartbeat. Expensive cologne. Pure trouble.
His thumb brushed once against the inside of my wrist, so subtle I almost convinced myself I imagined it.
Almost.
My breath caught traitorously as he leaned in just enough for only me to hear him.
“Careful, Counselor,” he murmured. “You keep touching me like this, people are going to get the wrong idea.”
I yanked my hand back first, hating the way the movement felt more like retreat.
He finally took the subpoena from my fingers, his smirk slow and devastating.
“I’ll see you in my office.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said.
The look in his eyes had sounded less like he was talking about the deposition and more like he was talking about me.
I knew after the wedding he’d be a menace. I just hadn’t realized how dangerous it would feel to have all of that attention aimed directly at me.
We relapse into silence and since I have nothing else to do, I grab my glass of tequila and take a drink. He continues to sip from his bottle of beer beside me while I resist the urge to sneak glances at the side of his face.
I’m extremely uncomfortable. I do not like awkward silences.
“What are you still doing here?” I ask after a couple of minutes.
“Having a drink with a friend.”
“I hate your guts.”
“Alright, having a drink with an enemy then,” he amends smoothly. “You’d be surprised how often I do that. Although most of my enemies do not possess your grace. Neither are they nearly as beautiful as you.”
I nearly choke on the tequila. I wait until it’s successfully gone down the right pipe before looking up at him, praying to God that my cheeks are still normal.
The last thing I need is to blush in front of him. The man is sexy as sin and it’s easy to feel like nothing else exists when I stare into his intense dark eyes.
But he’s also him. A Vitale.
“You’re creeping me out. Go away.”
He smiles and for a moment, I forget to breathe because he looks even more beautiful when he smiles. My heads swims.