Mad about the Banker – Author Piper Rayne

Mad about the Banker

Who knew my brother’s friend could be Mr. Right, and not just Mr. Right Now?

My brother refused to introduce me, so I blame him. If he’d just caved, and introduced me to Jasper, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I mean, really, what’s the big deal? I’m not interested in the guy’s looks.

Oh no, I want his cold hard cash. (Be honest, you were expecting that other four letter ‘c’ word weren’t you?)

Now, before you go getting all judgy, I’m not a gold digger. I have a legitimate business opportunity for Jasper to invest in. The problem is that my stick-up-his-ass brother is embarrassed that his twin sister invents kick ass sex toys. His problem, not mine.

So, I took matters into my own hands. Defeat isn’t a word in Lennon Hart’s dictionary.

Using my stealthy P.I. moves, I narrowed my search to a time and place where I knew I could find him. It was completely innocent. A chance meeting that would give me the opportunity to pitch my business.

It wasn’t until I sat down across from the gorgeous panty soaking man in front of me, that I realized I wanted so much more than just his money. I could very well want his heart if I wasn’t careful.

Apparently my P.I. skills aren’t as stellar as I thought because Jasper had his own secret—and it changed EVERYTHING.

** Note: This book was previous titled "The Banker". Same great story with a fresh new look.**

Read the Excerpt

“Grande black,” I say.

“Name?” She arches her eyebrow, waiting to see what’s coming.

“Katniss Everdeen.”

She laughs, punching it in, and I hand her the cash. “I volunteer as tribute,” she says and we both share a laugh now. “It’ll be right up.”

“Thanks, Missy.”

I tuck the cash back into my purse and pull my phone out to distract myself, checking my Facebook notifications. Whitney and Tahlia have both been posting about their date nights. A twinge of jealousy flares and once again I’m reminded that one thing isn’t like the other when it comes to my group of friends.

I mean, they’ll forever be my friends, but once they get married and start having kids, we probably won’t have much in common. Pretty soon, I’ll just be the crazy aunt who shows up at birthday parties and all the kids wonder who I am. No, I promise myself. They’ll always know me and I’ll be the cool aunt who gives them expensive gifts because I can afford it. I’ll be the one they look up to because I travel all over the world, live life by my own rules and have affairs with exotic men.

The man behind me leans against the counter and I glance up to see that he’s on his phone. He’s smiling as he types away. His suit jacket hangs open and his tie is loosely undone, but his vest is still buttoned. Who still wears a full three-piece suit? I have to admit though, it looks hot as fuck on him. His hand rises and he weaves his fingers through his already dishevelled brown hair. The sparkling of cufflinks catches my eye and I wonder what kind of job he has that he’s this dressed up. Aren’t most companies going to business casual nowadays?

I picture him behind a boardroom table barking out orders and the mental image of him having a very powerful job ignites a tingling between my legs. I bet this guy is packing and would know how to dominate me in the bedroom.

“Katniss Everdeen.” Missy’s singsong voice rings out.

Before I turn my attention to her and my coffee, the guy looks up and our eyes meet. A smile plays on his lips and I’m not sure if it’s from the texts he’s receiving or if it’s for me, but no matter what, it lights up his face, raising him up the attractive meter until the bell rings on top.

The tingling turns into an ache down south.

I snap my eyes away from him and grab my coffee. “Have a great night, Missy.”

“See you tomorrow,” she says and I nod because I’m here at least once if not twice a day.

Moving over to the counter to pour in my Splenda and milk, I try not to feel the small hairs on the back of neck snap to attention. Nor do I admit that I feel his eyes on me. Instead, I busy myself pouring and stirring. If he wants me, he can make the first move.

“Peeta Mellark.” Missy’s voice rings out again and then she chokes out a laugh.

I whip my head around and find a set of hazel eyes set on me with arched eyebrows. The amused smile on his lips is even more prominent than seconds earlier. My gaze whips over to Missy and she’s smiling from ear to ear, pointing to his back. She wraps her arms around herself and kisses the air. I roll my eyes and when the guy turns around to see where I’m looking, she quickly straightens her back and pretends she’s organizing the straw compartment.

“Have a good night.” She uses her sweet-as-pie voice and the man nods, stepping toward me.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I have no time to try to figure out why I’m suddenly nervous. No matter how hard I try to relax, I can’t control my heartbeat. Only five steps separate us so I don’t have time to think about why this guy is bringing out a side to me that rarely, if ever, makes an appearance.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slides next to me at the condiment stand and a waft of his cologne breezes past me. The scent is intoxicating. It’s musky and all man. I cross my ankles, pressing my thighs together.

He busies himself with the sugar, no milk, and he stirs it for an unusually long time. His phone chirps as he’s placing the lid on top of his coffee.

I’m about to stop him, but something holds me back and I cower down, fascinated by his hands. Strong and manicured. Never would I have thought manicured nails would turn me on.

All movement stops and I look up to find his eyes on me. He slowly appraises me from top to bottom and back before he leans in, his lips only an inch away from my ear. Our bodies aren’t touching and somehow that’s hotter than if he’d pulled me into him.

“I thought you’d want to know…”

He trails off and the scent of his cologne has my eyes drifting closed while I wait with anticipation to hear the end of his sentence.

“… you have toilet paper stuck on your shoe.”

He pulls away and my eyes snap wide open. He winks and before I can say anything, the door chime rings and he’s eyeing me through the window as he talks on the phone and I frantically try to remove the toilet paper with my other shoe.

God, no wonder he was staring at me.

“Holy shit,” Missy says, her hand over her heart.

I grip the counter behind me to stay upright—half from embarrassment and half because my knees are still weak. “Who was that?”

“I think he’s your Peeta Mellark,” she says with a dreamy edge to her voice as she leans over the counter.

I shake my head. “Oh, Missy. Lennon Hart doesn’t get to have a Peeta Mellark. She just gets to screw around with a lot of Gale Hawthornes.”

One thing I can’t deny, he turned me into a fumbling mess and he only uttered a handful of words. Now there’s a man who can boss me around in bed.

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