Читать книгу Moonlight Kisses - Phyllis Bourne - Страница 11
ОглавлениеMoney might not buy happiness, but Cole knew enough of it would buy just about everything else.
It was the reason he walked the short blocks from the Espresso building to the downtown restaurant he’d selected for his meeting with Sage Matthews, confident he’d be the new owner of Stiletto Cosmetics when he returned.
Cole was also intrigued.
The woman had actually put him off for over a week. A humorless chuckle pushed through his lips, leaving a vapor trail as his warm breath hit the January air.
No one put him on the back burner. Not anymore, Cole thought. When he snapped his fingers, people jumped. Especially women.
Another side effect of deep pockets.
So either Ms. Matthews had somehow missed the articles written about him by reporters obsessed with his bank balance, or she was one of the few people who simply didn’t care.
A blast of heat hit him as he pulled open the restaurant door and strode inside. Immediately, he saw a woman with her back to him talking to the hostess.
Her big, bold hair and long, shapely legs left no doubt about her identity. Shiny, patent leather boots hugged her calves, and she wore a red wool coat with a thigh-grazing hemline just shy of indecent.
Cole felt the corner of his mouth tic upward into a reluctant smile as his stepfather’s words popped into his head: not a thing here that would put a frown on a man’s face.
He overheard the hostess, who hadn’t seen him come in. “Mr. Sinclair hasn’t arrived yet, but let me take your coat, and I’ll show you to the table he reserved in our private dining room.”
“No, thanks.” Cole watched Sage Matthews consult a plain wristwatch with a worn, black strap, a feminine version of his own. “We’re supposed to meet here in five minutes. If he’s not on time, I’m leaving.”
“Mr. Sinclair is always punctual,” the hostess offered.
The woman in the short coat and high-heeled boots bobbed her head in a curt nod. “If he wants to see me, he’d better be.”
Cole cleared his throat, the gesture commanding the attention of both women. “I’m here—” he glanced at his own Timex and then pointedly at Ms. Matthews “—with four minutes to spare.”
She met his gaze, not a trace of sheepishness at being overheard in her expression. If anything, challenge flickered in her chocolate-brown eyes. “Good. Time is money, Mr. Sinclair. Mine is valuable.”
Cole blinked. The statement was something he’d usually say, and she’d delivered it just like he would have—blunt and to the point. “Well, let’s not waste either of ours standing here,” he said.
Within minutes, the hostess had taken their coats, and escorted them through the bustling dining room to a staircase leading to the private room he liked to use when conducting business outside the Espresso building. As they walked Cole couldn’t help notice the statuesque woman with the riot of kinky curls move through the upscale restaurant as if she owned it, garnering appreciative glances from every man in the room.
Including him.
However, this lunch had an agenda and nothing would distract him from it. Not even a sweet pair of legs, showcased by a minidress and fantasy-inducing shiny stiletto boots.
A waiter appeared with menus immediately after they were seated. He took their drink orders and disappeared to retrieve them.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Ms. Matthews.” Cole didn’t bother opening the menu. The entrées were the standard fare of most upscale restaurants. A minuscule serving of meat or fish smothered in creams and vegetables pureed beyond recognition and served on a plate that appeared destined for an art museum rather than someone’s stomach.
However, this restaurant was currently the hot ticket in town for fine dining, and it made the right impression at lunch and dinner business meetings in an industry where image was everything.
Cole’s personal preference would have been to conduct business over real food—a burger, barbecue sandwich or a slice of pizza. One of which he’d probably grab afterward to celebrate his having reached a verbal agreement with Ms. Matthews.
He glanced across the table at his lunch companion, who was perusing the menu. Again, she surprised him. Most people would have rushed to fill the silence with small talk by now.
His gaze dropped to her lips, painted the same bold, sassy red as her dress. The firm line she held them in didn’t distract from their fullness.
She looked up, and her eyes locked with his. Caught staring, Cole didn’t divert his bold appraisal.
“I was checking out your lipstick shade,” he said, making it clear both to her, and to himself, that any interest in her mouth was purely professional.
“It’s one of Stiletto’s bestsellers.” She lifted a perfectly arched brow. “It’s called Badass.”
Cole licked his own lips, his mouth suddenly dry. I’ll just bet you are.
The errant thought popped into his head so quickly, he feared he’d said it aloud. Her impassive expression assured him he hadn’t, and he exhaled in relief.
The waiter reappeared with their drinks. Cole used the moments it took for them to order two of the chef’s specialties to give himself a mental knock upside the head.
Stay on task, man, he silently warned. This is a business meeting, not a date. He reached for his water glass and took a long sip. No more getting sidetracked by shiny stiletto boots or impossibly red lips.
“Now how about you tell me what’s on your mind, Mr. Sinclair?”
Cole swallowed, the question immediately shutting down illicit images of her full red lips pressed against his and those badass boot-encased legs wrapped firmly around his waist.
“Excuse me?” The words came out like a frog’s croak.
“Since we’ve established neither of us likes to waste time,” she said. “I assumed we could skip the preliminaries and get right to the reason for my being here.”
An odd sense of déjà vu passed over him. How many times had he said the exact same thing? Plenty, Cole silently answered his own question.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was sitting across the table from a female version of himself.
Nah, couldn’t be, he thought.
Leaning forward, Cole crossed his arms on the table. “I want to buy Stiletto.”
Her eyes widened, his only clue he’d caught her off guard. She recovered quickly, and then she, too, leaned forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the table.
“Then this meeting truly was a waste of time for both of us, Mr. Sinclair, because my company isn’t for sale.”
That’s what you think, Cole thought. “Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Matthews,” he said aloud. The easy Southern drawl he’d thought he’d lost in Europe permeated his warning. “After all, you don’t know what I’m offering.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, I think it will.”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
Her tone taunted him with an unspoken challenge. Cole could hardly wait to see her expression when he not only met her expectations, but surpassed them.
Eye to eye, neither of their stares wavered. Nor did Cole’s confidence that he’d leave here with what he wanted. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a folded scrap of paper and slid it across the white linen tablecloth.
Her fingertips grazed his as she took it, sending an almost audible crackle of electricity through him. He scoured her expression for an indication she’d felt it, too. For the first time since they’d met, she diverted her eyes.
She’d felt it all right.
Abruptly snatching her hand back, she took the slip of paper. His own hand still tingling in the spot where they’d inadvertently touched, Cole watched her square her shoulders. Her back stiffened as she straightened in her chair.
“It doesn’t matter what amount you’ve written. I’ve already told you, Stiletto isn’t for sale.”
Cole simply inclined his head toward the slip of paper. He stared at her fingernails, painted the same bold red as her lips, while she opened it.
This time, Sage Matthews couldn’t disguise her reaction. The paper fell from her hands on the table, and that delectable red mouth dropped open. A stuttering sound came out of it.
“O-oh, my God.” She covered a gasp with her hand and stared up him. “You’re joking, right?”
“I never joke about business, Ms. Matthews.” Satisfaction and a sense of imminent victory flooded him. The taste was so sweet, he’d probably forgo dessert.
Cole picked up the paper bearing his offer and placed it back in her hand. She was still examining it when the waiter returned with their entrées.
“Why don’t you just let that figure sink in while we enjoy lunch?” Cole did his best not to sound smug. “We can discuss it after we eat.”
The woman recovered quickly, her surprise replaced with a mask of indifference. But Cole knew better.
“Fine by me.” She refolded the paper and put it aside.
Cole switched focus to his food. He’d originally planned to go out for a simpler meal later; however, his impending triumph had given him quite an appetite. He’d just have to make do with the chef’s specialty, an overdressed piece of fish so fancy it deserved its own art exhibit.
He reached for his fork, but the frown on his dining companion’s face as she looked at her food stopped him. “Everything all right?”
She wrinkled her nose, and for the first time he noticed the faint smattering of freckles dotting it. “Honestly?” she asked.
Cole chuckled. “Somehow I don’t think you know how to be any other way.”
“I realize you’re accustomed to sitting down to a so-called gastronomical experience at every meal, but I’m a simple country girl with simple tastes. I’d have been fine with a pulled pork sandwich or burger.”
“Unbelievable,” Cole murmured. More like amazing.
She held up a hand. “Don’t go getting offended on me. It’s just a personal preference.” She picked up her fork and poked what appeared to be pureed spinach. “I’m sure whatever is under all this froufrou garnishing tastes just fine.”
Cole threw his head back and laughed. Too bad this wasn’t a date because Sage Matthews was almost too good to be true. If he wasn’t careful, he could end up liking her...a lot. “First of all, from what I see there’s nothing simple about you,” he said. “Second, you and I have the exact same opinion when it comes to food.”
“Really?” She brightened and a smile touched her lips.
He nodded, and then scanned the surroundings. “Write-ups in Bon Appétit and Saveur magazines have made this place a hot ticket. It impresses the people I do business with who love both its exclusivity and the cuisine.” Cole shrugged. “But me? I’ll take cheeseburger with a side of onion rings over froufrou every time.”
“My absolute favorite meal,” she said. “Thanks to an electronic billboard I pass on the way to work advertising a new burger place in town, I’ve been giving in to a craving for it every day for the past week for both lunch and dinner.”
“Burger Tower?”
She nodded. “Have you eaten there yet?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity; however, I can see the very same billboard from my office window. It leaves me practically drooling.”
She leaned in conspiratorially, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, Mr. Sinclair, from one burger lover to another, they’re positively addictive.”
Cole rarely acted on impulse, but Sage Matthews was such a refreshing change of pace. She didn’t pander to him with her eyes on his wallet for what she could get. She impressed him as a woman who spoke her mind and didn’t give a damn what he or anyone else thought about it.
He was well aware he’d asked her here for purely professional reasons. Still, he found himself wanting to see her again.
“Call me Cole,” he said. “Because once we conclude our business, I’d like to take you out for one of those burgers. Feed both you and your addiction.”
She blinked. “As in a date?”
His common sense told him this wasn’t the time or place. Intermingling the personal and professional broke the most basic rule of business. A rule he’d never been tempted to bend until now.
He knew better.
Cole couldn’t defend his actions. Nor could he stop himself from telling her exactly what was on his mind.
“You couldn’t have missed it. I’m not even sure what to call it—an air of familiarity?” He searched for the right words to describe the coincidences, but came up empty and hoped he didn’t sound like a fool.
“It’s almost like looking in a mirror,” she said, softly.
Cole exhaled, and then nodded.
“Not physically, of course,” she quickly added. “But we do appear to have an awful lot in common.”
“More than that...” Again, he found himself reaching for just the right words, not wanting to make presumptions or come on too strong.
Her gaze dropped to his hand. The same one her touch had left tingling. “I felt it, too.”
“It’s the reason why I’m asking you on a date in the middle of a business lunch. I’d like an opportunity to get to know you better.”
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “As much as I’d enjoy that, I don’t think it’s going happen.”
“Why not? Are you involved with someone?” Of course, she was, Cole thought. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean anything.”
“No, I’m not seeing anyone. Honestly, you’re the first man I’ve met in a long time who’s piqued my interest.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Oh, I’m not the one with the problem,” she said. “You’ll be, once I turn down your offer to buy Stiletto.”
* * *
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
His voice was velvet smooth. Its deep, melodic cadence threw Sage off her game. She didn’t think she’d had it in her to act like Amelia. Yet, for a while she’d let herself be lured into entertaining the ludicrous notions of instant attraction and serendipity.
Get a grip, she silently scolded. It was just one touch and a few coincidences.
Her guard firmly back into place, Sage needed to make her position clear. Before Cole Sinclair talked her out of her company and her panties.
“I’ve made my decision,” she said. “No sale.”
Cole raised a brow. “Maybe I haven’t explained that the figure I gave you is merely a starting point,” he said. “One I’m willing to sweeten with a few more zeros.”
Sage swallowed, hard. The offer was already beyond generous, and at this point, much more than her company was worth. If money was the only measuring stick.
The massive figure didn’t take the intangibles into account. She didn’t have family and had sacrificed the few friends and relationships she’d had by putting all her time and effort into her small company.
While Stiletto was simply a commodity to a man like Cole Sinclair, something easily bought or sold, it was her everything.
He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Think about it, Ms. Matthews,” he continued. “We’re talking about a lot of money here. You’re a young woman. Wisely invested, it’ll last a lifetime. You could travel the world worry-and responsibility-free.”
“And how did that work for you?”
Sage caught the tic of a muscle beneath the shadow of beard along his strong jawline. The tiny telltale movement was the only indication her question made him uncomfortable. “You spent the past few years on your boat sailing around—where was it I read, again?—Italy? Greece?”
“Both.”
“Yet, instead of continuing to enjoy the idyllic carefree life you described, you’re back in Nashville running Espresso.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She noticed her unconscious movements mirrored his and abruptly unfolded her arms. “Not only that, you want my company, too.”
“I came back home because my family needed me. The company my mother poured her lifeblood into needs me.”
“Then you should understand why I won’t sell Stiletto,” she said. “I’ve spent years building this business. Now that it’s finally showing some promise, you want me to just hand it over to you.”
“Sell it to me, Ms. Matthews, for what we both know is triple what your small company is actually worth.”
His statement brought up a question that had niggled at her since she’d seen his staggering starting offer.
“I’m curious. Why are you willing to pay big money for my ‘small company’?”
Their waiter returned. A slight incline of Cole’s head and he quickly removed the plates of barely touched food, then vanished as if he’d never entered the room.
Sage met the hard stare of that man across the table. She held it through a tension-filled silence, wondering if he’d give her the real answer to her question or some pat bullshit reply.
Part of her hoped he’d do the latter. It would make it easier to dismiss Cole Sinclair and snuff out any attraction she felt toward him.
“Our image problem is no secret. The article that ran in America Today certainly didn’t help it,” he said. “Acquiring Stiletto would give Espresso instant access to and credibility with a younger market, which we desperately need.”
Sage shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything about him so far had been straightforward. The stark honesty in his reply raised him in her esteem.
Despite her efforts to the contrary, she found herself actually liking Cole Sinclair, though not enough to sell him her company.
“While I understand your predicament, you’ll have to find another solution to Espresso’s problems. Stiletto isn’t for sale. Not at any price.”
“So you’ve said.” He seemed nonplussed at her declaration.
However, Sage knew he wasn’t ready to give up, because they seemed to be two of a kind, and in his shoes, she wouldn’t.
“Be smart, Ms. Matthews. Not only is this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, it’s one for your company, too,” he said. “And while I applaud what you’ve been able to accomplish with Stiletto with such limited resources, I think you’ve hit a ceiling. You won’t be able to take it to the next level.”
And just like that, Sage didn’t like him so much anymore.
“But you can?”
“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. The lack of conceit in his tone irked her more than his words.
Sage snorted. “With what, money?”
“Money, along with two other things you don’t have—infrastructure and experience.”
Sage listened as he continued to build his case.
“Espresso may have an image problem, but it also has the distribution channels. We have the department store counter space and Espresso Sanctuary spas.”
“Thanks to that mention from Crave, Stiletto is on a roll,” Sage countered. “It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have those things, too.”
Cole chuckled as if she’d told him a knock-knock joke. The deep, rich sound sent the same involuntary tingles through her body as his touch, and at the same time, ratcheted up her annoyance. “Perhaps in ten years or so,” he said. “I can do it now.”
Sage grudgingly acknowledged the man had a point, but only to herself. She’d never give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.
“Like you said, I’m a young woman. Time is on my side.” She spared a glance at the folded slip of paper with his offer, before leveling her gaze at him. “Besides, there’s more to taking a business to the next level than deep pockets.”
“Deep pockets and experience.”
“Experience in what?” Sage muttered. “Lucky investments? Globetrotting?”
Annoyance flashed in his dark brown eyes as they bored into hers, but he extinguished the show of emotion as quickly as it sparked.
He exhaled a long drawn-out sigh. “I grew up in this industry at my mother’s side.” He spoke slowly as if he were correcting a naughty child. “During my hiatus from Espresso, I indeed made a shrewd investment that paid off royally, which gave me an opportunity to take off and see a bit of the world. However, I also spent seven of those nine years working my way up the ladder to vice president of acquisitions at Force Cosmetics.”
Sage’s mouth dropped open at his disclosure, and she promptly slammed it shut, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“The articles written about me tend to leave out that particular part of my bio, preferring to focus on my so-called lucky investment,” he said.
Damn. An internet search on Cole Sinclair had pulled up at least a dozen articles. None of them had mentioned he’d had a top job at Force. They practically dominated the beauty industry.
Also, it seemed strange.
Why had he gone to work for an international giant like Force Cosmetics when he had blood ties to Espresso, she wondered. Sage shrugged off the question. It wasn’t any of her business.
“Don’t underestimate me, Ms. Matthews,” he said. “There’s a lot more to me than money.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sage conceded the round of verbal sparring to him. Still, it wouldn’t get him what he wanted.
He rested his back against the chair. His easy smile returned, oozing with Southern charm, but his dark eyes brimmed with an unspoken challenge.
“Also, don’t let pride stand in the way of your common sense.” Like his smile, the deep, melodic baritone belied the man’s uncompromising words. “Let me take Stiletto off your hands because the bottom line is I can run your company better than you ever could.”
Sage stood abruptly. The condescension and the kernel of truth in his hard-hitting statement stung as if he’d pelted her with a handful of rocks.
“This meeting is over, Mr. Sinclair,” she said, walking toward the door of the private dining room.
Sage didn’t intend to give him a backward glance but turned around at the sound of that arrogant, infuriating, panty-melting voice.
“Keep in mind, if you won’t sell Stiletto to me, I’ll be forced to go with my alternative plan. One I don’t think you’ll like.”
Sage’s eyes narrowed as she glared at him. Sitting there, surrounded by an air of confident cool, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “I have two words for you and your granny-makeup company, Mr. Sinclair. Bring it.”
“How about we get on a first name basis, Sage?” The smile never left his face. “Because I intend to bring it all right. I just hope you can handle it.”
