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.
