as dry as his wine. No surprises, no twists and turns. Just a dependable, predictable sameness. Leaving the roller coaster for the corporate world.
He suspected, though, that Eleanor Winston and her standout maroon dress was far from the dry, dependable type. She had a glint in her eye, a devilish twinkle in her smile, a spontaneous air about her that said getting involved with her would leave a man …
Breathless.
Exactly the opposite of what he wanted. He would have to keep a clear head around her.
Ellie drifted away from her companions, heading toward the door. Weaving through the crowd slowed her progress, but it wouldn’t be long before she’d finished her goodbyes and left. “She’s leaving. Catch up with you later,” he said to Riley.
“Take a page from my book, brother, and simply ask her out for a drink,” Riley said, then as Finn walked away, added one more bit of advice. “And for God’s sake, Finn, don’t talk business. At least not until … after.” He grinned. “And if you get stumped, think to yourself, ‘What would Riley say?’ That’ll work, I promise.”
Finn waved off Riley’s advice. Riley’s attention had already strayed back to the waitress, who was making her way through the room with another tray—and straight for Riley’s charming grin. His brother’s eyes were always focused on the next beautiful woman he could take home to his Back Bay townhouse. Finn had much bigger, and more important goals.
Like saving his company. He’d made millions already in architecture, and hopefully would again, if he could make his business profitable again. If not, he could always accept his grandmother’s offer and take up the helm at McKenna Media. The family business, started a generation ago by his grandfather, who used to go door-to-door selling radio ad space to local businesses. Finn’s father had joined the company after high school and taken it into television, before his death when Finn was eleven. Ever since his grandfather had died three years ago, Finn’s grandmother had sat in the top chair, but she’d been making noise lately about wanting to retire and have Finn take over, and keep the company in McKenna hands. Finn’s heart, though, lay in architecture. Tonight was all about keeping that heartbeat going.
Finn laid his still-full glass of beer on the tray of a passing waiter, then straightened his tie and worked a smile to his face. Riley, who never tired of telling Finn he was too uptight, too stiff, would say it was more of a grimace. Finn didn’t care. He wasn’t looking to be a cover model or to make friends.
Then he glanced over at his brother—no longer chatting up the waitress but now flirting with a brunette. For a second, Finn envied Riley’s easy way with women. Everything about his little brother screamed relaxed, at home. His stance, his smile, the slight rumple in his shirt.
Finn forced himself to relax, to look somewhat approachable. Then he increased his pace to close the gap between himself and Ellie. He reached her just before she stepped through the glass doors of the lobby.
“Miss Winston.”
She stopped, her hand on the metal bar, ready to exit. Then she turned back and faced him. Her long blond hair swung with the movement, settling like a silk curtain around her shoulders. The short-sleeved crimson dress she wore hugged her curves, and dropped into a tantalizing yet modest V at her chest. For a second, her green eyes were blank, then she registered his face and the green went from cold emerald to warm forest. “My goodness. Mr. McKenna,” she said. “I recognize you from the article in Architecture Today.”
“Please, call me Finn.” She’d seen the piece about his award for innovative building design? And remembered it? “That was more than a year ago. I’m impressed with your memory.”
“Well, like most people in our industry, I have an absolutely ridiculous attention for detail.” She smiled then, the kind of smile that no one would ever confuse with a grimace. The kind of smile that hit a man in the gut and made him forget everything around him. The kind of smile that added an extra sparkle to her green eyes, and lit her delicate features with an inner glow.
Intoxicating.
Get a grip, McKenna. This was business, nothing more. Since when did he think of anything other than a bottle of single malt as intoxicating? Business, and business only. “If you have a minute, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Actually I’m heading out.” She gestured toward the door. A continual Morse code of headlights went by on the busy street outside, tires making a constant whoosh-whoosh of music on the dark pavement, even though it was nearing midnight on a Tuesday night. Boston, like most cities, never slept. And neither, most nights, did Finn McKenna.
“Perhaps you could call my assistant,” she said, “and set up a meeting for—”
“If you have time tonight, I would appreciate it.” He remembered Riley’s advice and decided to sweeten the pot a little. Show her he wasn’t the cold business-only gargoyle that people rumored him to be. Hawk indeed. Finn could be suave. Debonair even.
His younger brother could charm a free coffee from a barista; talk a traffic cop into forgetting his ticket. Maybe if Finn applied a bit of that, it might loosen her up, and make her more amenable to what he was about to propose. So he worked up another smile-grimace to his face—and tried another tack.
“Why don’t we, uh, grab a couple drinks somewhere?” he said, then groaned inwardly. Casual conversation was clearly not his forte. Put him in a board room, and he was fine, but attempting small talk … a disaster.
Damn Riley’s advice anyway.
“Thank you, but I don’t drink. If you ask me, too many bad decisions have been made with a bottle of wine.” Another smile. “I’m sure if you call in the morning—”
“Your schedule is certainly as busy as mine. Why don’t we avoid yet another meeting?”
“In other words, get this out of the way and then I can get rid of you?”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
“It’s really late …”
He could see her hesitation. In a second, she’d say no again, and he’d be forced to delay his plan one more day. He didn’t have the luxury of time. He needed to get a meeting with Ellie Winston—a private one—now. In business, he knew when to press, and when to step back. Now was a time to press. A little. “I promise, I don’t bite.”
“Or pick over the remains of your competitors?”
“That’s a rumor. Nothing more. I’ve only done that … once.” He paused a second. “Okay, maybe twice.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh my, Mr. McKenna. You are not what I expected.”
What had she expected? That he would be the stern predator portrayed in that article? Or that he wouldn’t have a sense of humor? “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“We shall see,” she said. Then she reached out and laid a hand on his arm, a quick touch, nothing more, but it was enough to stir a fire inside him. A fire that he knew better than to stoke.
What the hell had been in that beer? Finn McKenna wasn’t a man given to spontaneous emotional or physical reactions. Except for one brief window, he’d lived his life as ordered as the buildings he designed. No room for fluff or silliness.
