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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.”
Chapter 4 (#ulink_6c89ba3b-669a-5fde-9a43-aac1ee6a4e98)
Cole walked briskly through the streets leading back to the Espresso building.
Bring it!
The taunt echoed through his head, leaving him unable to determine if the vapor emitted by his body was generated by his breath colliding with the cold or the steam venting from his ears.
Not only did the stubborn woman dismiss his perfectly reasonable argument. She’d tossed an extremely generous offer back in his face.
Who turns their nose up at that kind of money?
“Sage Matthews, that’s who,” Cole grumbled aloud, oblivious to passersby making a wide berth around the man talking to himself.
Images of big hair, shiny black boots and tempting red-slicked lips bombarded him as he yanked open the lobby door of the Espresso building.
The once-modern concrete-and-steel structure, built by his late uncle, had been a tremendous source of pride to his mother when it was erected thirty years ago. Now the eleven-story building stood half-empty, dwarfed by dozens of gleaming new towers dominating the Nashville skyline.
Cole sighed. Though they’d worked through most of their differences, the building continued to be a sticking point in his and Victor’s relationship. Cole and his sisters had agreed selling it was their best option, but his stepfather wouldn’t hear of it.
They could have easily outvoted him months ago. However, Cole thought the older man needed more time to accept the inevitable.
It was just as well, he thought. Right now he needed to focus on convincing the infuriatingly sexy Sage Matthews to give him what he wanted.
Her company.
Acknowledging both the security guard and reception desk with a nod, he strode across the lobby’s marble floor to the elevators. Fortunately, two of the three elevators in the older building were working today.
This should have been a chip shot, he thought, as the elevator whisked him up to the executive floor. He’d expected to be talking with his lawyers by now, instructing them to prepare the paperwork sealing the deal. Only there was no deal.
And nothing had gone as he’d expected.
The elevator chimed and the doors opened on the eleventh floor. Cole pushed open the door to the outer office of the executive suite. He was relieved to see Victor’s door closed. Cole wasn’t looking forward to filling his stepfather in on the details of the disastrous meeting.
Or your totally unprofessional behavior.
Cole shook his head. He’d actually asked her out on a date. It was unlike him to be so impulsive or stupid.
Then again, he’d never felt so in sync with a woman. Sage Matthews had been right about one thing, when it came to their personalities and mannerisms, it was indeed like looking in the mirror.
“Is that frown tattooed on your face or do you wear it just for me?” The gravelly ex-smoker’s voice of the secretary he shared with his stepfather broke into his thoughts.
Cole groaned inwardly, pausing at the large desk in the office bridging his and Victor’s offices.
The way his day had been going today, it figured Loretta Walker would be faithfully manning her station instead of taking a long lunch when the boss was away like the secretaries and administrative assistants he’d had in the past. Cole fixed the silver-haired sexagenarian with a glare that would have sent any other Espresso employee fleeing to the opposite side of the building.
The woman didn’t so much as flinch.
“This is my special face just for you,” he said. “I laugh like the Tickle Me Elmo doll for everyone else.”
“Lucky me. I get to spend my workdays looking at that sour mug.” She handed him a few opened envelopes from the stack of the day’s mail. “These require your attention. I’ll handle the rest.”
“You’re welcome to retire anytime,” Cole said as he sifted through them.
“No can do,” Loretta said. “I’ve got a granddaughter to get through medical school, remember?”
“Then how about a paid vacation, somewhere far, far away?”
“Vacation?” Loretta threw her head back and laughed, the raspy sound filling the office that had been her domain for nearly three decades. “I can barely take a bathroom break without everything around here falling apart. Face it, I’m both indispensable and irreplaceable.”
Despite his bluster, Cole couldn’t refute it. Loretta was also smart, paid attention to detail and took no crap whatsoever from him, or the members of his family that bore the name Gray, including the late Selina Sinclair Gray.
As a kid, he’d once asked his mother why she let an employee get away with the kind of backtalk she’d never tolerate from her children or anyone else.
She’d told him Loretta was more than just a secretary. She explained Loretta kept the office operating with clockwork precision, which gave her the freedom to focus on running Espresso.
“More importantly, Loretta calls it like she sees it, and possesses the courage to speak her mind regardless of the consequences,” his mother had said. “Everybody should have someone like her in their life.”
At the time, Cole had believed his mother the wisest person he’d ever known. All her big decisions had been good ones, right up until her last one, which still confounded him.
He forced back the hard feelings that had separated him from his family for years. His thoughts drifted back to the woman he’d met this afternoon.
Sage Matthews hadn’t had a problem speaking her mind, either.
Their short meeting had taken him through a gamut of emotions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued, irritated or challenged, and he had to admit, totally turned on.
“Is that a tic or did you actually just crack a smile?”
“Tic,” Cole answered automatically, “brought on by a certain exasperating secretary.” Although, he knew a smile brought on by the recent memory of a certain woman in red had indeed touched his lips.
Loretta grunted. “If you’re all done twitching, mind telling me what time you want your lawyers here to hammer out the details of the Stiletto deal?”
The next grunt that sounded in the outer office came from him. His lips tightened. Any hint of a smile connected to his lunchtime encounter vanished, replaced with the last emotion his lunch companion had left him with—annoyance.
“Well?” Loretta pressed.
“There is no Stiletto deal.” Cole admitted, then quickly amended. “Yet.”
The long-time secretary’s hoarse cackle filled his ears. All she needed to complete the effect was a chalkboard to scratch her nails across. “Gave you hell, didn’t she?”
Although he’d never admit it aloud, Sage Matthews certainly had.
