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Yes, but she was a female. He’d never met one he couldn’t have. If he was on his game, she’d be in the palm of his hand before he’d finished his first cocktail. His mouth tightened. He intended to be more than on his game. All over his game was more like it. Which didn’t mean he would underestimate her. Women were like sleeping bears. All soft and cuddly until you awakened their inner beast. Which was precisely why you didn’t go there.
He closed the folder. “Who’s going?”
“You are.”
He did a double take. “With you and Gabe?”
“I need to be in San Francisco for the restaurant opening and Gabe is in way over his head with the harvest right now. I can’t pull him away.”
A surge of anticipation fired through him. Finally he was back in the game. The deal was his to win.
Riccardo kept his gaze steady on him. “This is the most important contract we’ve negotiated in the history of De Campo. We win this, we enter a different stratosphere. You need to bring it home, Matty.”
“Done.”
His brother’s eyes flickered at the belligerently confident note in his voice. Mistrust. It was still there.
His shoulders shot to his ears, blood pumped so rapidly into his head he thought it would explode. “Do not say it,” he bit out. “Do not say it.”
“What happened with Angelique Fontaine can’t happen again, Matty.”
The liquid fire burning in his head became an all-consuming force that blurred his vision. He swung away and sucked in a deep breath. Then another. Fisted his hands by his sides until they numbed into a lifeless mass. “How long,” he demanded hoarsely, “are you going to crucify me with that?”
“Bring me Luxe,” his brother said deliberately, “and we’re even.”
Matteo bowed his head. Flexed his frozen appendages until the blood streamed back into his fingers. When he looked up, he sought, demanded an honest answer from his brother. “Why me? You could make time for this, Riccardo.”
His brother rested that deadly sharp gaze of his on Matteo. “Because you are the only one who can win this. Quinn Davis is a man-hater. She will detest me on sight. Gabe could do it, but you are better. Not only do you have the charm but when you’re on, Matty, you light up a room. You are electric.”
He exhaled the breath lodged deep inside his chest. “Luxe is ours. I promise you that.”
Riccardo nodded. “Absorb what Paige has put together and let me know if you have any questions.”
Matteo tucked the file under his arm and headed for the door. His brain was already formulating his approach when Riccardo’s low drawl reached him. “Matty?” He turned around. “I meant what I said. You are not, under any circumstances, to sleep with Quinn Davis.”
All creativity fled. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his teeth clenching down so tight he thought they might shatter. “I heard you the first time. It can’t happen. It won’t happen. And I’m getting a little pissed you’d think I’d even go there.”
Riccardo shrugged. “You’re a complete wild card lately, Matty. They could announce the next shuttle expedition to the moon and I wouldn’t be surprised to see your name on the list.”
His insides tightened. “You know what I was going through. Why that happened with Angelique...”
His brother’s gaze hardened into impenetrable steel. “It was a seven-million-dollar deal, Matty.”
And he had brought it down like a house of cards.
He gritted his teeth. “I will win this deal for De Campo. That’s all you need to be sure about.”
His brother nodded.
Matteo stalked to the door. Sure he was going to charm Quinn Davis. Riccardo wanted to win. How did he think he was going to win? But sleep with her? Did his brother really think he wanted another two years in purgatory?
Damn. He needed a cold beer.
* * *
His mood hadn’t improved by the time he was home at his new Meatpacking District loft, a bottle of said cold beer in his hand on the patio. Kicking back in a lounge chair, he devoured the file Riccardo’s PA had compiled. Paige had been her usual ridiculously thorough self. It contained everything he ever needed to know about the Davis family and more. And photos. It did not escape him why his brother had warned him off Quinn Davis. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was knock-your-socks-off stunning.
The photo Paige had included, taken at a charity event, hit him right where it would any libido-endowed male. Petite, curvy in a lush “take me to bed” kind of way, she had silky, thick, long dark brown hair and the most haunting green eyes he’d ever seen.
Gorgeous. And, apparently, a man-hater. His mouth curved. He could work with that.
He took a swig of his beer. Paige’s notes were a gold mine of cocktail party intelligence. Quinn Davis had worked at Warren Davis’s investment firm since graduating from Harvard and had earned progressively more responsibility at a pace that would have made most people’s heads spin. It was clear from the opinion pieces that although many would have liked to think nepotism had played a role in her success, she had done it on her own. One business columnist commented she had an “eerily sharp brain like her father.” Another that she was an “instant study.” But the description that captured his attention was the one that branded her a “gladiator in the boardroom.”
This was getting more interesting by the minute.
He flicked to a profile piece on her personal life. Or lack thereof. She either didn’t have one or she was the most ultraprivate person he’d ever encountered. Twenty-seven years old, resided in Chicago, divorced from Boston blue blood lawyer, Julian Edwards, after one year of marriage. One year? He lifted a brow. What in God’s name had happened there? And a graduate-level Krav Maga? The instructors he knew had attained that level but none of his buddies had gotten past an orange belt despite years of practice.
Interesting was not the word. Fascinating was more like it. His mouth quirked. No wonder her marriage had fallen apart. Quinn Davis had probably emasculated her husband within the first three months of marriage.
He scoured the file from top to bottom, then threw it on the concrete beside him. Resting his beer on his thigh he looked up at the lone star in the Manhattan sky that never seemed to get truly black. An image of all three De Campo brothers—Riccardo, Gabriele, Matteo—walking into the boardroom of the second largest airline in Europe flashed through his head. That day in Paris had been their chance to make their mark on a company ruled for forty years by their despotic father, Antonio. It was Riccardo’s first high-profile deal as CEO. They had been pumped, sky-high with adrenaline, the seven-million-dollar deal to supply the airline with its house wines firmly within their grasp.
They’d nailed the presentation. Had gone out to celebrate that night at a local bar. But after the adrenaline had worn off, Matteo’s recent all-encompassing grief over the loss of his best friend, Giancarlo, had stormed back. Nothing had been enough to contain it—to make the guilt and pain go away. The effort to keep up a happy face with his brothers had been excruciating, ending with him seeking solace in the arms of a beautiful woman. Except that woman had been the daughter of Georges Fontaine, the CEO of the airline. She worked for Fontaine, had been on the executive team they’d pitched to. She’d also been throwing herself at Matteo the entire time they’d been in that boardroom.
He had reasoned Angelique Fontaine was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. But when he’d made it clear the next morning he wasn’t interested in anything long-term, Angelique had gone straight to her father. And De Campo’s chance to put its wine on over half a million flights a year had gone with her.
Angelique had branded him a callous son of a bitch. Georges Fontaine had been furious. It had been the worst mistake in judgment in Matteo’s thirty-two-year-old life.
He shifted on the chair, the memory of his brothers’ faces when Georges Fontaine had called the deal off physically painful to remember. Burned so indelibly into his mind it was like a mental scar that never healed. Shock. Disbelief. Disappointment.
The disappointment had been the worst.
He set his beer down on the concrete with a jerky movement. He had been in pain. But Riccardo was right. It shouldn’t have mattered.
Resting his head against the back of the chair, that lone star blinking at him like a beacon—like his path to redemption—he knew this was his chance to finally put his demons to rest. To move on. He would win this deal if it was with the last breath he had. Despite the odds that were stacked against him.
Unfortunately, the stakes had never been higher.
CHAPTER TWO
WARREN DAVIS’S REDBRICK Georgian Revival home in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago shone with a century-old elegance in the early evening light. It had been an unusually steamy summer day, climbing into the hundreds, the haze that had blanketed the city just starting to lift. Cooler night air whispered across the tops of the tall pine trees that stood like sentinels on either side of the mansion, wafting through the window of Quinn Davis’s room as she watched the heads of some of the world’s biggest spirit companies arrive for the cocktail meet and greet.
The air might be cooler now, but the focused, intent look on each megapowerful man’s face as he arrived promised a heated competition. Winning was all that mattered to men of this caliber. She’d lived with one her whole life—the most alpha of them all in Warren. And she couldn’t deny, she was their female equivalent. Except she had to be even tougher, stronger and more focused than all of them to survive. A female warrior in a male-dominated world.
She was fascinated to see how the men would play. How the testosterone party would unfold.
Every single one of them, as they arrived in everything from custom-made suits to cowboy hats, looked up at the American flag billowing from the porch, and undoubtedly, reminded himself again of its significance. Warren Davis was a national symbol of what made America great—a billionaire philanthropist who gave away more of his money than he kept. A patriot and financial genius who advised presidents on monetary policy and led social commentary. He was the man everyone wanted to know. The man people paid three and a half million to have lunch with at his charity auction date for the homeless, in the hopes they might pick up a miniscule amount of his brilliance.
He was also, as a stroke of fate would have it, the man who had chosen, along with his Irish wife, Sile, to adopt Quinn as a baby when her young Southern parents had been unable to care for her. Warren and Sile had barely brought their new baby home when Sile had miraculously fallen pregnant after years of unsuccessful fertility treatments and given Quinn her sister and best friend, Thea.
Thea, even now still primping herself in front of the mirror, fussing over yet another choice of hairstyle. Quinn grimaced and levered herself away from the window. “Please pick one and be done.”
Her sister squinted at herself and gave a dramatic sigh. “How am I supposed to choose with four of the world’s most powerful men coming for cocktails? This has to be daddy’s best idea ever. I mean, he has two single daughters right?”
Since her marriage to Julian had been a certified disaster, yes, that did put her squarely in that category. Not that she had any plans to ever repeat her mistake.
“Tonight is about getting to know potential partners,” she told her veterinarian sister, who knew as much about business as she knew about changing a tire. “Not speed dating.”
“Ha.” Thea shot her a rebellious look. “With a cattle and wine baron in the house, not to mention delicious Matteo De Campo.... You think I’m missing out on that opportunity?”
Quinn smiled. She wished, sometimes, she had just a little bit more of her younger sister’s boundless enthusiasm for life. For love. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever even had it to start with.
“Daniel Williams is beautiful,” Quinn drawled. “I’ll give you that.”
Thea tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder. “I fancy living on his ranch. I can take care of the animals while he tends to his vineyard. Although—” she put a finger to her mouth in a thoughtful gesture “—I’d gladly forget all about the animals if Matteo De Campo deemed me fit to give a second look. He is one real-life animal I wouldn’t mind taming.”
Quinn gave her a look from beneath perfectly manicured brows. “Matteo De Campo is a notorious playboy who couldn’t take a woman seriously if she were the only one left on the planet. And even then,” she declared, her lip curling, “he’d find it difficult to get past his love affair with himself.”
Thea threw out her hands. “Who cares? I hear a woman can’t be in the same room as him without throwing her panties at him. He’s that hot.”
“He’s not that good-looking.” Unless you went for the smoldering male à la perfume commercials who looked like he’d keep you up all night.
Her sister caught the gleam in her eye. “See? Undeniable. You need to throw off that ‘I was married and it sucked’ baggage and move on. Live a little.”
Quinn’s heart clamped into the hard little ball that seemed to be its permanent state since Julian had left. No one but her knew the truth of her marriage. The public line had been irreconcilable differences. What happened behind Davis doors was never revealed.
Better the truth of her marriage not be.
She forced a wry smile to her lips. “Don’t go throwing your panties at Matteo De Campo. Not only will he break your heart, but he’ll be mad when he loses the bid.”
Thea drew her brows together. “Have you already decided then?”
“No, but De Campo’s probably last on the list.” She wanted Danny William’s Silver Kangaroo. The small, award-winning Australian winery was the perfect eclectic fit for what she wanted to do with the Luxe brand.
“Daddy likes De Campo,” Thea said, following her to the door. “He said their new Napa wines are brilliant.”
“Daddy isn’t making the decision.”
Thea gave her a sideways look. “When are you going to stop trying to live up to this vision of perfection he expects? You could do that every day for the rest of your life and it’d still never be enough.”
Possibly true. But she was a little afraid she’d die trying. This was the biggest opportunity of her career and she intended to make her mark with it.
She did have to maintain some objectivity, she told herself as she and Thea made their way down the winding staircase, through the massive drawing room and out the French doors that led to the gardens where the cocktails were being served. It was only fair after all, even if she knew the choice she was going to make in the end.
The terrace in the middle of the immaculately landscaped gardens was buzzing as they arrived, the two CEOs of the larger spirit companies with their wives in attendance, while Daniel Williams and Matteo De Campo had obviously elected to fly solo, to Thea’s delight.
Surprising. Matteo’s Hollywood ex had been moaning in the tabloids about all of her ex-lover’s women, but not one was in sight tonight.
All eyes settled on her and her sister. Blonde Thea glowed with the prospect of meeting her Prince Charming while her dark-haired alter ego felt herself the instant target of four sets of male eyes. Not because she was beautiful, although she knew that she was. But because she was their ticket to massive international sales growth.
They were sizing her up. Waiting to see if she was as impressive as her track record. It sat on her shoulders with the almost oppressive weight that being Warren Davis’s daughter always had. She not only had to be better than the rest, she had to be ten times better.
It was exhausting.
Thea sucked in a breath. “I really may have to forgo my ranch-living plans. He is just unreal.”
Quinn didn’t have to ask which man her sister was talking about, because Matteo De Campo’s laserlike gaze was focused on her and it was like being in the path of an undeniable force of magnetism the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She’d met a lot of good-looking men. Her husband had been stunning...but he—he was something else. Unblinking, unashamedly approving of what he saw, his gaze took every inch of her in, right down to her toes. She swallowed hard. Shifted her weight so both designer-covered feet absorbed the impact.
“I hear he has a tattoo,” Thea whispered. “Hot, right?”
Quinn couldn’t help but wonder where on that tall, lean, muscular body it was. The dark suit that covered him was exquisite. The body better.
She found herself gaining a bit more respect for his legions of cast-offs as she returned his deliberate inspection. A woman might risk losing some self-respect over that. The photographs she’d seen of the youngest De Campo had been all about his lust for life, his freewheeling persona—the thick, unruly dark hair, the devil-may-care smile. But tonight, the hair was cropped close to his head so the sexy dark stubble that covered his square jaw showcased the perfection of his face. His expression was not the relaxed, indolent picture the tabloids loved to print. It was as intent as the night. Deliberate. Focused.
Damn. The “I am a sexy beast” stubble really worked for him.
She met his gaze, the amused half smile that curved his lips making her back stiffen. He was waiting for her to fall flat on her face. Waiting for her to fall all over him like every other woman did. She lifted her chin. He was so, so wrong on that. Julian had taught her well. The last thing any woman should trust was a pretty face in an expensive suit.
Summoning the cool, untouchable look she did so perfectly, she walked to her father’s side. He made the introductions, the two spirit company CEOs first, then the two younger men. All four were impressive, charismatic personalities who would stand out in a crowd from the pure power they exuded like a second skin. But even Daniel Williams, the golden-haired wine-and-cattle baron who looked like he’d just walked out of a cigarette commercial seemed to fade into the background with Matteo De Campo standing beside him. Silver-gray, she registered as she shook his hand. Matteo’s eyes were the exact color of the Chicago sky before a summer storm caused all hell to break loose.
Fitting then to feel that shiver slide up her spine.
“Quinn,” he murmured, keeping his gaze locked on hers as he folded his big, warm hand around her fingers. “A stunning name for a stunning woman.”
Her stomach did a funny roll as she retrieved her hand, the imprint of his fingers burning into hers. Is he for real?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. De Campo,” she murmured smoothly. “Although I feel as if I should already know you with all the tabloid attention you’ve been getting lately.”
He blinked, that one quick movement her only indication the gibe had landed. “Matteo, per favore,” he invited in a smooth, whiskey-soaked tone she was sure played a large part in how he slayed women. “And surely, Ms. Davis, you know better than to believe everything you read in the tabloids.”
“Where there’s smoke there’s usually fire, Mr. De Campo.”
A wry smile curved his lips. “A volte.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“Sometimes,” he drawled. “Sometimes there is, Ms. Davis.”
Her father flashed her a sharp look. Her head snapped back just like it had when she was ten and being rebuked at the dinner table for talking too much when the adults were conversing. Her shoulders came up and she summoned the exquisite manners the Davis family was legendary for. “Lovely to have you with us tonight.”
Matteo’s eyes glimmered as he held up the bottle he was carrying. “My brother Gabriele wanted you to have this. It’s the first bottle off the line of this year’s Malbec.”
The vintage that had the whole North American wine industry talking about it. The first bottle of the year at that. How very smooth. “I’m honored,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the bottle. “It’s a brilliant wine. Thank you.”
Score one for Matteo De Campo.
“And this,” he added, pulling two small silver-wrapped packages out of his jacket, “is a little taste of Tuscany for you both.”
He handed the tiny packages to her and Thea. Thea nearly fell over herself thanking him. Quinn thought it was a little over the top, but the look on the other men’s faces pronounced it an act of genius.
