The Truth About De Campo

He poured the rich dark red, almost brown liquid into their glasses and held his own up. “To a successful partnership.”

She tilted her glass in a mocking salute. “So confident.”

“I don’t intend to lose, Quinn.”

“Then let the best candidate win.” Her green gaze glittered as she lifted her glass and swirled its dark contents around the edge. She closed her eyes and breathed the wine in. He found himself hypnotized by the way she gave herself over to the full sensual experience. Quinn Davis was definitely scorching hot on the inside. The type who would be more than a match for any man. The question was, did she ever drop that rigid exterior and let herself go?

Stretch out like a cat and let a man pleasure her until she screamed?

She opened her eyes. Looked directly into his. He was not nearly quick enough to wipe the curiosity off his face. A rosy hue stole over her golden skin, her gaze dropping away from his.

He could work with this.

“So,” she murmured huskily, after their food had been served, “give me your list.”

He sat back in his chair and balanced the Brunello on his knee. “The wine list in your Park Avenue property is far too big. You’re giving people too much choice. Distracting them. You need to allow your sommelier to do his job and sell the wines.”

She frowned. “People like choice. I like choice. I hate it when I go to a place that tries to tell me what I want to drink.”

“Si, but you have too much choice. The night Riccardo and I were there, a couple at the table beside us were all set to splurge on an expensive bottle, but by the time they got through your monstrosity of a list, they gave up and ordered a midend vintage they were familiar with. Your sommelier,” he drawled, “never made it to their table that night.”

“We’re short-staffed there,” she said defensively.

“It was a Tuesday night at six. There were empty tables.”

She was silent. Pursed her lips. “Go on...”

“You need more beautiful women working the bar.”

She lifted a brow. “So men can go ogle them and spend their money? This is a high-end restaurant I’m running, Matteo, not a strip joint.”

“Precisely. Seventy-five percent of the patrons at the bar that night were men—financial power players having a drink after work. Those types are all about the eye candy. You put a beautiful woman in front of them, they’ll stay longer, drink more and I guarantee, they’ll keep coming back.”

“I suppose I should have them in short skirts, too?”

“Sex sells, Quinn.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if I were a man. You are such simple creatures.”

He smiled at that. “If you mean honest and straightforward about how we feel without a hundred pounds of analysis spread on top of it, then si, it’s true.”

“But in being that way, you miss many of the subtleties of life.”

“Care to give an example?”

“I’d prefer you finish your list.”

* * *

By the time he had and they’d eaten dinner, Quinn had the glaring feeling she’d vastly underestimated how valuable De Campo could be in helping her dig Luxe out of the mess it was in. Matteo was clearly a brilliant businessman and a marketing genius. De Campo was making scads of money at its übertrendy wine bar locations on the East and West Coasts. She’d done the research.

“You make some very good points,” she conceded, pushing her empty plate away. “But there still remains the fact you are competition for us in the restaurant space.”

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