Sapphire Attraction

“Going out again?”

“For a bit. While I still have a license.”

“Do be careful, darling.”

Quinn jumped into the rental Corvette she’d been given while her own was being repaired. She would have liked nothing more than to rev the V-6 engine and use major horsepower to take the car from zero to sixty in a little under four seconds flat. She resisted the temptation. Took her time to gain a cool head. Talking Ike Drake into standing down on his notion of justice would take all the charm and calm persuasion she possessed.

Halfway to Drake Realty, her cell phone rang. She tapped the phone icon on the steering wheel to answer the call from her lone PC friend, whom she’d met the first time on a visit at the age of twelve. “Hey, Peyton.”

“What are you doing?”

“Channeling the negotiator.”

“Huh?”

“Will explain later.”

“You’d better. Those words sound mysterious.”

“I’m handling part two of the mystery now, so when we meet I can share the whole story. Busy later?”

“Not really. Just text me where and I’ll head over.”

“Perfect.”

Quinn walked into Drake Realty with authority and confidence, having reminded herself that when it came to arguments, she won most of them.

“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly to the receptionist seated in the lobby area. “I’m here to see Ike Drake.”

“Senior or Junior?”

“Junior,” Quinn answered, sure the virile man she encountered couldn’t have a grown son.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” The receptionist reached for the phone. “But I’d rather you not announce me. My visit won’t take long.”

“I’m sorry, but all visitors must be announced and cleared before they’re allowed past this lobby. One moment.”

“Then consider me a friend, or family member, I really don’t care. Just point me in the direction of Ike Drake’s office, now.”

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but...”

Quinn’s anger, which had begun to cool on the drive over, started simmering once again. If announced, she doubted Ike would agree to see her. Anyone who had the nerve to follow up a gift of flowers with a lawsuit was definitely not the kind of man who’d want to face her head-on. “Never mind. It’s obvious your job is to protect scoundrels. Some people will do anything for a paycheck. I’ll catch him later.”

Just as Quinn turned to go, one of two doors on either side of the receptionist’s desk opened. Ike.

Their eyes met. The room temperature seemed to rise by several degrees. Quinn was surprised to feel her heartbeat increase. Anger had never felt quite like this.

The receptionist glanced between the two, not sure of what was happening or, given the look that was being exchanged, what might occur. “Mr. Drake, would you like me to—”

“No,” he replied, with a hand out to silence the receptionist. He walked over and stood in front of Quinn. “I’m fine. Ms. Taylor, I assume you’re here to see me.”

Quinn walked forward until their faces were mere inches apart, her voice a whisper beneath her smile. “You know damned well why I’m here.” She fixed him with a look that melted most men.

Ike was ice. He gave a curt nod. “Let’s talk in my office.” Then to the receptionist, “Hold my calls.”

He reached the door and held it open for Quinn to enter. She did so, and even though highly frustrated admired the revered mahogany walls and marble-trimmed halls of the prestigious firm. Aware of the curious stares from the employees who passed them, she kept her eyes firmly on Ike’s back. Had they been daggers, he would have been punctured from back to front.

He’d barely looked at her. Acted like she was invisible. Quinn wasn’t used to being dismissed.

With a discipline honed through years of ballet training and mastering the violin, she kept her ire in check until he’d closed his office door. Then she threw charm school right out the window and exploded like a clobbered piñata at a child’s birthday party.

“How dare you sue me over a traffic accident.”

“If what took place was a mere traffic incident, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Look, we don’t have to do this. I’ll fix your car, no problem. If you’re worried that I won’t, draw up a contract or something for me to sign. We can’t take this to trial. They’ll suspend my license. I have too much to do. Let’s just drop it. Okay?”

Ike walked behind his desk, sat and began placing items into a briefcase. “It’s not up to me. If it was, I’d probably give you a higher fine and harsher sentence than the judge will apply.”

“You know what? You’re disgusting.”

Ike sat back. “I’m disgusting?”

“Absolutely. That you would have the nerve to take me to court for an accident, then sue me on top of it, makes you not only disgusting but a first-class jerk.”

* * *

Ike was too incredulous to be angry and too stunned to take offense, not only at Ms. Taylor’s ability to stand in his office as though she was a victim but that she could do so and look absolutely magnificent.

Time to get out of here. Being alone with this woman behind closed doors was a bad idea. He stood and walked over to take his suit coat off the rack.

“For the record,” he began, putting it on, “I couldn’t care less what you think of me, but you will respect this business. You had no right coming here to discuss a personal matter, and the boorish manner in which you spoke with the receptionist was out of line. You may have experienced success with it other places, but that bratty behavior doesn’t work here.” He picked up his briefcase, keys and sunglasses. After a quick look around the office, he headed toward the door. “I suggest any rebuttal you have be shared with your attorney to present at pretrial. Because this conversation is over. I’ll walk you out.”

Quinn straightened to her full five feet seven inches, plus four-inch heels, and looked Ike directly in the eye. “Bratty, huh? Maybe I am. But you’re the one who spent half a million bucks on a relic and threw a weeklong tantrum over a car that’s insured, over repairs that will cost you nothing. There are not many people driving cars with a price tag that equals the GNP of third-world nations. I might be spoiled.” She placed a finger on his chest. “But one could say the same about you.”

Ike took a step back. Not because he was in any way intimidated. Her crystal-covered bravado reminded him of London, his kid sister, who was also headstrong even when wrong. But her temper didn’t move him, either.

The reason he’d retreated from the news item in front of him, one he was sure had caused more than one controversial headline, was because of a breaking story he hadn’t expected—a magnetic attraction combined with a visceral connection he did not understand. It was a feeling that puzzled him, and if he were honest, frightened him, too. Ike Drake Jr. moved through life with deliberate, thoughtful and strategic precision. He was a grown man, not a teenage boy given to uncontrollable urges. So why did he want nothing more than to wrap his arms around this bundle of fiery femininity and shut her mouth by covering it with his own? Annihilate her anger with his tongue? He felt an inexplicable desire in every inch of his six-foot-plus frame. Several inches in a certain area more than others.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. His gaze unwavering. His expression unreadable. His eyes slid to her succulent lips. The bottom one trembled. He wasn’t the only one affected. She wasn’t the only one who mattered. This was a fact she needed to know.

He took a step toward her, so close that their noses almost touched. This time it was Quinn who retreated. He took another step.

“What are you doing?” she asked, the merest hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

Ike said nothing. His expression remained somber, his body taut, exuding power and raw masculinity. He watched as in mere seconds a myriad of emotions flared in her eyes. Suddenly she whirled around, heading for the door. A firm grasp on her arm stayed her progress. It wasn’t a move Ike had intended. It just happened. As if his arm didn’t want her out of its reach. Later, this would cause Ike concern. Every decision he made was measured and calculated, every move controlled. Yet five minutes alone with this woman had tested his restraint. Had made him react in the heat of the moment. Ike was hot not only under the collar, but in places farther down.

“Let go of my arm!”

“Not until I make myself clear. You are never again to come into this company unannounced and demand anything. If you have something to discuss, schedule an appointment. Unless it is regarding the accident. In that case, don’t bother. That matter will be settled in court. Do you understand?”

He felt her body shaking. Judging from the hardened nipples now pressed against her shirt, this wasn’t a reaction to what he’d said. It was because of a synergy—stimulating, powerful, undeniable—existing between them. He felt it, too. She leaned forward, her lips so close he felt her breath. His groin stirred. Her mouth opened.

“Let. Me. Go.”

Their eyes locked. The room faded away. Time stopped, too. She blinked. He followed the movement of her long lashes. The urge to know if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked was overwhelming. Time to make a move.

Two quick taps on the door and it swung open. “Hey, Ike...whoa!” The tableau before him stopped Terrell in his tracks. “Sorry, brother. I didn’t know—”

“Your timing is perfect,” Ike interrupted, wanting to hug his brother and throttle him, too. The sound of the door opening had snapped Ike out of the Quinn-induced haze that had him about to act totally out of character. Regaining his composure, he walked behind his desk and began shuffling papers. “Ms. Taylor was just on her way out.”

Terrell turned to her with hand outstretched. “Hello, Ms. Taylor. I’m Terrell Drake.”

“I’m out of here.” She brushed past him and out of Ike’s office.

Terrell’s expression was one of amusement as he watched her leave. Still smiling, he turned back to his brother.

“Don’t.” Ike reached for his charging cell phone that he’d almost forgotten.

“What, bro?” Terrell innocently replied. “I didn’t even say anything.”

Ike pocketed the phone, placed the charger in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “Let’s keep it that way. Unless it’s about the deal.”

No doubt the upcoming meeting was important. The Drakes had handled their share of large purchases, but the office building strategically situated in San Francisco’s business district would be one of their biggest ones yet.

“That’s why I came by, to make sure there were no loose ends regarding the presentation.”

Ike gave him a look. “You know better than that.”

“I thought so. Until I walked in as you were about to get your groove on in the middle of the day.” Ike walked by him and toward the door. Terrell fell into step behind him. “Wait. Ms. Taylor as in Quinn Taylor, the girl who hit you?”

“Focus, Terrell. Your mind should be on numbers and tenant projections. Not her.”

“Oh, like yours was a minute ago?”

Ike ignored Terrell as they reached their father’s corner office. Ike Drake Sr. was just coming out of his private restroom, looking the part of a dynasty head in a navy blue suit, tailored to obscure his expanding stomach, stark white shirt and a red-white-and-blue tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut and lined, his face clean-shaven save for a thin mustache. At not quite six feet, it wasn’t his stature that made his presence so commanding, but the steely confidence that oozed from his pores. It’s what made him such a stellar negotiator and businessman, and why they were on their way to sealing one of their most lucrative deals yet.

“About time you two got here,” he barked gruffly.

“Sorry about that, Dad,” Ike Jr. offered. “Had to handle some unexpected business.”

“He was handling it, all right,” Terrell murmured, halted from commenting further by his brother’s warning stare.

“I understand, son,” Ike Sr. drawled as he reached for his personal items on the desk and walked toward them. “The meeting we’re heading to involves a negotiation for only a hundred million or so. No big deal.”

Ike Sr.’s offhand comment lightened the mood. The men chatted casually as a town car transported them to the private airstrip where they boarded a company plane for San Francisco. Once aboard, Ike Sr. and Terrell pulled out their computers. Ike stared out the window, his mind on Quinn and what happened at the office. She was a study in contrasts. Exasperating yet intriguing. Bothersome but beguiling. With a slight shake of his head, he forced himself back into the present. Earlier he’d told Terrell to focus. Right now he needed to follow that same advice.

Chapter 5

Quinn entered the cool confines of Acquired Taste, one of only a handful of restaurants in the town of Paradise Cove, now boasting close to five thousand residents. It was lunchtime. The room was crowded. Peyton had arrived earlier to secure a table. Quinn spotted her and headed over.

“Hey.” Quinn plopped into the empty booth seat.

Peyton stopped texting and looked up. “Whoa. Somebody’s not happy.” She set her phone on the table. “Looks like the negotiation didn’t go so well.”

“Not at all.”

“What happened?”

“I was involved in an accident. Of all the cars in this town, I had to hit an antique owned by an asshole. The guy’s impossible.”

“More impossible than you?” Quinn cut her eyes at Peyton. “Don’t act like that’s an exaggeration. I love hanging around you. But for the average person...you’re hard-core.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’re welcome.” They paused and ordered drinks from the waitress. “Who was the lucky guy you met by accident?” Air quotes emphasized the last two words. “Pun intended.”

Quinn gave her a look. Peyton laughed. Quinn obviously saw nothing funny. Peyton lost her smile. “I’m sorry. Bad timing.”

“Bad joke, too.”

“Whose car did you hit?”

“Whose car did I collide with while swerving to save an animal’s life? Ike Drake. He’s also the man who’s decided to personally sue me because of it.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s to ensure that his car gets fixed.”

Peyton made a face. “Um, that’s why we have insurance.”

“Like I said, his is some kind of rare antique. Repairs will be expensive.”

Peyton shrugged. “You’ve got the cash.”

“I’m not worried about that. But they’re threatening to take my driver’s license. Trent’s coming to visit next week. That won’t work at all.”

Peyton reached for the menu and began to scan it. “You mean I finally get to meet your bestie? Cool!”

“Not so cool with what’s going on.”

“You’ll get out of it. You always do.”

Quinn picked up hers, as well. “I hope you’re right.”

“It could be worse. Ike Drake is handsome and one of this town’s most eligible bachelors.”

“His personality isn’t nearly as attractive.”

“I wouldn’t mind being with someone like him.”

“If the opportunity arises in the middle of my trial, I’ll be sure and pass that along. Through his prosecuting attorney, of course.”

“I’m just kidding, silly.”

“Don’t mind me. Go ahead and sleep with the enemy. And from what I’ve seen of his stodgy personality, I mean that literally.”

No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than an image of Ike’s face popped into her mind. The one he’d worn earlier when clearly chagrined that she’d stopped by his workplace. Fiery dark eyes. The hint of a cleft in his jutted chin. Well-defined lips. And words delivered in a way that brooked no argument, from a man clearly used to being in control. In Quinn’s first serious relationship, she’d worn the pants. Her ex-fiancé had let her do what she wanted. Quinn liked calling the shots—after a childhood in which she had no voice, she liked control. Remembering the power in Ike’s strong body and the force of his stern words made Quinn realize she might enjoy a man who took control.

“You okay?”

Quinn looked up to see the waiter by their table. “I’m fine,” she answered Peyton. “Just had a crazy thought, that’s all. You go first.”

Peyton looked amused. “I’ve already ordered.”

“Oh.” Quinn took another quick look at the menu. “I’ll have the baked salmon.”

“With a side of Ike?” Peyton asked.

“You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. But the look on your face just now got me thinking that you and Ike might be more alike than you know.”

“I couldn’t care less. By this time next week, that’ll be behind me.”

She delivered this statement with complete confidence and secretly hoped the fire in her belly from the encounter with Ike would leave just as quickly.

* * *

Later that afternoon in San Francisco, the Drake men were in a festive mood. The meetings had gone better than expected. Before heading back to PC, the men had decided to have dinner at one of Ike Sr.’s favorite restaurants. “The best Italian food outside of Italy” was how he described it. The Ikes and Terrell watched the sommelier uncork a vintage cabernet sauvignon blend. A single bottle cost more than some paid for rent, but next to a wine their Southern California cousins produced, it was Ike Sr.’s favorite. The complex, rich flavor was achieved through extensive knowledge, deft blending and patience. Ike thought the pairing a perfect choice.

He held up his glass. “To our new silent partner, Global 100, their rep, Bernard Lindsay, and the procurement of Ten Drake Plaza. The financing has been solidified. We’ll be able to close in less than sixty days. Good work, sons.”

Terrell held up his glass.

Ike held back. “You said it yourself, Dad. We’ve got sixty days or less until it’s official. Let’s toast then.”

“Ah, man!” Terrell shook his head as he and his dad clinked glasses. “Stop being so pessimistic, bro. Getting to this point took three years. Let’s celebrate.”

“It’s not pessimism, it’s pragmatism. I don’t like counting chickens before they’re hatched.”

“Ike tends to be more cautious,” Ike Sr. said. “On the other hand, you, Terrell, are more instinctive. You sometimes act first and think later. Both qualities have advantages and disadvantages. That’s why we make such a great team.”

“What quality do you bring to the table, Dad?” Terrell asked.

Ike Sr. answered without a pause. “My checkbook.”

They laughingly toasted to this truth.

Ike swirled the wine and took another taste. “This is very nice, Dad.”

Ike Sr. looked over the rim of the glasses he’d donned to read the menu. “Glad you approve.”

“It’s all right,” Terrell said. “Though it doesn’t beat a good shot of Louis XIII.”

“I’ll admit that cognac pairs well with a Cuban cigar, but for the perfectly cooked trio of duck, lobster and venison that I’m about to enjoy, this—” he raised the glass in Terrell’s direction before taking a sip “—is the perfect choice.”

“How’d you find out about this place?” Terrell asked, casually taking in the room.

“Came to a meeting here several years ago.”

Terrell nodded. “A business meeting?”

“A discussion about networking that could have led to business deals, but more about how we could impact the young men in this area, especially Oakland.”

Ike looked up from his cell phone. “I don’t remember you ever working with men from here.”

“You were busy in the field then, son. Working hard to come up in the company and make a name for yourself. It was right around the time you negotiated the deal on our office building.”

“Then it’s no wonder. Until it closed and we had the keys, that deal was the only thing on my mind.”

“Not much has changed,” Terrell teased.

Ike ignored him. “Are you still in contact with any of them? Perhaps those affiliations can be of future benefit. As our Bay Area portfolio grows, our presence will as well.”

“Quite possibly,” his father replied with a nod. “One of them has become especially successful in the ten years or so since that meeting. Though I’m glad not to have needed him. He’s a high-powered criminal defense attorney, mostly white collar. Became a judge a few years ago.”

“Who?”

“You’ve met him a time or two,” Ike Sr. answered. “Glen Taylor.”

Ike sat back, deflated. “Her father?”

“I think she put a spell on you, brother. Even out of town, you can’t get away from Quinn Taylor.” Terrell smiled broadly as he emphasized the last name and watched Ike squirm.

Ike Sr. looked between his sons. “What am I missing?”

“Terrell’s trying to be funny and not doing a good job. Quinn is the woman who hit the Ferrari and destroyed over a year’s worth of restorative work, causing about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage in an instant. According to Audrey, she’s Glen’s daughter. She attended the ball, Dad. You were away from the table when Mrs. Newman introduced her to the family.”

“He’d just gotten married when I met him. Don’t remember hearing about a daughter, though our interaction has been limited. A couple golf tournaments, some charity events.”

“He’s hoping they’re not related,” Terrell explained. “Ike sued Quinn to make sure he gets paid.”

“I’m protecting my investment.”

“That’s a wise move, son. The value of rare cars like that only increases, especially those in pristine condition.” The elder Drake studied the label on the bottle of wine. “It will be a bit awkward, however, if that is his daughter.”

“Trust me, Dad. There’s no way. She’s wild, impetuous, unreasonable...”

Ike Sr. gave his son a level stare. “Have you forgotten that your mother and I raised London?”

“You tried,” Terrell responded, “but our dear sister is in a whole other category. I’m still not convinced that someone didn’t drop her off on our doorstep after spending those early formative years being raised by wolves.”

London was the youngest Drake sibling, ten years Ike’s junior and a bundle of drama from the time she was born. At thirteen, her front-page antics and headstrong defiance to parental rules had her shipped off to a prestigious boarding school. What was supposed to be a form of punishment designed to tame their wild child had the opposite effect. Just before graduating high school, she was discovered by a modeling scout and given a contract. Mere days after “Pomp and Circumstance,” she landed in Milan, dived headfirst into the party scene and continued to make headlines. During her last visit it appeared that she’d calmed down a bit. But not much.

The first course of their prix fixe meal arrived, shifting conversation from wayward women to exquisite appetizers such as beets with smoked parsnip and cocoa crumb, beef tartare with chickpeas and black olives, and smoked pork belly on a radicchio-and-pickled-apple bed. By the time desserts arrived, Terrell and Ike Sr. had all but convinced Ike Jr. that closing the Ten Drake Plaza deal was a fait accompli.

At the same time, Ike had convinced himself that love for his Ferrari was what kept Quinn on his mind. He’d also bought into the convenient illusion that Quinn and Judge Taylor were not related. Were that the case, he’d drop the suit and work out an amicable arrangement to have his car repaired. But Ike felt sure that the chances of Quinn being Glen’s daughter were none and none. There was no turning back. Quinn Taylor needed to learn a lesson. They would go to trial.

Chapter 6

Two weeks later, Ike pulled into the parking lot of the town’s municipal building ready to put the accident behind him. He’d been so immersed in the details of securing the funding from Global 100 and closing the San Francisco deal that today’s meeting had barely crossed his mind.

But Quinn had. More than he cared to admit. All the more reason to get this done. The town was small and the Drakes knew her grandmother, Maggie Newman, but Ike couldn’t imagine he and Quinn ran in the same circles. Except in passing, it was very unlikely he’d see her again. That she’d agreed to plead no contest and to the pretrial was a relief. He imagined the proceedings would be brief, repayment for the car damage and some type of probation or community service.