The Truth About De Campo

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.

Two–nil.

Too bad she wasn’t a fan of doing the predictable thing. She took the gifts inside, then spent the evening soaking up the time with each prospective partner, doing as much reconnaissance as she could before she made her short list of two. Nothing surprised her about her conversations. In fact, she grew even more certain that Silver Kangaroo was the right choice. De Campo, in her mind, was too smug, too established a brand to fit with Luxe’s new direction. But she owed Matteo her time. He was the only one she hadn’t spoken to in depth, and although she’d like to tell herself she’d been too busy, she had the strange feeling she’d avoided him because he was a danger zone for her.

He was chatting with her father now, the two of them engulfed in a spirited debate about business issues. Her stern father had clearly fallen under the spell of Matteo’s legendary De Campo charm. Bizarre, really, when Warren usually saw right through people.

She skirted around them and headed for the house to use the ladies’ room. Her face ached from the polite smile she’d pasted on while the competitors plied her with information and assessed her comment by comment to find her hot spots, her weak spots. To see if she actually had a brain. Her feet burned in the stilettos that were her armor, as if a sharp heel could puncture the hurt she felt every time someone insinuated she’d gotten where she was because she was Warren’s daughter. Her head throbbed from a fourteen-hour work day.

Sometimes being Quinn Davis was just much too much.

She sliced a wry glance at Thea flirting with Daniel Williams on the porch. She’d do her due diligence with Matteo when she came back. Then she was calling it a night. Dirty look from Warren or not.

* * *

Matteo felt his blood boil as Quinn Davis walked by him yet again. From her frosty reception of the presents he’d racked his brain to come up with, to her complete avoidance of his attempts to snare her time, she had been sending a loud and clear message. Either she didn’t like him personally or De Campo didn’t stand a chance. Neither was desirable, but he’d prefer it was a personal thing. That he could work with. A dislike of De Campo, not so much.

He stared after her, distracted by the sway of her delectable hips in the conservative summer dress that still managed to look sexy on her with that hourglass figure, despite the fact she had about as much personality as a block of ice. His fingers tightened around his glass. Chemistry test. What chemistry test? This was a farce.

Warren excused himself with a frown and went after Quinn. He watched them exchange words, Quinn’s mouth tighten and her head incline. Then she continued on into the house. He clenched his teeth. What had he done to deserve this? That first moment they’d laid eyes on each other had been an intense, acknowledged male-female appreciation of each other’s assets. Unmistakable. Man-hater Quinn might not like it, but she was attracted to him. That much he was sure of. And maybe that was the problem. A woman like her hated to reveal any chink in her armor.

She was going to be an even tougher nut to crack than he’d anticipated.

Good then that he’d had enough, way more than enough.

Daniel Williams ambled over and gave him a sympathetic look. “Still waiting? She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

He would normally have agreed but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut around the competition. He inclined his head toward Warren, instead. “That hour-long chat would have cost me three and a half million in auction. I’m not complaining.”

The Australian’s mouth quirked. “Touché. But Warren isn’t making the decision, Quinn is.”

Yes, she is. Matteo crossed his arms over his chest, antagonism heating him like a thirty-year-old scotch. “I heard Quinn say she’s been out to visit you guys. How long have you been working this?”

“Since they started negotiating for Luxe. About six months now. And she hasn’t dropped the ice-queen act yet.” Williams flashed a conspiratorial grin. “No surprise she’s running an ice-cream company, eh?”

Matteo felt his insides combust. Six months? He’d been pursuing Quinn Davis’s contract for six months? What chance did De Campo have? Bloody chemistry test.

He kept his temper in check. Just. “Seems like you’re doing something right.”

Williams leaned in, his voice dropping. “I’ve got that filly tied up tighter than tight, De Campo. Hate to say it ’cause I like you guys and we wine folk have to stick together. But this is pretty much a lock for us. Hate to see you waste your time.”

He stiffened. “Wasting my time,” he said quietly, pinning his gaze on the Australian’s rough-hewn face, “would be competing in a game I can’t win, Williams. And I don’t see that happening.”

His competitor’s grin faded. “Best of luck, De Campo. I gotta tell you, you’re a long, long shot. Hope you know that.”

Matteo showed his teeth. “Just the way I like it.”

Quinn came out of the house. “Would you excuse me?” he murmured. “My number is up.”

Anger pressed ruthlessly down on him, burning brighter with every step he took toward the infuriating Quinn Davis. He could tolerate a lot of things, but people wasting his time was not one of them. Unfortunately this situation required him to be civil so he pasted a smile on his face and stopped in front of her. “Might I claim my time, do you think?”

Her long dark lashes came down to shield her expression. “Of course. I was just coming to find you. Warren said you wanted to see the koi pond.”

He wanted to dunk her in the koi pond. He nodded instead and spread his hands out in front of him. “Please.”

Quinn pressed her lips together as if this was the last thing she felt like doing and led the way. Her politely worded, disinterested questions as they made their way down the path into the rear of the gardens sent his temper to a whole new level. He pushed out his practiced spiel about De Campo’s history, how the Tuscan and Napa vineyards were flourishing and why he thought their one-hundred-year-old company was the best choice for Luxe. It sounded flat even to his own ears because she so clearly didn’t care. By the time they got to the koi pond, a beautiful little oasis that seemed to appear out of nowhere, he had blown a fuse.

She needed to throw him a scrap.

Quinn started spouting interesting nuggets about the pond. By the time she started telling him how they removed the tropical fish in the summer and took them inside, he’d had enough.

“I get the feeling you don’t like me very much, Ms. Davis.”

She blinked, then fixed him with that cool stare of hers. “It’s not you I dislike, Mr. De Campo. It’s your type.”

The tabloid comment. Cristo, those stories. He shoved his hands in his pockets and narrowed his gaze on her lush, beautiful face. “Maybe you can elaborate on what my type is because I’m not sure I know.”

“The global playboy,” she supplied dryly. “The man who thinks he can manipulate everyone with his charm.”

His gaze clashed with hers. “Funny thing is, I don’t actually think that.”

“‘A stunning name for a stunning woman’? Come on, Mr. De Campo. Do you really talk like that?”

His lips stretched in a thin smile. “That wasn’t a line, Ms. Davis. That was the truth.”

Her small, even white teeth sank into a full bottom lip more suited to a woman who was actually a flesh-and-blood human being than an icicle. Too bad all of those just right, “take me to bed” curves were even more deadly in person. As in “take me to bed right now.” Because Quinn Davis was the epitome of a five-letter word he didn’t normally care to use.

The smile faded from his lips. “Just how much of an underdog is De Campo?”

“Who said you were an underdog?”

“My position on your priority list,” he said roughly. “If I were to rank it, I’d say Silver Kangaroo is your first choice, followed by H Brands and Michael Collins.”

The flush that darkened her cheeks told him he was dead-on. He sliced his hand upward to push his hair out of his face, remembered he’d had it all chopped off and dropped it to his side. “Why are we even here if you aren’t going to give us a chance?”

“You do have a chance.” Her eyes flashed a taunting emerald. “Tell me why I should choose you, Mr. De Campo. I’m all ears. Wow me.”

He could think of a multitude of ways to wow this one, most of which could never be done in a boardroom...starting with shutting up that smart mouth of hers.

He bit his tongue and used reason instead. “You’re big on Silver Kangaroo. I get that they’re a hot brand, winning awards, but so are we. In fact, De Campo is doing things no one else is, as you know, with the Malbecs and Syrahs in Napa. Warren is big on made in the U.S.A. There’s your angle.”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “I’m more interested in choosing the right brand. Made in the U.S.A. is nice to have.”

“Good,” he agreed. “Then I’m sure you know you’ll get more personal attention from us than the big brands. How much love and devotion will Michael Collins or H Brands give you?”

“A lot, they’ve promised.”

He lifted a brow. “You can see through a lie, can’t you, Ms. Davis? Ultimately, the reason you should choose us comes down to a partnership. We’re in the restaurant business. Our restaurants are hugely profitable. We can help you. Guide you.”

Her gaze glittered. “I run a national chain of restaurants. I’m sure you couldn’t have missed that fact.”

“Fast-food restaurants,” he qualified. “It’s a very different industry.”

The warning in her eyes intensified. “Not so different, Mr. De Campo. But you make a good point. You’re a competitor. Why should we fatten your pocketbook, open sesame on our trade secrets so you can kill us later?”

He shook his head. “De Campo isn’t interested in luxury dining. Our restaurants service the trendy, hip crowd. It would be synergy, not competition.”

“What’s to say you won’t expand? You’ve opened five restaurants this year.”

“It’s not in our plans. We know where our niche is. Allow us to partner with you, share what we’ve learned.”

Her gaze hardened to a chilly, wintry green. “I don’t want your advice, Mr. De Campo. I want your wine.”

Damn, but she was a pain in the butt. “Riccardo and I had dinner in your Park Avenue restaurant this week. We wrote down a list of ten crucial mistakes you’re making that would put you back in the black. You may want to hear them given our restaurants have a profit margin unheard of in the industry.”

Her gaze flickered. Bingo. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on.”

“Put us through to the next round and I will.”

Her brows tilted. “What if you don’t make it? You have an opportunity now to make your case.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Ah. A gambler too.”

“Always. Tell me something, Quinn. You don’t like being underestimated, do you?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Thought so. Funny then that Daniel Williams thinks he has you tied up tighter than tight.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think his exact words were ‘I’ve got that filly tied up tighter than tight, De Campo.’”

“Filly?” The full force of that green gaze sank into him. “He said that?”

“Just now, in fact. Ask him. And while you’re at it, you might want to find out where he’s staying. I could have sworn I saw him walk out of the hotel across from yours tonight. The one with the three-word name that is not the Luxe brand.”

Quinn’s mouth dropped open. She stood there gaping at him, then apparently realized what she was doing and slammed it shut. Matteo flashed her a grim smile. “Appearances are deceiving, aren’t they? You think I’m a playboy? You think I manipulate with my charm? Sure I do. I appreciate women. I appreciated you the moment I saw you and I know the feeling was mutual.” He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “But the thing is, you aren’t my type, Quinn. I prefer the warm, affable ones over the ice queens. So perhaps you can tuck away your claws and play fair. Judge De Campo on our track record, not your misguided presumptions of who you think I am. Or this chemistry test is going to be a joke.”

He walked after that, afraid if he said anything else he would sink De Campo’s chances.

If he hadn’t already.

Quinn followed him back to the others. Gut churning, he grabbed a drink from the tray of a passing waiter. What in God’s name was wrong with him? Hot-headed was not an emotion he would normally have associated with himself. Reckless at times, yes. But that woman was impossible. And his career depended on her.

He watched her interact with the others, visibly cool with Daniel Williams now. At least he’d made her think twice. If he’d guessed right, the Silver Kangaroo CEO’s arrogant words would make a woman like her crazy. And maybe it would make her do exactly the opposite of what she’d been planning. Backed up by the sound reasoning he’d provided.

* * *

The thought he might have once again destroyed the biggest opportunity in De Campo’s history kept him awake for much of the night as the monogrammed Luxe Hotel sheets stared him in the face. Eventually he threw them aside with a curse and got out of bed for a 5:00 a.m. run before his flight.

It would be a couple of days before he learned the fallout of his actions. Quinn had said they’d be informed the beginning of next week.

The only thing he knew for sure right now, he thought, grimacing and picking up his pace into a flat-out run through the park, was that he, the master of charm, had not only failed to ace the chemistry test, it had been an adjunct failure of epic proportions. Quinn Davis might actually hate him after last night.

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