The Truth About De Campo

by Jennifer Hayward

  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 t
ake 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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MATTEO HAD JUST stepped into his loft after his flight back to New York when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Riccardo no doubt, looking for the full debrief.

  He dropped his bag on the entryway floor, pulled out his phone and checked the caller ID.

  Quinn.

  His chest tightened like a vice. Fast. Too fast?

  “Quinn.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. De Campo.” Her tone was brisk, businesslike. “De Campo has made Luxe’s short list of two.”

  He let out his breath in a long, slow exhale. Relief mixed with the sweet taste of victory, a heady cocktail that made his blood surge in his veins. “No doubt it was my sparkling personality,” he offered dryly.

  “No doubt.”

  The wry undertone in her naturally husky voice made him smile. He leaned back against the foyer wall and ran his palm over the stubble covering his jaw. “I am thrilled, of course, that you picked us. Grazie.”

  “Thank my new head sommelier for swinging the vote. One taste of Gabriele’s Malbec and she was onside.”

  “Remind me to thank her.”

  “I think the better route would be to keep you well away from her.”

  He lifted a brow. “Why would you say that?”

  “She isn’t as jaded about men as I am. I’d prefer not to have a train wreck on my team.”

  “I think you overestimate my allure, Ms. Davis.”

  “I think I don’t. Thank you for the perfume, by the way. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “I thought a little piece of Tuscany was apt. You like jasmine then?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. It’s one of the world’s great scents.”

  “I assume this is one of your techniques? Plying women with expensive perfume?”

  “One of the more rudimentary ones, yes,” he admitted. “I also know my way around a kitchen. You’d be amazed how impressed women are by a man who can cook.”

  “I can only imagine.” There was a pause. “I have no doubt about your...capabilities in any department you choose to apply yourself in, Mr. De Campo. Would next week suit to visit your Tuscan operations? I’d like to do that first, then show you two of our Caribbean properties we’re reopening in St. Lucia so you can get a feel as to where Luxe is headed before we do the pitch in early August.”

  “Of course. Will cowboy Jack be along for the ride to the Caribbean?”

  “If you’re referring to Daniel Williams, then yes, he is the other half of the final two.”

  “Perfetto,” he drawled, sarcasm lacing his tone. He was sure he could find a way for the Australian to stick his mouth in it again. It would be his pleasure. “We can do Tuscany whenever you like. Name the time.”

  “How about Friday? That way I don’t miss the working week.”

  His lips twisted. God forbid the workaholic miss a day churning out money for Davis Investments. “Shall I send the De Campo jet for you?”

  “Thank you but I’m mandated by Davis rules to fly commercial. Demonstrates good corporate governance.”

  He shrugged. “The offer’s there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I do have one, nonnegotiable condition to us moving forward.”

  A pause. “Which is?”

  “You need to start calling me Matteo.”

  He could have sworn he heard her smile. “I want your top-ten list, Matteo.”

  The Chagall he’d recently purchased at auction drew his eye, a vivid splash of color against the cream entryway wall. “Over a bottle of Brunello in Tuscany, Quinn. Bring a sweater for the castello. It gets chilly at night.”

  “Have you forgotten?” Her low, sardonic tone dripped across the phone line. “I’m already ice-cold.”

  Low laughter escaped him. “Why, Quinn Davis, I think you have a sense of humor.”

  “Don’t go imagining things.... I’ll have our admins connect on the details.”

  She disconnected the call. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and shook his head. As far as standoffish women went, it was his theory that some were cold and uninviting at their core, while others just pretended to be so for a whole variety of reasons. The latter category had always fascinated him. Often proved the biggest challenge and the sweetest reward. He’d bet his Chagall Quinn was one of them.

  Too bad that particular challenge was off-limits. If his vow to swear off women wasn’t enough of a reason to put Quinn in that category, his ten-million-dollar one was.

  He settled in and called Riccardo, an intense feeling of exhilaration moving through him. They had made it to the pitch. That’s all he needed. No one could beat him in a room. No one.

  His cold beer on the patio that night tasted very sweet indeed.

  * * *

  I should have taken the De Campo jet. Quinn embarked her commercial flight in Fl
orence stiff, sleep deprived and wanting to strangle the man who’d sat beside her on the London to Italy leg, humming incessantly in her ear. She could have used the luxury of Matteo’s flying spa to actually get some work done considering she was too much of a control freak to sleep on planes. Instead, she’d done an excellent impersonation of a Quinn sandwich lodged between two overweight men on the seven-hour overseas flight, unable to move and completely unproductive. Then had come the humming.

  She pulled up the handle on her carry-on and wheeled it through to the arrivals area of the tiny airport. Unproductive was the sore point here with the amount of work she had on her plate. Luxe was in far worse condition than she and Warren had ever imagined. When they’d started peeling back the layers and taken a hard look at the real financials—it was clear Luxe’s former parent company had been hiding a multitude of sins, including the fact that the restaurant wing of the chain was bleeding money at light speed. The rosy glow of Luxe’s heyday had long since passed and things were definitely on a downward spiral.

  Enter Quinn Davis. Miracle worker.

  She sighed and sat down on a bench to wait for her suitcase. She could do this. One step at a time, her mother had always told her when she was a little girl, fretting over some issue or another. Even at six, Quinn had been the girl waiting for the hammer to drop. Waiting for the pin to prick the bubble of her happy existence. The only girl in her first-grade class who had refused to get a dog because it might get run over by a car like her friend Sally’s had.

  As if, despite all of Warren’s and Sile’s efforts, she’d known at the core of her she was different. That her life wasn’t destined to be the gilded storybook it had been presented as.

  She closed her eyes against the pressure starting to build in her head. Hadn’t she proven time and time again in her short career she could do the impossible? She just needed to get this whirlwind two-day trip to Italy over with and move on to solving her real headaches. Like the handful of her restaurants that were literally falling apart because they hadn’t been renovated in so long. The local strikes that were paralyzing her Mediterranean locations. Completely incompetent management in others.