The Truth About De Campo

by Jennifer Hayward

“SAY, WAS THAT De Campo I saw swimming across to the Pitons this morning?” Daniel Williams slopped half a cow’s worth of milk into his coffee and looked across the breakfast table at Quinn. “I’m all off with my time zones and I sure as heck could have been seeing something, but I could swear I saw him out there and holy crow, that has to be some swim.”

  Quinn’s spoon fell to her saucer with a clatter. “That can’t be right.” That swim was miles.

  Daniel shrugged. “Like I said, I could be wrong but I thought I recognized him.”

  Her stomach tightened. Lord knew what state of mind Matteo had woken up in this morning. Sharks weren’t a common worry in the waters here, but that was a bloody long swim. Even for a good athlete. He was supposed to have met them for breakfast a half hour ago before their trip to Le Belle Bleu...

  She stood up abruptly. “I’m going to go see if he misunderstood the breakfast invitation. I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes.”

  She walked straight into Matteo as she exited the restaurant. Her heartbeat slowed to a more manageable rhythm as she took in his navy trousers, pale yellow shirt and the grim look he wore like a badge. At least he was in one piece....

  “Daniel said you’d swum across to the Pitons.... I told him he must have been mistaken.”

  “I did.”

  She stared at him. “That was exceedingly stupid.”

  “A skill I seem to be perfecting of late.”

  “Matteo—”

  “Later, Quinn.” His sharp tone stopped her in her tracks. “We need privacy for this discussion.”

  She bit into her lip. Or they could avoid it all together....

  He waved a hand toward the restaurant. “I need coffee. I’ll get one to take with us.”

  Matteo strode into the dining room, leaving Quinn standing there watching him go. She spent the windy drive around the coast to Le Belle Bleu trying to ignore the fact she’d just slept with the man behind her. Engaged in no-holds-barred raw sex with a man who had proven that far from her being the frigid, unfeeling creature Julian had made her out to be, she was capable of losing herself in the moment. As in screaming losing herself in the moment.

  Images from the night before flashed through her head like a real-time movie she’d played a starring role in. Her spread across the piano keys...Matteo feasting on her willing body...

  An allover flush consumed her. She wanted to feel regret. And she did. Sleeping with the bidder of an open contract likely wasn’t spelled out in the Davis Investments ethics manual because they’d probably figured no one would ever go there. But if the board or Daniel Williams ever found out, there’d be hell to pay. Her judgment would be called into question and her reputation compromised.

  Her head throbbed in her skull. The problem was she’d never felt so alive. Never knew she could. She had pulled Matteo back from the fire last night. And in a bizarre way, she had reinstated herself among the living too.

  One night, one lapse of sanity might be acceptable. She could still make a decision on this contract with a clear head. If it never happened again. If she wiped it from her brain...

  The irony of it all made her shake her head as the marina came into view, sleek, expensive sailboats bobbing in their moorings. The one man who did it for her was the one man she couldn’t have.

  * * *

  Le Belle Bleu was no Paradis.

  Located on the northern tip of St. Lucia, on a peninsula that boasted the island’s best beaches, Matteo could see why it had once been described as “one of the most dramatic resorts in the Caribbean” by a famous luxury hotel magazine. “A mermaid’s paradise...” Surrounded on three sides by water, each suite boasting a million-dollar ocean view with a private plunge pool that connected to the sea, its world-class restaurants weren’t just set on the water, they were in the water with glass floors, walls and ceilings immersing patrons deep into the sea with the most incredibly colored tropical fish as dining partners. And then there was the spa which was undeniably impressive with its renowned organic sea treatments favored by the globe’s elite.

  As far as Matteo was concerned, that’s where the travel brochure ended and reality began. Five minutes into their walk-through with the hotel’s manager, Raymond Bernard, it had become clear the property’s ten-million-dollar face-lift was more of a disaster than a fix. If the shoddy renovations didn’t bring the kitchen falling down around Quinn’s head, the questionable wiring would. There was no way this hotel was going to be ready for its opening in two weeks. And from the scowl on Quinn’s face, she’d figured that out too.

  He asked another pointed question of Raymond since Quinn seemed to be too busy fuming. No doubt wondering how she was going to host every VIP in the Caribbean in this mess in two weeks for the relaunch of a hotel that was considered a national treasure.

  Raymond gave a completely inadequate answer to his question. Quinn rolled her eyes. She appeared to have exactly zero patience for the manager who was obviously struggling in his role and wasn’t trying to hide it.

  They followed Raymond through the glitzy, opulent lobby. His ill-advised swim this morning had managed to knock some sense into his brain. What he’d done last night had been the height of stupidity. There were no excuses for it. But what he could do now was make sure it never happened again. Give Quinn no reason to think what had happened between them should have any bearing on her decision. He was going to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that De Campo was the right partner for Luxe. And Le Belle Bleu provided the perfect opportunity for him to do that. He’d been through restaurant construction with De Campo’s properties. Knew what to look for. Quinn’s ice cream and hamburger franchises were built on an identical blueprint that had nothing to do with this type of scale. Complexity. Right now, she looked as out of depth as he had been this morning in water way over his head, unidentifiable sea creatures lapping at his feet.

  Raymond stopped in front of the new kitchens and started detailing their attributes with as much enthusiasm as a tortoise sunning himself on a rock. “So,” he summed up in that all-the-time-in-the-world West Indies drawl of his. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Quinn stuck her hands on her hips. “Not at the moment, no,” she said sharply. “But it will be.”

  Raymond paled. “I thought you would be pleased with what we’ve done.”

  “I’m not exactly sure which part of this disaster you’re referring to,” she responded curtly. “We’ll deal with it later. Right now let’s review the menus so we can discuss them over lunch. That’s what Matteo and Daniel really need to see.”

  They sat on the poolside terrace while Le Belle Bleu’s head chef took them through the new menus he’d designed. By the end of his presentation, Matteo was convinced the lineup showed such an abject lack of creativity it wasn’t even appropriate for a three-star hotel, let alone Luxe.

  “Where is the seafood?” Quinn asked, jamming a hand on the table as if to physically restrain herself. “St. Lucia is a Caribbean island. People expect seafood.”

  The chef pointed to the entrées. “There are two fish dishes here.”

  “Two out of twelve?”

  “W-we thought it was sufficient.... We have an international clientele.”

  “Who don’t eat appetizers?”

  “Well, there is some crab in this one...”

  Quinn dropped her head in her hands.

  “Quinn?” Raymond’s placid tone was filled with apprehension. “Any other comments?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “But since it’s way past time for lunch, let’s do it over that.”

  She sliced a look at Matteo and Daniel. “Consider this a work in progress.”

  They ate by the sea. When Quinn attempted to sit on the other side of the table from him, Matteo deftly presented the chair beside him with a gallant flourish.

  “The vie
w is much better here.”

  “I thought,” she stated evenly, “I would save it for you and Daniel since I’ll have more of a chance to enjoy it than you will.”

  “Oh, no,” Daniel said hastily, clearly recognizing he was running this race a few too many steps behind, “the lady should have the best view, always.”

  Matteo’s lips twisted as Quinn sat down. “I’m not sure ‘lady’ is the best description for you today,” he murmured in her ear as he pushed her chair in.

  She gave him a glare that would have felled a lesser man. “You’re not giving the man a chance to breathe,” he counseled quietly, sitting down beside her. “I would have thought Warren taught you allies make better bedfellows.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “He won’t last long enough to become an ally,” she muttered icily.

  Matteo’s return glance was reproving. “You need to take a deep breath.”

  She did. Lord knew she did. But she didn’t need to hear that coming from him right now. “Don’t think,” she said in a deadly quiet voice, pretending to point out a particularly good bread in the basket for the other’s benefit, “that last night gives you the right to cross the line with me.”

  He took a piece of cornbread. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. “But we do have to talk about it. Have a drink with me before dinner.”

  She stared mutinously at him. The last thing she wanted to do, given her mood, was talk about last night. But she was pretty sure it couldn’t be avoided.

  She nodded. “One drink.”

  * * *

  Matteo was waiting for her in the cliffside bar when she arrived, seated at a table near the sheer drop to the sea. Cool and elegant in black pants and a lavender shirt that only a man with the highest degree of self-confidence would wear, he made drool pool in her mouth.

  He stood and held out her chair. “I ordered you a glass of the Riesling.”

  Her favorite in the heat. His powers of observation were incomparable. As they had been this afternoon, noticing everything she had not. Like some superhero with X-ray vision.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, sliding into the leather seat. “We’re due to meet the others in a half hour.”

  He lowered himself gracefully into the seat opposite her. “I’ll get straight to the point then.”

  Her head throbbed anew, despite the two painkillers she’d ingested. “Last night was an aberration,” she pronounced sharply. “A one-time thing. Never to be repeated. Can we leave it at that?”

  “We should.” His mouth flattened into a straight line. “It would be disastrous for both of us for this to go anywhere.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. So good they agreed on that.

  “I wanted to say thank you, however.”

  His huskily issued words made her heart skip a beat. “For what?”

  He raked a hand through his close-cropped hair, and lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t come to me last night. I was in a dark, dark place.”

  The vulnerable gleam in his eyes, the tense set of his big body made the urge to slide her hand over his monumental. But she kept it glued to the table because this could not go there. It couldn’t.

  She swallowed hard. “I needed to exorcise my own demons.”

  “He’s a jackass, Quinn.” His harshly issued words caught her off guard. “I don’t know what your husband did to you. I don’t know what he said to make you feel like any less of the woman you are. But a man who would walk away from the woman I held in my arms last night is crazy.”

  Her heart went into free fall. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s a travesty.”

  They sat there in silence because to say any more would be going to a place neither of them could venture. Matteo took a long pull of his beer, set it down and gave her a steady look. “Le Belle Bleu will never pass its inspection, Quinn. You have a seriously big problem on your hands.”

  She exhaled deeply. “I know. But I’m not sure what to do. Raymond swears he has the best contractor on the island.”

  “And today convinced you of that?”

  What alternatives were there? Warren had asked her to handle it, but she was no construction expert. And she didn’t know the local business climate.

  Matteo reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a business card and slid it across the table to her. “We’ve used this company to build some of our American restaurants. They have an impeccable track record and a presence here. I made a phone call this afternoon to them and they’re willing to come take a look.”

  “In the next hundred years?” She pressed her hands to her temples. “I have an opening in two weeks. We need to at least have the kitchen in some sort of safe, working order. The rest we can do in phases.”

  “If they agree to take on the job, they would do the urgent items right away. If they agree to take it on,” he underscored. “Because of De Campo’s relationship with them, I think we have some leverage. They’ve offered to come look at the hotel next week.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “If you like, I will stay and do the walk-through with you.”

  Her lips formed the words yes, please. She needed his contact because no one else was calling her back. She was terrified Le Belle Bleu wasn’t going to open on time. But she was also clear on why Matteo was doing this. The closer he inserted himself into Luxe’s operations, the harder it would be for her not to choose De Campo.

  It was also so not her style to accept help and Lord knew, the Quinn of last night was a terrifying, alien creature not helped by Matteo’s continued presence on this island. However, the panic raking its way up her throat was all-consuming. The hotel was a disaster.

  “They will not screw you over, Quinn.” Matteo gave her an even look. “I know these guys. If anyone can fix this, they can.”

  “All right.” She nodded. “But you need to understand, this will in no way help you in the bid process.”

  He nodded and stood abruptly, his expression hardening into one that was all business. “Let me see if I can get them before dinner.”

  Matteo strode off in the direction of his suite. Quinn wondered why her heart was now somewhere in the vicinity of her toes.

  He was going to help her, wasn’t he? Help her drag Le Belle Bleu out of the mess it was in before her hotel chain’s reputation went into the toilet? This was no time to pine for him to acknowledge how amazing their night together had been.

  Her grip around her wineglass tightened. Oh, my God. That’s exactly what she’d wanted him to do. She’d been expecting him to rehash last night, when all he’d wanted to do was help her relaunch her hotel, and, in doing so, ingratiate himself even more to Davis Investments.

  Where in all this had she become that creature?

  And if a man was crazy to walk away from her, then how had he just done it so easily?

  Quinn, the queen of business, the queen of logic, suddenly had to swallow a very bitter pill. Last night might have been explosive. A once-in-a-lifetime chemistry. But she wasn’t worth a ten-million-dollar deal.

  It was that simple.

  She stood up with a squeal of her chair that made the couple at the next table stare. It’s not as if she should be surprised. When it came to Quinn Davis, there was always a reason to leave.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THINGS ALWAYS GOT worse before they got better.

  Wasn’t that the saying?

  Matteo sat at the lobby bar of Le Belle Bleu knocking back a local beer as the last of the contractors beat a hasty retreat before Quinn could catch them and ask for just one more thing to be done. They were wary of her perfectionism, working like dogs to get the last cosmetic fixes done to the restaurant and bar before the hotel was unveiled to everyone who mattered in five
days. But at some point they had to sleep. Not that Quinn seemed to have noticed. Or needed to herself...

  When the scale of the work to be done had become clear, he’d offered to stay and help manage the contractors. Quinn couldn’t do it all on her own and his familiarity with the contractors went a long way. He had to be back in New York right after the reopening for a board meeting and then in Chicago for the pitch, but at least he could help her get the doors open. Make the hotel shine for its debut.

  He’d worked side by side, day and night with her and François to get the menus fixed and the human machinery of the bar and restaurant functioning as a five-star hotel should. Now it was just a question of execution. Could the chefs perfect the dishes? Could the bartenders master the complex cocktail list they’d created? Could the staff come together like the well-oiled machine they needed to be to impress a crowd that would be discerning to a fault?

  He reached up and massaged the back of his neck. He was beat. Exhausted. But it was worth it. Daniel Williams had boarded a flight back to the outback looking utterly disgruntled at leaving the competition behind. Quinn was relying more on Matteo every day. It was exactly where he wanted to be. But funnily enough, this hadn’t been all about his endgame. Quinn was struggling. She’d taken on a task no human being could do by themselves and refused to admit she was in over her head. She’d plowed ahead against the odds with a mind so patently brilliant he could see why she’d gotten where she had at such a young age.

  They might, just might, pull this off.

  His mouth quirked. Her management style could use an overhaul. Her passion for what she did meant she came on a bit strong. But everyone, right down to the busboys and bartenders, respected her work ethic. Even Raymond Bernard, presently making his way across the lobby with Quinn, seemed to be catching the fever. He might even keep his job at this rate.

  The pair pulled to a halt in front of him. Matteo studied the dark circles under Quinn’s eyes. She needed help. More than he could give her. She looked longingly at his beer. “Our sommelier’s flight was canceled. He’ll be here first thing in the morning instead.”