He had gone through the presentation with Gabe. It was perfect. He had spent the flight back imprinting every detail on his brain so he could focus on selling it. If this didn’t win it for De Campo, nothing would.
Adrenaline firing through him, determination tightening every muscle with purpose, he greeted Walter Driscoll, Luxe’s COO and the new head of the decision committee. Shook hands with the others, including Margarite and Warren Davis. It wasn’t until he stopped to press a kiss to Quinn’s cheek that he noticed she was all wrong. There were big dark bags under her eyes, they were puffy as if she’d been crying and her gaze was so packed full of emotion, he didn’t know which one to choose.
“What’s wrong?”
Her gaze fell away from his. “Daniel Williams is right after you. You should get started.”
He stepped closer. “Quinn, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. Stepped back. “You should start.”
He walked to the front of the room, pushed a button on his laptop to project his presentation on to the screen and tried to ignore how the woman he was now convinced he loved beyond a shadow of a doubt looked as if she might cave in at any minute.
Walter Driscoll nodded for him to start. He began, training his gaze on the first slide. Channeling the mood he wanted to create. Focusing on the presentation he could not lose. Heads were nodding, eyes flashing with the recognition of what De Campo could bring to the table as he worked through it—the wines, the restaurant experience, the revolutionary work Gabe was doing in Napa. But the further he got into the presentation, the farther Quinn slid down into her chair, as if it were physically painful for her to be sitting there.
Something inside him snapped. He clicked to the next section of the PowerPoint and set the remote down. “Would you mind,” he asked Walter, “if I borrowed Quinn for a moment?”
Walter frowned. “You have fifteen minutes left to make your case, Mr. De Campo. Use them as you will.”
Matteo inclined his head toward Quinn whose eyes were as big as saucers. “Join me in the hallway for a moment?”
She started to protest, then a quick glance around the room at the undivided attention the two of them were generating brought her scrambling to her feet. “What are you doing?” she hissed as they walked out into the hallway and he shut the door. “You have at least a third of your presentation left.”
He braced his palm against the wall. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Matteo, you need to get back in there and—”
“Not until you tell me why you look like crap.”
“Where were you?”
His gaze sharpened. “In California with Gabe like my text said.”
She stared at him. “The only text I got was the one that said we needed to talk.”
He frowned. “I sent one in the morning before I left. Told you I’d be back today in time for the pitch.”
“I never got it.”
His mind whirled in a race against time. “Where did you think I was?”
“I thought you’d left.”
“Left?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against the wall. “The first I knew my marriage had ended was when Julian sent movers on a Saturday morning when he was supposed to be in Boston watching a ball game.”
His jaw dropped. “You think I would have walked out like that? Dammit, Quinn, has this week not convinced you of how I feel? I was talking about buying houses with you, for God’s sake.”
She pressed her palms to her face. “I came home so excited to cook a meal for you. I was so hurt when you weren’t there. I didn’t get that text. I wasn’t thinking rationally. All your things were gone. Then I saw Giancarlo’s watch this morning, and your suit, and I told myself I needed to trust you. That for once I needed to have faith in someone.” She locked her gaze on his. “Because if it isn’t you, Matteo, I won’t ever have it.”
His heart contracted into a tight fist in his chest. “Do you think a confirmed bachelor starts making plans to buy a house with a woman he isn’t crazy about?”
“You were very casual about it.”
“I was fishing. Seeing what you thought.”
“Oh.” A tiny smile curved her lips. “Sometimes I’m not so good at the subtle.”
“You don’t say.” He shook his head. “You operate with all the subtlety of an 18-wheeler.”
The vulnerability staining her green eyes tore at his heart. He uttered a low curse. “You are killing me right now, Quinn. I have a very beautiful, very you rock in my pocket I was going to give to you in a very romantic proposal after this presentation to prove I love you no matter what happens with this deal. Do not make me do this now.”
Her eyes rounded. “You have a ring in your pocket?”
“Yes.” He put her away from him with a grimace. “Now if you could please wipe the thought from your head, preferably until tonight when I can do it right, I will go and try to secure our future with the ten minutes I have left.”
“I’m not sure I can do that,” she whispered.
“Work it out,” he came back grimly.
She followed him back into the room. Heart racing, he tore ruthlessly through the rest of the presentation in just enough time to get to the last slide, take five minutes of questions and look around the room. All the committee members were smiling except for the cagey Luxe head chef. He exhaled deeply. He’d done all he could. And when it came down to it that’s all a man could do. Lay down your best and hope it was enough.
Walter Driscoll thanked him and said he’d be in touch within the week. Matteo shook hands with the others, gathered his things and gave Quinn a pointed look. “Time for a coffee?”
* * *
Quinn tried not to think about the ring as she dropped her things off in her office and rode the elevator to the ground floor with Matteo. But she was walking on air and dammit, the man she was crazy about had a ring in his pocket. How was she supposed to pretend it didn’t exist?
Her heels clicked on the pavement as they walked outside, her love for this man bigger than all of it. Bigger than the vibrant city that pulsed around them. Bigger than the sunshine beating down on their shoulders, gilding everything in a warm golden glow.
Bigger than the pain of the past.
She tugged on his hand as he dragged her toward the coffee shop on the corner and dug in her heels.
“I can’t.”
He eyed her. “Can’t what?”
She pulled in a breath. “I can’t go for a coffee with you when I know you have a ring in your pocket. It is physically impossible.”
He lifted a brow. “And what would you have me do? Give it to you now?”
Her lips curved. “Yes.”
“You really want to ruin the proposal I had planned?”
“Yes.” Definitively yes.
All the blood seemed to rush from her head as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box. And there on Michigan Avenue, one of Chicago’s busiest streets, with people streaming by in all directions, he got down on one knee.
A woman walked by, openly ogling the beautiful, charismatic man at her feet, and yes, he was that; yes, he was gorgeous and one of the world’s most notorious playboys, but he was so much more than that. He was brilliant in so many different ways he made Quinn’s head spin. He was also deep, a philosopher beyond his years and he’d shown her who she truly was.
She was not Quinn the ice queen. She was a woman capable of loving this man with everything she had.
Her heart tattooed itself across her chest, beating a frantic dance as he opened the box to reveal a jaw-droppingly beautiful square-cut emerald surrounded by a band of sparkling white diamonds.
“Your eyes,” he said simply. “When they’re spitting fire at me, they’re the most gorge
ous thing I’ve ever seen.”
A little old lady and her husband started to skirt around them. Then she pulled to a halt, her eyes widening. “Look, he’s proposing.”
Her husband tugged on her arm. “So let him. They don’t need an audience.”
“They’re standing on Michigan Avenue, aren’t they?” The blue-haired old lady stood to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. “You just keep going.” She nodded to Matteo. “Don’t mind us.”
Matteo grimaced up at Quinn. “Nice idea of yours, this one.”
“Just spit it out,” she returned, a smile stretching her lips. “You’re used to an audience aren’t you?”
“You,” he murmured meaningfully, as more people stopped and joined the old couple, “will pay for that later.”
Her smile grew even bigger. He took her hand in his. Her eyes widened. Mr. Cool and Collected, who had just put in a rock solid performance under immense pressure the likes of which most men would have buckled underneath, was nervous. The tremor in his strong hand holding hers was enough to make her want to melt to the pavement.
His gaze held hers. “I had no idea what I was looking for until I met you,” he said quietly. “I was so lost I didn’t know how to find my way back. And you—you have given me clarity in a way I never thought possible, Quinn Davis. You’ve made me see the man I want to be. How the mistakes I’ve made have shaped me into who I am.” His fingers tightened around hers. “So no matter what happens with this pitch, I have already won the biggest prize.”
Her need for air came out as a sob.
“Marry me,” he murmured. “Marry me so we can spend the rest of our lives together.”
Another sob filled the air, this time from an anonymous woman burying her head in a hankie.
Quinn focused on Matteo. “You make me believe I can do anything. That anything is possible. You make me so much better than I am.”
“That’s impossible,” he said softly, “because you are perfect to me.”
A lone tear blazed a trail of fire down her cheek. “I love you.”
His gray eyes darkened. “Me, too, tesoro. Now give me an answer before this turns into any more of a public spectacle.”
“Yes.” The word came out more as a croak than an answer, but he got the message and slid the ring on her finger.
“You see,” the old lady murmured, “that’s how it’s done.”
The crowd broke out into applause, whistling their approval as Matteo stood and pulled her into his arms.
“I suppose she wants a Hollywood-style kiss,” he murmured.
“Undoubtedly.” Quinn shot a sideways look at the local news photographer who’d arrived just in time to capture the action. “But after this you’re announcing your official magazine-cover retirement.”
“I’m good with that.” He took her mouth in a kiss that was front-page-worthy and then some. Then he whisked her off on the De Campo jet for the champagne celebration Lilly had planned in New York—the one part of his proposal Quinn hadn’t managed to upend.
* * *
Lilly and Alex whisked Quinn off when they arrived in the garden, lit with lanterns on a sultry New York summer evening. Riccardo poured the men a scotch. “You know I hate this stuff,” Matteo muttered, wrapping his fingers around the glass.
“Be a man,” Riccardo taunted. “Walter Driscoll just called. Said he’d been trying to reach you.”
Matteo froze. “Have they made a choice?”
“Si.” His elder brother swirled the amber liquid around the base of the crystal tumbler. “Want to know?”
His heart stalled in his chest. “Dammit. Do not play with me, Riccardo.”
A wide smile split his elder brother’s harshly carved face. “You did it, fratello. The Luxe contract is ours.”
He felt the ground sway under his feet. Three years he had worked to put the past behind him. And just like that, it was done.
“Driscoll said you were brilliant.” Something like pride glittered in Riccardo’s eyes. “That you made it impossible for them to choose anyone else.”
Matteo’s heart jump started again. “So we’re even then?”
His brother inclined his head. “You were right. I should have let you do it your way.” He paused. “Maybe that’s the way I should have played it from the start.”
“And upset your idea of how the world should be?” Matteo lifted a brow. “Surely not, oh, powerful one.”
Riccardo smiled and nodded toward Quinn. “You didn’t waste any time putting a ring on her finger. She must be good in bed.”
Matteo’s fist was cocked and ready to strike when his brother held his up his hand, laughing. “Mine was, too. She was also a hell of a lot more than that. Really, Matty, when are you going to learn I’m just pulling your strings?”
Matteo lowered his fist and scowled. “Maybe if you chose your moments with a bit more finesse...”
“What fun would that be?”
Matteo went off to join his fiancée rather than spar with Riccardo. “Where is buffer brother?” he asked Alex. “He’s needed. Badly.”
“Getting us something to drink.” She jabbed him in the ribs. “Nice work on the photo. It was drop-dead fantastically romantic, Matty. Phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
They could all wait. He drank his fill of his ridiculously beautiful soon-to-be wife in the cherry-red cocktail dress she wore. It fit perfectly with the third part of his proposal plan that included Quinn alone in his rose-strewn loft Lilly and Alex had done up, with her wearing the ring and nothing else.
Quinn flushed, as if she knew exactly where his head was. “He has a way with words. I think the little old lady watching would have dumped her husband for him.”
Gabe came outside, a bottle in his hand. “Congratulations,” he murmured, giving Matteo a hug. “I heard the news.”
Silence fell over the group. Lilly gave Gabe an expectant look. “I think we should do the toast.”
Gabe handed Matteo the bottle. He felt the blood drain from his face as he read the label. Bianco Frizzante Giancarlo.
“You finished it,” he said slowly, his fingers caressing the elegant slim cylinder.
Gabe nodded. “It’s magnificent.”
Matteo blinked back the moisture that stung his eyes, his heart feeling too big for his chest. “I need a moment.”
He walked to the side of the terrace and looked out over Lilly’s wildflower garden. The wine had been his and Gabe’s tribute to Giancarlo. They had created it together. But to open it meant acknowledging his friend was gone. To finally let him go.
He wasn’t sure he could do it.
Quinn appeared at his side. Took his hand in hers, pried his fingers open and wrapped hers around them. “You loved him, Matteo. This is such a beautiful thing you and Gabe have done for him. Open it and let him go.”
His fingers tightened around hers. She was right. It was time. And he could let go, he realized, because Quinn was his future.
They walked back to the others. Gabe uncorked the wine and poured them all a glass. Matteo lifted his. “To my past, to my brother, Giancarlo, who will always be with me.” He swallowed past the thickness in his throat. “This one is for you.”
The wine tasted fruity and life-affirming on his tongue. Perfetto.
He shifted his gaze to the woman at his side. “And to my future. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Tu sei il mio cuore.” He leaned down to kiss her. “You are my heart, Quinn Davis.”
She gave him a misty-eyed smile. “Really, Matteo De Campo. You are much too silver-tongued.”
But she kissed him anyway, her lips clinging to his in a promise of forever. Because for him and Quinn, the journey was just beginning.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an
excerpt from SHEIKH’S SCANDAL by Lucy Monroe.
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CHAPTER ONE
NOT EASILY IMPRESSED, Liyah Amari very nearly stopped to gawp upon entering the Chatsfield London for the first time.
Flagship of the Chatsfield family’s hotel empire, the lodging preferred by Europe’s elite was magnificent.
San Francisco’s property where her mother had worked since before Liyah’s birth was beautiful, but nothing compared to the opulence of this hotel. From the liveried doormen to the grandeur of the ballroom-size lobby, she felt as if she’d stepped into a bygone era of luxury.
A decidedly frenetic air of anticipation and preparation was at odds with the elegant surroundings, though. One maid rushed through the lobby—which Liyah was certain was anything but a normal occurrence—while another polished the walnut banisters of the grand staircase.
It looked like an impromptu but serious meeting was happening near the concierge desk. The desk reception staff were busy with the phone and computer, respectively, checking in an attractive elderly couple.
“Welcome to the Chatsfield London, Mr. and Mrs. Michaels. Here is your room key,” the young man said, “and here is your complimentary hospitality pack. We very much hope that you enjoy your stay.”
The Truth About De Campo Page 17