The Dom with the Dragon Tattoo(4)

Rebecca stopped midstride and smoothed the hair from her face. “I’m having lunch in the Lincoln Room.”

The young man smiled. “The Lincoln Room, ma’am. Take the elevator to the twenty-second floor, and then follow the signs. You can’t miss it.” He gestured with an open palm. “The elevators are right across the way there.”

“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.”

“You’re very welcome, ma’am, and the views are excellent from the Lincoln Room.”

Once inside the chrome and glass elevator, Rebecca checked out her reflection in the mirror. “Damn.” She leaned forward and adjusted her glasses and then quickly finger combed her hair back into place. Why the hell does my hair have to have a life of its own at a time like this? She wrinkled her nose “Hmm.” Work time was work time and playtime was playtime. She took her career very seriously and never mixed business with pleasure. In her experience, male colleagues took a woman far more seriously and treated her with more respect when they didn’t see her as an object of sexual desire. In her job at Omega Computing, she headed a small team of twelve men and three women. She demanded their respect, and got it, too.

When the elevator doors swished open, delivering her safely to the twenty-second floor, she stepped into the lobby and followed the signs for the Lincoln Room.

Rebecca put a hand to her mouth and stifled a yawn. She really shouldn’t have gone out last night. Her feet were killing her and her eyes were still watering from wearing contacts. It was unlike her to be so unprofessional, especially as she was well aware she had an important appointment the following morning. At least no one would recognize her. She made a point of keeping her public and private lives very separate.

When she was ten, she’d become seriously ill and realized that life wasn’t a rehearsal. There was no use waiting for the perfect moment, because that perfect moment would probably never come. As a child she’d lived a cosseted existence in Rio de Janeiro. Her father, the American ambassador in Brazil, had made sure she had everything she needed, including an expensive private education. She’d wanted for nothing, except the thing she craved most—the love of her parents. Even now as a thirty-three-year-old woman she still didn’t understand her mother’s role in life, other than being the ever-attentive hostess to the important people who frequented their glamorous parties.

The Lincoln Room came into view, and she pushed open the elegant glass doors with a flourish. The portly maitre d’, wearing an immaculate black suit and bow tie, greeted her with a deferential nod of his head. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“I’m a guest of Mr. Stone, my surname is Miles.”

The maitre d’ theatrically scanned the reservations ledger on his desk. He seemed a little effeminate to her, and she guessed he might be gay. Not her type of man at all. “Ah yes, here we are. Mr. Stone is expecting you. If you’d care to follow me, ma’am.”

He led the way across the large, well-lit room. One wall consisted of a bank of glass, giving stunning views over downtown Boston. Secluded alcoves and leafy tropical plants separated the tables, allowing a modicum of privacy. As she followed the maitre d’ past the assembled diners, she noticed that each table had been carefully laid. Spotless, crisp white linen complemented the finest silver cutlery and lead crystal glass, giving an air of opulence that she’d often witnessed during her privileged childhood in Rio. When the maitre d’ stopped at an occupied table, Rebecca realized she’d finally be meeting the legendary boss of Cerberus Technology for the first time.

He was immaculately dressed in a perfectly fitting black suit, and she was surprised by the sheer presence the man radiated. He stood and held out his hand. “Rebecca, we meet at last.”

She realized that calling this man impressive would be an understatement. Tyler Stone was tall, far taller than his photograph on the company website had led her to believe. He had to be at least six three. As she looked up into pale-brown eyes the color of malt whiskey, she had the distinct feeling they’d met before but dismissed the idea immediately. She’d done her research. Tyler Stone was thirty-nine years old, single, and living in Houston, Texas. He was a self-made man who’d built a multibillion-dollar global company from nothing. She shook his hand. His skin was warm and his grip firm. “Good to meet you, too, Mr. Stone.”

His eyes crinkled mischievously at the corners when he smiled at her. She liked that in a man. “Take a seat, Rebecca. We can have a leisurely lunch and discuss a few things.” His voice, like warm molasses, spread seductively over her. The tone was deep and sensual with just a hint of sexy Texas drawl.