The Truth About De Campo(25)

“Focus on business,” she said shortly. “You wanted to be a part of this process. Make the best decision for Luxe.”

Quinn started across the room toward Matteo, her sommelier trailing after her, a bemused look on her face. She knew she came across like a bitch sometimes but that’s what happened when your husband verbally abused you for a year. You shut down. You just didn’t care.

Whatever electricity she’d sensed between her and Matteo was nowhere in sight as he bent down to kiss her on both cheeks. He looked focused, all business, and kept his gaze on Margarite as he grilled her with questions, interspersed with enough charm that her sommelier just kept spilling the goods. Why that hurt her feelings she didn’t know. She should be glad he seemed to be taking their agreement seriously.

Except there was a part of her that had come alive with him on that mountain. That kiss had blown her perception of herself apart—made her wonder exactly who she was. Because not once had she ever kissed her husband like that. Or wanted to for that matter.

Was she Quinn the ice queen or Quinn, a woman capable of more?

She blinked and gave her head a shake. That was all inconsequential right now. Why was she devoting even a tenth of her brain to her ill-advised attraction to a playboy she couldn’t have anything to do with when she had at least two hours of paperwork to do after this cocktail party and a report to give to her father? She ought to be taking a page out of Matteo’s book and not going there.

They finished their cocktails and sat down to dinner on the outdoor terrace with François, Margarite, Daniel and Thomas Golding. There was no lack of conversation at the table of extroverts as the sun slid down behind the mountains and dusk settled over the island. Daniel was his usual smooth, conversational self, regaling them with his tall tales from the Outback; François, with his equally tall tales from the kitchens of Paris. Matteo won the chef and Margarite over with his charm and extensive knowledge of the hospitality and wine industries. But there was an edge to him tonight she couldn’t put a finger on. A tension to his demeanor that took her back to that night in the cellar.

“Quinn tells me we’ll get to explore the kitchens tomorrow and see the new menus you have planned,” Matteo said to François. “I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“Oui, in the morning.” The chef nodded. “In the afternoon we must prepare for the celebrity chef challenge we’re hosting.”

“Every year we host a prestigious competition amongst all the chefs on the island to raise money for the schools here,” Margarite explained. She nodded toward Matteo. “François is down a sous chef. Didn’t you say you trained with Henry Thiboult in New York?”

Matteo inclined his head. “Not really formal training. I like to cook. He was kind enough to let me work in the kitchen with him a few times.”

Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “When in the world did you have time to do that?”

He let loose one of those flirtatious smiles she hadn’t seen much of this evening. “Here and there. I told you I liked to cook.”

François’s sun-aged face split in a wide smile. “Anyone who has trained in Henry’s kitchen is welcome in mine.”

Margarite arched a brow at Matteo. “Are you up for it?”

“I’d be honored. As long as you don’t mind my amateurism.”

The chef beamed. “Mais, oui. I need you. It’s all set then.”

Daniel Williams looked dumbfounded. “I’d like to do it, too, then.”

François looked down his nose at him. “Do you have any training?”

“Well, no, but—”

“So sorry.” François waved a hand at him. “Only trained chefs in my kitchen. You’ll cut off a finger and I’ll lose my license.”

A pout twisted Daniel’s lips, if that was possible for a man. He sat and watched Matteo talk about working in Henry’s kitchen, the famous Manhattan chef notorious for his culinary theatrics. François’s booming laughter lit up the night. By the time dinner had stretched past the two-hour mark, Daniel Williams was distinctly red in the face.

“I hear De Campo’s expanding into Chicago next year.” The Silver Kangaroo CEO picked up his beer and took a sip. “Y’all are doing great. Next thing you know you’ll be pushing that top-chef guy right out on his skinny behind.”

“I hope so,” Matteo agreed evenly. “We are focused on that very niche segment of the market.”

Daniel shrugged. “You’re making a lot of money in the restaurant business. Can’t imagine De Campo’s going to stop there.”