The Truth About De Campo(8)
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.