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Once my assistant informed me that Vincent had called and changed the address of our meeting, my mind became preoccupied. I watched the clock more than ever, so I didn’t accomplish much.
At five o’clock, I packed up and drove to the new location for our meeting. I had rehearsed my points along the way, hoping to make this brief.
“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” The hostess asked as I approached her.
“Hi, it should be under Vincent Carmichael.”
She skimmed the list before walking around the podium to guide me through the restaurant. We passed numerous empty tables, which made me curious. When we reached the far side, she opened the door to a room where Vincent was standing, holding his phone to his ear.
“Let me get back to you,” he said, ending his call as his eyes raked over my body. “I’m glad you could make it this evening.”
Suddenly, my mouth was so dry that I couldn’t form a response. I forgot how it felt for a man to look at you affectionately. To crave you. The sweetly intoxicating musk of his body overwhelmed me.
Pull it together, Kyerra. I could feel my cheeks turning red, and then I’d be caught red-handed. I needed to do something fast, so I pretended not to be impressed by the hunter-green suit that complimented him well.
“I’m glad to know you’re not just pulling out all the stops for me but my husband too,” I spoke up because the silence was too loud.
Vincent caught my sarcasm and smirked.
“Tyson called to apologize for his absence this evening. He let me know you’d be filling in. So, when he changed the plan, so did I.”
Of course. Vincent was always a step ahead. It made him a great businessman, but it was making my life hard right now.
Smiling, he pulled out my chair, but I didn’t return the same sentiment—at least not on the outside. Unfortunately, the effort he put into this evening was refreshing, from securing a private room to my favorite flowers sitting in the middle of the table. None of those details were done by accident but perfectly crafted with me in mind.
“So, what do you have a taste for tonight?” Vincent asked after taking his seat.
“Home, so let’s get on with this,” I replied, pulling the menu down just enough for him to see the irritation on my face.
“What’s the rush? Your husband sounded busy earlier. No need to rush home to an empty house.”
“That’s for me to decide,” I quipped.
“Well, I’m much more pliable on a full stomach,” Vincent replied, reminding me I was at his mercy.
Vincent seemed to have a rebuttal for everything, so I remained quiet until he was ready to talk business. Sadly, that didn’t seem to bother him. Vincent was content as long as he could sit across the table and smile at me.
He even took the initiative to order my favorite appetizer. A move that was nothing more than a reminder of how well he knew me. So, when the server brought out the Oyster Rockefeller, I refused to touch them because doing so would be a point for Vincent.
“Are you going to leave me to eat these alone?” he finally asked, realizing I wasn’t joining in.
“You ordered them.”
“They’re your favorite, or did that change with your last name?”
Sighing, I folded my arms across my chest. Nothing seemed to rattle Vincent—not my attitude, not my short, abrasive responses, not my lack of enthusiasm about being here. So we moved through each dinner course as if none of it existed.
“You should be nice and full. Can we discuss business now?” I asked after the waiter took our dessert order.
“The floor is yours.”
“We’re prepared to offer a sixty-forty split. We’ll expedite the permits for construction to get the ball rolling.”
“Do you know how much money this will bring to the city?”
“I’m sorry, I think you’re under the impression that we need this deal. We don’t, and if you think you’re going to back us into a corner, so we’re forced to give in to your demands, you’ve wasted our time.” Pushing my chair back, I grabbed my purse and began exiting.
“Sit down.” Vincent’s tone wasn’t disrespectful but firm. A little too firm, so my eyebrows shot up.
