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He blinked, that one quick movement her only indication the gibe had landed. “Matteo, per favore,” he invited in a smooth, whiskey-soaked tone she was sure played a large part in how he slayed women. “And surely, Ms. Davis, you know better than to believe everything you read in the tabloids.”
“Where there’s smoke there’s usually fire, Mr. De Campo.”
A wry smile curved his lips. “A volte.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“Sometimes,” he drawled. “Sometimes there is, Ms. Davis.”
Her father flashed her a sharp look. Her head snapped back just like it had when she was ten and being rebuked at the dinner table for talking too much when the adults were conversing. Her shoulders came up and she summoned the exquisite manners the Davis family was legendary for. “Lovely to have you with us tonight.”
Matteo’s eyes glimmered as he held up the bottle he was carrying. “My brother Gabriele wanted you to have this. It’s the first bottle off the line of this year’s Malbec.”
The vintage that had the whole North American wine industry talking about it. The first bottle of the year at that. How very smooth. “I’m honored,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the bottle. “It’s a brilliant wine. Thank you.”
Score one for Matteo De Campo.
“And this,” he added, pulling two small silver-wrapped packages out of his jacket, “is a little taste of Tuscany for you both.”
He handed the tiny packages to her and Thea. Thea nearly fell over herself thanking him. Quinn thought it was a little over the top, but the look on the other men’s faces pronounced it an act of genius.
Two–nil.
Too bad she wasn’t a fan of doing the predictable thing. She took the gifts inside, then spent the evening soaking up the time with each prospective partner, doing as much reconnaissance as she could before she made her short list of two. Nothing surprised her about her conversations. In fact, she grew even more certain that Silver Kangaroo was the right choice. De Campo, in her mind, was too smug, too established a brand to fit with Luxe’s new direction. But she owed Matteo her time. He was the only one she hadn’t spoken to in depth, and although she’d like to tell herself she’d been too busy, she had the strange feeling she’d avoided him because he was a danger zone for her.
He was chatting with her father now, the two of them engulfed in a spirited debate about business issues. Her stern father had clearly fallen under the spell of Matteo’s legendary De Campo charm. Bizarre, really, when Warren usually saw right through people.
She skirted around them and headed for the house to use the ladies’ room. Her face ached from the polite smile she’d pasted on while the competitors plied her with information and assessed her comment by comment to find her hot spots, her weak spots. To see if she actually had a brain. Her feet burned in the stilettos that were her armor, as if a sharp heel could puncture the hurt she felt every time someone insinuated she’d gotten where she was because she was Warren’s daughter. Her head throbbed from a fourteen-hour work day.
Sometimes being Quinn Davis was just much too much.
She sliced a wry glance at Thea flirting with Daniel Williams on the porch. She’d do her due diligence with Matteo when she came back. Then she was calling it a night. Dirty look from Warren or not.
* * *
Matteo felt his blood boil as Quinn Davis walked by him yet again. From her frosty reception of the presents he’d racked his brain to come up with, to her complete avoidance of his attempts to snare her time, she had been sending a loud and clear message. Either she didn’t like him personally or De Campo didn’t stand a chance. Neither was desirable, but he’d prefer it was a personal thing. That he could work with. A dislike of De Campo, not so much.
He stared after her, distracted by the sway of her delectable hips in the conservative summer dress that still managed to look sexy on her with that hourglass figure, despite the fact she had about as much personality as a block of ice. His fingers tightened around his glass. Chemistry test. What chemistry test? This was a farce.
Warren excused himself with a frown and went after Quinn. He watched them exchange words, Quinn’s mouth tighten and her head incline. Then she continued on into the house. He clenched his teeth. What had he done to deserve this? That first moment they’d laid eyes on each other had been an intense, acknowledged male-female appreciation of each other’s assets. Unmistakable. Man-hater Quinn might not like it, but she was attracted to him. That much he was sure of. And maybe that was the problem. A woman like her hated to reveal any chink in her armor.
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.”
