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Inside Cipriani,I spotted Giselle Larsen at the bar and was pleased she was here first. My tardiness had been intentional. She was the type of woman who waited on no one, but she would wait for me.
“Giselle,” I said smoothly.
Her back straightened and her eyes lit when she saw me. She got to her stiletto-clad feet. “Daniel,” she rasped, her arms going around my neck for a greeting that was far too personal for how well we knew one another.
Though I’d known Giselle from the time she was born, I’d only actually met her a handful of times. Her father was the ruler of a farm equipment manufacturing empire and had been a friend of mine for over twenty years. He relied on me to get information about his competition. I’d forged a alliances between him and people in Washington who could easily be persuaded to craft favorable tax incentives, loans, and legislation. Because of my connections, Alan Larsen hadn’t paid for a single parcel of land. Politicians loved taking credit for creating jobs. We scratched their backs, they scratched ours.
Giselle had recently turned twenty-one. She had a budding modeling career, one that had started with her as the poster girl for Larsen Equipment. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want to buy a tractor this woman was selling? I hadn’t seen her since I’d been invited to her fourteenth birthday party. Wasn’t really my bag to go to that sort of thing, but business was business. I pissed enough people off on a regular basis; I wasn’t going to do it over something as trivial as a birthday party.
She had certainly grown up since then. I recalled her being the life of the party when she was fourteen, and I got the sense that hadn’t changed. As an only child left motherless at an early age, she was the axis of her father’s world. Smart, beautiful, confident, and daddy’s little girl—it was a lethal combination, and she knew it.
Her phone call had caught me off guard, and she’d been evasive about the reason to meet, but this was Alan’s daughter. I’d oblige her.
The bartender took my order of a whiskey neat and set it down in front of me. He served Giselle another glass of champagne, lingering until I shot him a look to get lost.
“So what can I do for you?” I asked when we were alone.
She grinned, making her appear younger, more her age. “Daddy said you’d be straight to the point.”
That seemed to delight her. I took a sip of my drink and lifted one brow, effectively communicating for her to grow up. She wasn’t deterred. She leaned in, her floral scent invading my nostrils. I fought not to back away. It was the wrong flower. The wrong woman. For a moment I wondered what the hell I was doing there. I didn’t need any more money. There was nothing this girl had that I wanted.
Damn it, Vivian.Since I’d met her, she’d been the distraction that never went away. She demanded my attention, rearranged my way of thinking. She’d taught me to put another person first, showed me I was capable of that when I thought I wasn’t. Which was exactly why I’d had to force her away.
“Daniel?” Giselle asked, brow creased, sliding a manicured index finger down my forearm.
I flashed a placating smile at the same time I fired a warning look. “You didn’t answer the question.”
She shifted closer. “It’s been a long time. Let’s catch up a bit before business.”
The blood-red nail drew a lazy circle on top of my hand. Inwardly, I cringed. On the outside, I pretended I didn’t feel it. “This isn’t a social call.”
Her smile broadened as she swatted my arm. “Oh, come on. The last time we saw one another, I was fourteen. I’m all grown up now.” Her eyes darkened as they roved my body. No mistaking what she was getting at.
“So you are.”
Her bottom lip poked out, that pout just not doing it for me. When her hand moved to my thigh, it took all my self-restraint not to knock it away. I stiffened, my muscle flexing under her hand. Giselle’s eyes sparked, misinterpreting the move as progress.
“I thought you’d be pleased by my call.”
I stifled a growl. I had zero desire to deal with a child and her games, but I’d let her play a while.
“I’m sure you did,” I muttered, taking a swig of my drink.
“Of all my daddy’s friends, I’ve always found you the most interesting.” My patience was waning, especially with her invasion of my personal space. Her nail tracing a pattern on my thigh felt like a knife blade.
Christ almighty. I clutched my tumbler so tight, I nearly cracked it.
“Mr. Elliott, your table is ready,” the host said, an interruption for which I was grateful. I used the walk across the restaurant to focus on the task at hand, like how to stop her from touching me again.
We settled into our chairs at a table near the back of the restaurant, away from the other patrons. It was too late for the lunch crowd and too early for the dinner rush. The perfect time for relative privacy.
Our waiter promptly filled our glasses with bottled water, and I ordered an appetizer of imported mozzarella before dismissing him.
“Why don’t all men know how to take charge?” Giselle fingered the rim of her champagne glass.
“Because not all men are meant to be in control.”
“And women?” she prompted.
