Moonlight Kisses Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Sage Matthews pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to give it, and the woman on the other end of the line, the side eye.

  “Your makeup brand would be a perfect addition to our store lineup.”

  The buyer for the trendy boutique chain droned on, but the silent alarms on Sage’s bullshit detector drowned out the rest of her spiel. It sounded identical to the ones she’d heard all morning.

  “Strange—that isn’t what you said a few weeks ago.” Sage kicked off her shoes under her desk and wiggled her toes. High heels were the worst form of torture, but when you owned a company called Stiletto, you had to dress the part.

  She glanced at the notation she’d scribbled on a message slip next to the buyer’s name. “I believe you said Stiletto’s branding was too provocative. Your exact words were downright raunchy.”

  “Um...well,” the woman stammered. “You must have misheard me. I said it was delightfully racy as in sexy. Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Misunderstanding, huh? Sage stifled the harrumph on the tip of her tongue. “Hard to tell,” she said, “considering the way your secretary tossed me out of your office afterward like she was a nightclub bouncer.”

  “Oh, dear. Please accept my apologies if my staff was a touch overzealous. Again, I assure you it was all a big mistake. One I hope we can...”

  “Just stop.” Sage had heard enough.

  “P-pardon?”

  “Before you continue, you should know I refuse to do business with anyone who lies to me.”

  Silence.

  Figuring the buyer was weighing her options, Sage waited, making no attempt to fill the dead air. Long awkward moments passed, before a sigh emitted over the line. “Okay, the truth is I didn’t want to risk offending my more conservative clientele by selling lipsticks and eyes shadows with names like Spank Me and Missionary Position.”

  There was another sigh, this one deeper and more drawn out. “Next thing I know, the hottest female singer on the planet is telling a national television audience she adores your lipsticks. Suddenly the same customers I was worried about offending are clamoring for Stiletto products, and I couldn’t be more sorry for turning you down.”

  Finally, Sage thought, the truth.

  She’d returned nearly a dozen calls that morning from eager buyers, the same people who had practically slammed the door in her face previously, criticizing everything from Stiletto’s faux black leather packing to the titillating names of their products. Of course, they’d changed their tunes in the weeks since pop star Crave had whipped out a tube of Stiletto lipstick and called it her secret weapon.

  Sage knew it was just foolish pride. Still, she couldn’t help feel irked that instead of owning up to their blunder, they’d tried to gloss over it. Insulting her intelligence with meaningless flattery.

  “My assistant will contact you later today to schedule a meeting to discuss adding Stiletto to your boutique’s lineup,” she said, satisfied. “However, you should know that as circumstances have changed, so has my first offer. Any deal we strike now will definitely have terms more favorable to Stiletto.”

  “Eh...uh...of course,” the boutique’s buyer said. “I look forward to our meeting.”

  Sage ended the call just as her assistant, Amelia, bounded into her office clutching a pink message slip. A huge grin deepened the dimples in the cheeks of her smooth brown skin. “I thought it would take forever for you to finally get off the phone.”

  “What’s up?” Leaning forward in her office chair, Sage propped her elbows on her desktop. She dropped her chin to her chest and began rubbing out the kinks that had developed in her neck from talking on the phone all morning.

  “You’ll never guess who called for you.” The nineteen-year-old shifted from one leg to the other, practically bouncing with excitement. “Not in a million years.”

  “Well, don’t keep me...” Sage stopped midsentence and glanced up at her assistant. “Hold on. What are you still doing here?” She glanced at her watch. “Your accounting class starts in five minutes.”

  Amelia huffed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I know. I know.”

  The teen had started working for Stiletto a few hours a week after school during her last year of high school. Sage thought she was doing the girl a favor, but quickly discovered that in the efficient and organized Amelia, she’d struck employee gold.

  A year later, when graduation and her eighteenth birthday aged her out of the foster-care system, the job became full-time with the stipulation that Amelia would enroll in college. Having grown up in the foster-care system, Sage knew the importance of having an education to fall back on when you had no one to depend on but yourself.

  “Well?” Sage raised a brow.

  “But I couldn’t leave. Not just yet. Not until I tell you who...”

  “I don’t care who called. There isn’t anything or anyone more important than you being at school right now,” Sage said.

  The same brusque tone that sent her other employees, and most people, scurrying for cover rarely intimidated Amelia. Nor did it dampen her bubbly enthusiasm over the caller she was dying to tell her about.

  “Stand down, General. I’m going to class, but first you have to hear who called you before I explode.”

  “For goodness’ sake. Spit it out so you can haul your fanny over to the community college.” Sage sighed. “And if you’re going to call me General, can’t you do it behind my back like everyone else around here?”

  “Cole Sinclair!” The name popped out of her assistant’s mouth like the cork on a bottle of champagne.

  Sage studied the message slip Amelia handed her and tried to place the familiar name. Then it hit her. “As in Espresso Cosmetics?” He and his family’s company had been a footnote in a feature article on Stiletto that had run a few days ago in America Today.

  “Well, yeah, but Cole Sinclair is worth way more than that granny makeup company he runs.” Amelia dismissed the connection with a flick of her hand. “Remember the puzzle game we deleted from our phones and you banned from our office computers because it was too addictive?”

  Sage nodded, recalling getting so caught up in the colorful game she’d spent an entire evening matching trios of circus clowns in an attempt to beat enough levels to earn the elusive title of ultimate ringmaster.

  “Well, Cole Sinclair invested in the gaming studio that developed it years ago, back when it was just two college kids in their parents’ basement. His meager investment turned him into a millionaire twenty times over when the business eventually sold to a major corporation,” Amelia said. “It was one of the topics in my entrepreneurship class last semester.”

  While the background information on Sinclair was mildly interesting, Sage’s concern was her own business and turning it into a multimillion-dollar endeavor. She stared at the name on the message slip. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Only that it was important,” Amelia said. “What do you think?”

  Sage shrugged. “Maybe he’s miffed about that article in America Today. The mention of Espresso wasn’t exactly flattering. Nor was that photo of the young, chic woman symbolizing us versus the old one that was supposedly Espresso.”

  “Or maybe—” Amelia paused dramatically “—maybe he took one look at the photo of you with that article and fell head over heels for you. And he wants to ask you out on a date. Just think about it.” The young woman let out a squeal. “A tall, good-looking millionaire is smitten by your photo, falls hopelessly in love and is determined to sweep you off your feet.”

  Sage stared at the dreamy look on the teen’s face, unable to believe the crap coming out of her mouth. How could a girl so smart about most things be so dumb about this one? Sage waited a beat, reaching for diplomatic words to set her assistant strai
ght without hurting her feelings.

  There were none.

  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.

  “It could happen,” Amelia protested.

  “Yeah, and maybe he’ll charge into my office on a white horse wearing a suit of armor or bare chested like the men on the covers of those ridiculous romance novels you’ve always got your nose stuck in.”

  This time it was her assistant who frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic. In fact, the more I think about it, a date is just what you need. It would loosen you up, and maybe folks around here might stop calling you General behind your back.”

  They could call her Godzilla for all she cared, as long as they did their jobs—and did them well. “You need to spend more time with your textbooks and less reading those silly romances.” Sage checked her watch.

  “I’m going, but first I need to schedule your meeting with Mr. Sinclair.”

  Amelia pulled the smartphone she used for work from her pants pocket. “He wants to see you at your earliest convenience.” She tapped on the screen with a stylus she’d retrieved from behind her ear. “Your schedule is packed, but I could bump one of your other appointments so you can see him later this afternoon or perhaps first thing tomorrow.”

  Sage held up a finger. “I haven’t decided if I’m meeting with him at all.”

  The younger woman looked up from the phone. “You’re joking, right?”

  “You, better than anyone, know I rarely joke.”

  “Aren’t you curious? I can hardly wait to find out what he wants.”

  Sage fixed her assistant with her most intimidating, no-nonsense glare. “You’ll have to wait because you’re leaving for your accounting class right now.”

  Grumbling, the young woman reluctantly did as she was told.

  Sage had no idea why Cole Sinclair had called. But unlike Amelia, she didn’t indulge in far-fetched fantasies. Sage lived in the real world.

  And in the real world, when rich people wanted to talk business, they wanted to trick poor people out of something valuable.

  Chapter 3

  Money might not buy happiness, but Cole knew enough of it would buy just about everything else.

  It was the reason he walked the short blocks from the Espresso building to the downtown restaurant he’d selected for his meeting with Sage Matthews, confident he’d be the new owner of Stiletto Cosmetics when he returned.

  Cole was also intrigued.

  The woman had actually put him off for over a week. A humorless chuckle pushed through his lips, leaving a vapor trail as his warm breath hit the January air.

  No one put him on the back burner. Not anymore, Cole thought. When he snapped his fingers, people jumped. Especially women.

  Another side effect of deep pockets.

  So either Ms. Matthews had somehow missed the articles written about him by reporters obsessed with his bank balance, or she was one of the few people who simply didn’t care.

  A blast of heat hit him as he pulled open the restaurant door and strode inside. Immediately, he saw a woman with her back to him talking to the hostess.

  Her big, bold hair and long, shapely legs left no doubt about her identity. Shiny, patent leather boots hugged her calves, and she wore a red wool coat with a thigh-grazing hemline just shy of indecent.

  Cole felt the corner of his mouth tic upward into a reluctant smile as his stepfather’s words popped into his head: not a thing here that would put a frown on a man’s face.

  He overheard the hostess, who hadn’t seen him come in. “Mr. Sinclair hasn’t arrived yet, but let me take your coat, and I’ll show you to the table he reserved in our private dining room.”

  “No, thanks.” Cole watched Sage Matthews consult a plain wristwatch with a worn, black strap, a feminine version of his own. “We’re supposed to meet here in five minutes. If he’s not on time, I’m leaving.”

  “Mr. Sinclair is always punctual,” the hostess offered.

  The woman in the short coat and high-heeled boots bobbed her head in a curt nod. “If he wants to see me, he’d better be.”

  Cole cleared his throat, the gesture commanding the attention of both women. “I’m here—” he glanced at his own Timex and then pointedly at Ms. Matthews “—with four minutes to spare.”

  She met his gaze, not a trace of sheepishness at being overheard in her expression. If anything, challenge flickered in her chocolate-brown eyes. “Good. Time is money, Mr. Sinclair. Mine is valuable.”

  Cole blinked. The statement was something he’d usually say, and she’d delivered it just like he would have—blunt and to the point. “Well, let’s not waste either of ours standing here,” he said.

  Within minutes, the hostess had taken their coats, and escorted them through the bustling dining room to a staircase leading to the private room he liked to use when conducting business outside the Espresso building. As they walked Cole couldn’t help notice the statuesque woman with the riot of kinky curls move through the upscale restaurant as if she owned it, garnering appreciative glances from every man in the room.

  Including him.

  However, this lunch had an agenda and nothing would distract him from it. Not even a sweet pair of legs, showcased by a minidress and fantasy-inducing shiny stiletto boots.

  A waiter appeared with menus immediately after they were seated. He took their drink orders and disappeared to retrieve them.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Ms. Matthews.” Cole didn’t bother opening the menu. The entrées were the standard fare of most upscale restaurants. A minuscule serving of meat or fish smothered in creams and vegetables pureed beyond recognition and served on a plate that appeared destined for an art museum rather than someone’s stomach.

  However, this restaurant was currently the hot ticket in town for fine dining, and it made the right impression at lunch and dinner business meetings in an industry where image was everything.

  Cole’s personal preference would have been to conduct business over real food—a burger, barbecue sandwich or a slice of pizza. One of which he’d probably grab afterward to celebrate his having reached a verbal agreement with Ms. Matthews.

  He glanced across the table at his lunch companion, who was perusing the menu. Again, she surprised him. Most people would have rushed to fill the silence with small talk by now.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, painted the same bold, sassy red as her dress. The firm line she held them in didn’t distract from their fullness.

  She looked up, and her eyes locked with his. Caught staring, Cole didn’t divert his bold appraisal.

  “I was checking out your lipstick shade,” he said, making it clear both to her, and to himself, that any interest in her mouth was purely professional.

  “It’s one of Stiletto’s bestsellers.” She lifted a perfectly arched brow. “It’s called Badass.”

  Cole licked his own lips, his mouth suddenly dry. I’ll just bet you are.

  The errant thought popped into his head so quickly, he feared he’d said it aloud. Her impassive expression assured him he hadn’t, and he exhaled in relief.

  The waiter reappeared with their drinks. Cole used the moments it took for them to order two of the chef’s specialties to give himself a mental knock upside the head.

  Stay on task, man, he silently warned. This is a business meeting, not a date. He reached for his water glass and took a long sip. No more getting sidetracked by shiny stiletto boots or impossibly red lips.

  “Now how about you tell me what’s on your mind, Mr. Sinclair?”

  Cole swallowed, the question immediately shutting down illicit images of her full red lips pressed against his and those badass boot-encased legs wrapped firmly around his waist.

  “Excuse me?” The words came
out like a frog’s croak.

  “Since we’ve established neither of us likes to waste time,” she said. “I assumed we could skip the preliminaries and get right to the reason for my being here.”

  An odd sense of déjà vu passed over him. How many times had he said the exact same thing? Plenty, Cole silently answered his own question.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was sitting across the table from a female version of himself.

  Nah, couldn’t be, he thought.

  Leaning forward, Cole crossed his arms on the table. “I want to buy Stiletto.”

  Her eyes widened, his only clue he’d caught her off guard. She recovered quickly, and then she, too, leaned forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the table.

  “Then this meeting truly was a waste of time for both of us, Mr. Sinclair, because my company isn’t for sale.”

  That’s what you think, Cole thought. “Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Matthews,” he said aloud. The easy Southern drawl he’d thought he’d lost in Europe permeated his warning. “After all, you don’t know what I’m offering.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh, I think it will.”

  “Well, let’s hear it.”

  Her tone taunted him with an unspoken challenge. Cole could hardly wait to see her expression when he not only met her expectations, but surpassed them.

  Eye to eye, neither of their stares wavered. Nor did Cole’s confidence that he’d leave here with what he wanted. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a folded scrap of paper and slid it across the white linen tablecloth.

  Her fingertips grazed his as she took it, sending an almost audible crackle of electricity through him. He scoured her expression for an indication she’d felt it, too. For the first time since they’d met, she diverted her eyes.