|   DEAL
OF A LIFETIME
Meredith’s
hand trembled as she passed a ten dollar bill to her cab driver.
She stumbled a little getting out of her seat, shut the passenger
door too hard, then tried to smile an apology.
Oh God, she was so nervous. But she had to stop showing it and now.
She was a professional, for heaven’s sake. And this was simply
a job, nothing more.
She stared in front of her, seeing nothing but
the stone façade
of the New York Men’s Athletic Club. Her heart was racing,
but not just from nerves. She had to admit a part of her was excited.
Ninety
percent of the time, her job with Hayden Confidential was spent at
a desk. Sure she had to use her brains and sure she’d uncovered
some pretty outrageous crimes. But usually from a distance. Thanks
to all the high quality surveillance equipment available these days,
rarely did she need to get involved on a more personal level. Meeting
Quinn Huntington today was an exception.
The uniformed bellhop at
the front door directed her to the main floor bar. Automatically
Meredith checked her watch. Now it was three
minutes
past seven. She’d heard Quinn Huntington was often late.
Would he keep her waiting tonight? With a deep breath, she squared
her
shoulders and walked through the open French doors to the bar.
A
man in a white dinner jacket sat at a large ebony grand piano.
His music set the correct tone for the ambiance of the place with
its dark
wood paneled walls, thick carpeting and framed oil paintings. Meredith
eyed the rich mahogany bar, the elegant tables and comfortably
upholstered leather chairs. The scent of cigarettes and cigars
was subtle, thanks
to an efficient ventilation system.
At a glance, Meredith estimated
about twenty people were currently in the bar, less than a quarter
of them female. With a recent press
clipping of Quinn Huntington fresh in her mind, she scanned the
room again. This time her gaze screeched to a stop at a tall, elegantly
dressed man, seated at the corner of the bar.
He was smiling faintly and watching the entrance. Watching her.
The photos she’d previewed hadn’t done him justice.
He was...incredible.
As their glances collided, his eyebrows rose
in silent question. She nodded. With stealthy purpose, he left
the bar and his drink,
heading
in her direction.
And all the while his gaze remained locked on
her.
Suddenly she felt a tremor of fear, not just
nerves. What if he’d
met Stacey and knew what she looked like? What if he uncovered
her deception right away?
Meredith, who prided herself on control,
on self-assurance, on perfection, for the first time felt doubt.
Was this plan the best
idea? And was
she sure she was up for it?
It was too late for doubts. She raised
her chin an inch. The game had begun. Besides, she was in a public
bar, for God’s sake. What
could Quinn Huntington possibly do to her here?
Quinn stopped three
feet from her. The sharp calculating glance she’d
spied from across the room had disappeared. Now he smiled with
lazy charm.
"Stacey Prentice, I presume?"
She knew
that to hesitate, for even a second, would be fatal to her plan.
"Yes."
* * *
He’d gotten her wrong, all wrong.
Gazing into the deep blue eyes of the elegant woman in front of
him, Quinn wondered how it was possible.
Young, pretty, blonde?
This woman was refined,
beautiful, intelligent. Her clothing was impeccable...and expensive.
Her posture assured and graceful. Up
close he put her age
closer to early thirties than early twenties. Which made all the
difference, in Quinn’s experience, between women and girls.
When
she held out her hand to him, he sandwiched it in a firm hold.
Her fingers were warm, dry, steady. Nerves of steel? Or did she
have experience selling her employer’s secrets?
She hadn’t
been in love with her boss. He’d been wrong
about that, too. She was too wise for that old mistake and too
calculating to fall into it by accident.
So what was her motive
in selling out Chance? Pure financial greed?
Oh, he hoped not. That
would be so terribly dull. And this woman intrigued him. He’d
expected sugar candy with a sour aftertaste. And he’d
discovered a finely blended wine. Maybe even champagne.
She eased
her hand out from his. "How did you know my last name? I didn’t
give it to you over the phone."
"Didn’t you?"
"You know very well I
did not."
Her voice thrilled him. Her enunciation so perfect,
her tone carefully modulated. The telephone hadn’t done her
justice in this area, either.
"I’ve checked up on you,
Ms. Prentice. Enough to know you’ve
been Chance Maguire’s executive assistant for the past four
years." So why turn on him now? Had Chance skipped on this year’s
bonus? The clothes she was wearing, alone, would cost more than
most executive
assistants’ monthly salary. Which led him to believe she
had other means of financial support.
Perhaps she’d done
this sort of thing before.
"I’ve compiled some research
of my own, Mr. Huntington. Based on which, I must confess, I expected
you to arrive late."
The woman was bold to risk antagonizing her
mark like this. "Very good, Ms. Prentice. But your research was
not quite thorough enough.
I often keep boring business associates waiting. But never beautiful
women."
"I’m afraid I may fall in the former
category."
"I don’t share the same concern."
He indicated a quiet table in the corner. "Care to join me for
a drink?"
She glanced at the bar where he’d been
sitting.
"They’ll bring me my glass," he assured
her. "I thought you’d appreciate the privacy." He followed
her to the table, glad for the opportunity to examine her openly.
He saw that while her
body was slender, it was also strong, athletic. This intrigued
him even more.
"So what will you have, Stacey? A glass of wine?"
"Scotch
and water, please," she told the waiter. "Preferably Glenlivet."
She
simply would not conform to his expectations. Quinn laid his arms
on the table between them and decided on frankness. "You are
nothing like what I expected."
She lowered her eyes a fraction,
before replying. "While you are exactly as I anticipated."
"You’ve
already made an assessment?" For the first time in a long, long
while, he realized he cared about the impression he’d
made. And feared it wasn’t favorable.
He would have to change
that. The waiter brought their drinks, and they made idle chit
chat for a few minutes. Though they spoke
of
nothing important, the conviction that he had to see her again,
and soon, only
grew stronger.
"Have dinner with me tonight." Suddenly the business
between them was the least of his concerns. He wanted to seduce
this woman.
It wouldn’t
be easy. Everything about her--from her expression, to her body
language--screamed keep your distance. Why was she like this? So
cool and prickly? She
wore no wedding band. No rings at all, actually.
"Let’s
finish our drink before we discuss dinner." She picked up her glass.
Raising it toward him, she offered a toast:
"To
success. Yours and mine."
"I like the sound of that."
"We are talking about
business here?"
"If you insist."
She folded her hands on the table.
Her long, pale fingers were smooth and neatly manicured. A thick
gold bracelet slid below the
cuff of
her jacket. Aside from her earrings, it was her only jewelry.
"My
impression on the phone was that you were serious about my proposal."
"Sadly,
I am serious about very few matters."
She pushed back on the table.
"If I’m just wasting my time..."
"No." He didn’t
want her to leave. "I read the file you sent to my house." She’d
used a common courier company.
When he’d quizzed the deliveryman
he’d learned nothing.
The envelope had been left with security in the lobby.
"And?"
"And...I’m interested."
"Well." She
looked as if she expected him to say more, then finally shrugged.
On her, the movement seemed very expressive and elegant.
"Good."
She’d finished her drink. "So." He tapped
her empty glass. "Dinner?"
"I don’t see the
need. We can finish this right now."
Perhaps they could. But then
he’d never know why a beautiful
woman like Stacey Prentice was selling corporate secrets. Or how
her body would feel in his arms while they were dancing.
"Dinner
first," he insisted. "My place."
Her eyes widened.
"Don’t
worry. I don’t
intend to torture you with my cooking. I’ll order something.
There’s a wonderful Italian restaurant
on my block. The chef is used to catering to my whims."
"'Whims'
meaning the various women you take home to seduce?" "Perhaps on
occasion. But as you’ve just reminded me, ours is
a business association."
The sheen of amusement in her eyes made
him think she knew his game and was willing to play it.
"Why don’t
I settle the tab, then we can catch a cab?"
He headed for the bar
to do just that, but when he glanced back after handing the bartender
a fifty, Stacey Prentice was no longer
sitting
at the table where he’d left her.
END OF EXCERPT. LIKE IT? ORDER
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(9-1-03) Four
Stars from Romantic Times!