Moonlight Kisses. Phyllis Bourne

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      “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 straight 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 СКАЧАТЬ