Seduction By Chocolate

by Nina Bangs, Lisa Cach, Thea Devine

  Let him lead, she thought. This was a man born to lead. She couldn't follow up on any interest on his part until after his client's affair anyway, so why was she struggling with this situation?

  Things would happen when they would happen, with a little push from her at the right time. This was the right time to be quiet.

  It took another forty-five quiet minutes to creep downtown to the Village, where Matt swung the car onto a tree-lined side street of similar brownstones and town houses and stopped a short distance from the Hawley.

  It was lit up, basement to top floor, with softly glowing lights, and in the diminishing twilight the streetscape could have been a scene from the 1890s.

  "This is fine," Matt said, pulling a notebook from his jacket and making a note.

  "It's thirty feet wide," Jess said. "So the rooms aren't long and narrow. And the building goes back fifty additional feet into the lot, so beyond the double parlors there's a library and atrium, and of course the service pantry. There's downstairs space as well, if you need it."

  "That sounds fine." He kept his tone as even as possible. "And I will want to see it."

  "All right." Jess matched his tone. What would he do now? Suggest a glass of wine, perhaps, to continue discussing the fine points of the town house— she hoped.

  "I'll be happy to drive you home," he said after a moment. "I have a dinner appointment at eight o'clock."

  Jess clenched her teeth. "I'd appreciate that. I'm at Central Park West and Seventy-third Street."

  And he didn't blink an eye.

  Even though he had to go straight back uptown in rush-hour traffic, he drove her to her apartment building, Jess recounted irritably the next morning to Donna, and just left her with a courteous good-bye.

  "What else did you want? He wasn't going to come up for coffee and kisses," Donna pointed out. "Come on, Jess. Don't get so heavily invested on so little encouragement."

  "No encouragement at all," Jess admitted. "Of course, we're going down there this morning. So maybe…"

  "Don't count on it," Donna interjected.

  "You're right. He hasn't signed the contract yet."

  "And after he does, he's off-limits. So just take it down a notch."

  "Right." Right, right, right. Jess hated it when Donna was right. There she was, flaring up like tinder at the slightest heat, and Donna just doused her every fantasy. "All right. All right. But you have to admit, he's that kind of man."

  "Have a doughnut. It's that kind of doughnut."

  "Ugh. Chocolate. How do you eat so much chocolate and not gain weight?"

  "I think good thoughts. I live on fairy dust. And I control my libido with aerobic exercise." Donna took a bite and sighed; it had semisweet frosting, her favorite. Life was good. "Come on. Get your coffee. We need to rearrange some scheduling." "I know. MondesCo. Friday. On-site." Jess slipped into her office for a moment to grab her notes, and then settled into Donna's guest chair. They spent a half-hour going over the logistics of switching MondesCo to Jess's schedule and fitting in Matt Greer's client. Reconfiguring who had to be where when. Which suppliers had to be reconfirmed, rechecked, regrouped.

  Angie came in as usual at nine-thirty, freshened the coffee, and took away files.

  "Matt Greer should be here at any minute," Jess said, consulting her watch.

  Donna looked beyond her, through the window wall. "Oh, he's been pacing around out there a good five minutes, Jess, but he hasn't asked Angie to admit him yet. He looks like a man with a lot on his mind."

  "Who's going with him this morning?" Jess asked carefully. Too carefully. But she already knew the answer. Donna should go. Donna would be sensible and harbor no secret dreams. Donna would make him feel as though he were the most important person in the world, and it would have nothing to do with attraction and denial and everything to do with the bottom line.

  That was why Donna was the CEO and Jess wasn't.

  "Never mind," she said resignedly. "I knew the answer before I asked."

  The back windows of the town house faced south, so the walls were washed with brilliant sunlight as Donna and Matt entered the front parlor, Donna a step or two behind him so he could get the full effect of the sun-flooded space.

  It was very impressive, from the jewel-toned Oriental rugs on the parquet floors to the ornate marble fireplaces, one in each parlor, to the wedding-cake molding around the ceiling. And it was pristine; one never would have known there had been an event there the previous night.

  Everything about the space was light, bright, and airy. And at night, it would be intimate and elegant, with silver and crystal shimmering in the candlelight.

  Donna could envision it perfectly, but the question was, could Matt Greer?

  They walked through the rear parlor into the library. Here, there were built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases with glass doors, behind which was a whole leather-bound library. There would be smaller tables in here for conversation and drinks, the guests spilling out into the atrium and onto the small deck and the patio below, the space lit by up-turned lights below and tree lights woven through the branches and decking.

  She could almost sense his mind racing a mile a minute, and that most of what he was thinking did not have to do with whether to give the okay on this space.

  "Let's go down to the kitchen, shall we?" she said, coming up behind him as he leaned over the deck railing and gazed down at the patio and garden below. He hadn't said a word yet. Maybe he was turned off by an outdoor area that included the bared brick back walls of the buildings up and down the block. But that was one of the exigencies of city life, city entertaining. Yet just one small thing— given the ambience the client desired— could kill a prospective venue.

  It was all in the game, she thought. If it wasn't to be Hawley, it would be somewhere else. But time was of the essence, and he needed to make a quick decision. To help him along, she had called one of the caterers and arranged to have sampling of her specialties ready for him to taste right on-site.

  She now led him down to the lower level. There were three rooms there, railroad style, the kitchen being at the front of the house, and the additional rooms to the rear so that guests could enter them from the garden.

  The kitchen was huge, all white tile and stainless steel, with a large preparation island running down the center. There, a petite blond woman, Katia Moran, the caterer, was waiting for them, having just removed several of her specialties from the oven, per Donna's instructions.

  Donna introduced them. "I thought it would make sense and save time to have a tasting this morning. Katia…?"

  Katia gave him a plate and a fork and uncovered the first dish, an appetizer made with pasta and fresh vegetables in her secret vinaigrette, then a chicken mousse, and scallops in lemon-pepper butter; for the main course, a sampling of lamb slices coated in mustard, lamb kebobs with peanut sauce, and some spicy pork stew. A small lime soufflé tart with whipped cream was one choice of dessert.

  And she had a pitcher of iced tea to go with it all.

  Matt eyed Donna over the rim of his glass after he took a forkful of the stew. "You're very smart, Ms. Cavalero. Everything is excellent."

  She gave him a wicked little smile and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of the woman beneath the tailored suit. This was the intelligence that had built the business, furnished that office, and took note of every small detail.

  He liked that.

  "We try to think of everything, Mr. Greer," she said, lowering her gaze, and it was back to business. "Particularly because there isn't much time. This at least gives you some idea about the quality of the presentation and the menu. And Katia can fit your event into her schedule."

  "That sounds good," Matt said. He shook Katia's hand. "Let's talk, Ms. Cavalero."

  Never mix business with pleasure. Matt believed in that maxim, and he practiced it, but someone like Donna Cavalero made him want to throw all caution to the wind.

  She hadn't wanted to cement the deal over late bre
akfast at an obscure restaurant he knew right on West Tenth Street. No, the office was fine for her, she said. All the contracts were there— how convenient for her— and they could have coffee and go over each point with painstaking care.

  At that point, he didn't care. Whatever it took to keep him in her company, he was willing to do.

  He'd had his driver today, and so Donna had sat beside him in the backseat of his town car, perfectly still and quiet. No superfluous words were needed, certainly, and normally he wouldn't want to talk. But for some reason, he'd wanted to make conversation with her.

  He wanted to know everything about her, apart from the things that were obvious, and he'd had three dozen questions right on the tip of his tongue, none of them appropriate in the context of business.

  So that was that. They were back at her office before noon, and settled in the conference room with all the papers shortly after that.

  "We can order out," Donna offered, slanting a look at him. He looked hungry, but she wasn't sure for what— and didn't want to know, either.

  "Or we can go out, if we can get the paperwork done quickly."

  "Whatever you wish, Mr. Greer."

  Well, he was tired of that. "Matt."

  "Matt, then." She picked up the contracts. "I know you've read the preliminaries carefully, but I just want to go through everything again, so we're both clear on what Cavalero and Demont will be providing for you."

  And she did. He was both speechless and amused by her thoroughness. Every contingency was covered in that contract, which spoke of the orderliness of the way she approached things. Everything was spelled out, every liability, as well as a laundry list of things Matt never would have thought of.

  He was amazed at what it took to plan and run such an event. But that was why one hired someone like Ms. Cavalero.

  "And of course, I will be on-site Thursday morning, supervising everything," Donna was saying, as she handed the pages he was signing one by one to Angie for her to copy.

  And that had been smart, too, having a Thursday-night affair, when more people would be available. That took a kind of forethought that Matt truly admired.

  "Angie— bring in the stationery samples, please."

  He had a choice of two dozen samples of invitations.

  "Two weeks' notice should be enough," Donna said, "if we can get these out by the end of the week. Which means I need your address list by tomorrow, Matt."

  "That's fine. This looks good." He pointed at a creamy vellum square with crisp block printing.

  "Excellent choice." She made a note and looked up as Angie returned with his copies of the contracts. "Angie."

  "I see. How many invitations, Mr. Greer?"

  "Seventy-five."

  "I'll take care of it." Angie removed the book and gave Donna her copies before she withdrew.

  "And I guess that takes care of everything for now," Donna said, meticulously putting the originals of the contracts into a file folder.

  "Good," Matt said, just hiding his restlessness. This much paperwork over food and flowers was just not worth all this time. He'd rather have spent it with Donna, alone, at some exclusive little restaurant. And he intended to. "Are we through? Can we go to lunch?"

  Donna looked startled. "Oh. Lunch." She looked at her watch. "Oh, dear— Matt, it's later than I thought. I have an appointment at one-thirty that I have to prepare for."

  "Do you?"

  She smiled at him. "Truly. I really thought we'd be finished long before this."

  He resisted the smile. "So did I. Perhaps tomorrow, when I deliver the mailing list?"

  "I'll check my calendar," Donna promised as she walked him to the door. "This is going to be a lovely dinner, Matt, and it will accomplish everything you want for your client."

  He gave her a long, considering look. "It's Daniel Boland."

  Donna made a little sound. This was big-time. Dan Boland, the high-profile district attorney, was young, handsome, outspoken, charismatic, and on the cusp of a big political career— if he wanted it. He'd been all over the newspapers lately, denying that he wanted anything more than to do his job.

  But that was spin. And no one believed it. Dan Boland was acting very much like a candidate, and Matt Greer was plotting his course and spinning the webs. Everyone knew Dan Boland.

  Oh, Lord, this was really big.

  "I was wondering when you were going to tell me," she said finally.

  "He can't do a thing in this town without page six on his heels. I'm counting on your discretion."

  "You have it. I'll see you tomorrow, Matt."

  "You absolutely will," he promised. "And we will do lunch."

  Chapter Three

  She was not as calm as she seemed. But she would get calmer; she would, because she was just imagining Matt Greer's interest. She had to be.

  She glanced at her watch as she returned to the conference room to get her folders and notes. One-fifteen. Not even time to assess anything that had happened today.

  But what had happened? She'd successfully signed another client for a very big-deal event. Period.

  And she wasn't going to assume anything more, in spite of that faintly threatening invitation to lunch. And the way he seemed to watch her in that covert, concentrating-on-very-important-other-things kind of way he had.

  Jess breezed in a moment later. "How'd it go?"

  Donna held up the folder. "It's a go. And it's big, so we're pulling out the stops. Katia will do the catering, and you need to work up a floor plan for seventy-five people, but figure fifty. And stat."

  "Gotcha. MondesCo is right in place. I just came from the hotel; they're just getting started, so I'll be gone all day, and just work from there."

  "That's fine. I have Sorrell coming down there this afternoon for drapes and drama. Invitations are going out tomorrow. Katia's proposed menu will be in hand by the time Mr. Greer delivers the mailing list"—Donna was ticking off points on a list she had propped against her armload of folders—"so I think that's it for today."

  "Okay," Jess said, making her own notes. "Sorrell did a great job for MondesCo, by the way. Of course, the magician's set-ups are always the dicey part, but we thrive on a soupçon of danger every now and again, don't we? Oh, well— call me at the hotel if anything comes up."

  Jess was out the door in a blink; Donna followed more slowly, amused by the notion of danger. Danger was being alone with Matt Greer. Danger was her impulses going out of control. Danger was even thinking a man like that had any interest in her.

  But she didn't believe in turning clients into potential lovers, even though he was just sensational enough to make her think about bending the rules.

  No— if Jess wanted Matt Greer, she could certainly have him— after the end of the month.

  For her part, Donna thought, she wasn't going to encourage or chase after him. She had learned that life-changing lesson the hard way.

  No, if Matt Greer had even the faintest interest in her, he was just going to have to come and get her himself.

  Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Everything had to be gone over, approved, and signed, this time relevant to the menu and decorations, and Matt was growing just a little impatient.

  "I trust your judgment and your good taste," he said at one point.

  "Yes, but a handshake is meaningless in this context," Donna said. "And what if something goes horribly wrong?"

  "Your insurance will pay for it."

  "Or your Mr. Boland will sue and my business will be ruined. Sign there. And there. And there."

  "Fine." He swiped his signature across the last page. "And now, lunch."

  He brought it to her: an order of his favorite dishes from his favorite restaurant, delivered within a half hour to the office conference room.

  "Much nicer atmosphere," he said as they made themselves comfortable. Everything had been provided, from silverware to serving dishes, soup to dessert. "I can make magic, too, Donna."

  I just bet you can, she thoug
ht, eyeing the feast. There was something about food— and him— and being alone in a small space with a big window overlooking midtown Manhattan. It was like a scene from a bad novel. Or someone's overwrought dream.

  Not hers. She wasn't the type to succumb to filet mignon with truffles and foie gras. Not her. Or shrimp to start, in a spicy green sauce. Or perfect cold marinated green beans.

  And never, never, never could she be seduced by chocolate mousse cake….

  Not in a thousand lifetimes, she thought, but she was already down for the count. The steak was heaven, and she knew Matt Greer was watching her intently as she savored it.

  "What is it, Mr. Greer?" she managed after she'd swallowed and taken a sip of wine, also thoughtfully provided.

  "Matt."

  He was amused. "Matt," she echoed. "The food is excellent. I wonder that you didn't ask if this restaurateur could have provided the catering for your dinner."

  "No, not possible. Nor would they close the restaurant. The most they could have done was give us a private room, which meant a report about the dinner and guests would have appeared in some gossip column the next day. No, we wanted something very circumspect, well organized, and well done that wouldn't provide fodder for media scrutiny."

  "I see. So why haven't I been asked to sign a secrecy clause?"

  "Because discretion is one of the gospels of your business, Donna; otherwise you wouldn't have that client list and those fat retainers."

  "How smart of you to check up on the company," Donna murmured.

  "I always check up on everything," Matt said, and she believed it.

  "And now you're checking up on me?"

  He gave her a faint smile. "Something like that."

  "But all hush-hush. So of course you can't go out in public." So much for his rush to take her to lunch. He hadn't wanted her company; he wanted to have her for lunch, up close and personal. How naive of her not to have understood that.

  She forked up another piece of meat. God, it was delicious, buttery and peppery, just like she imagined he would be.

  Watch that.

  It was a free lunch, in a town where it was damned hard to get one.

  "Where's Jess?"