16. Gabriella
Gabriella
D espite the fact that Anthony’s Chophouse had opened a few years ago and it was close to my condo, I’d yet to visit the upscale steak house. If necessary, I could walk home.
Johnathon stopped the SUV near the front entry, came around, and opened my door. With a nod and a grin, he said, “Have a nice meeting, Ms. Crystal.”
I stepped from the vehicle, the warm spring air billowing the skirt of my dress. I smiled at Johnathon. “If we’re going to be working near one another...my name is Ella.”
“Ella,” he repeated.
Clutching my handbag, I climbed the steps to the front door. Large wooden doors flanked by glass created the sought-after atmosphere. Once inside, I waited for the hostess. As I did, I surveyed the luxurious spacious dining area, complete with guests and waiters. A fleeting look higher told me there were additional floors of seating.
I stepped forward. The hostess was young, younger than Johnathon, with light brown hair, wearing all black. When it was my turn, I said, “Gabriella Crystal. I’m meeting Mr. Sinclair.”
“Ms. Crystal,” the hostess smiled too big. “Please follow me.”
I expected to be taken to a table or perhaps escorted upstairs. I remembered reading about a rooftop lounge. However, instead of those options, the hostess led me to an elevator and to my surprise, pushed a button to go down.
“Where are we going?”
“Mr. Sinclair reserved our private dining room.” She smiled. “It’s beautiful and has a window into our wine cellar.” Her smile grew. “It’s much more secluded.”
With each word, my stomach twisted.
By the time the elevator stopped, I was on the verge of hitting the button to make it go back up. Biting the inside of my lip, I remembered my resolve.
Bring on the games, Damien.
The hostess and I stepped into a cooled corridor. Our shoes echoed off the brick walls as I followed to a closed door near the end. She reached for the handle and opened the heavy door. “Usually, this room has a table for twenty,” the hostess said as the room came into view.
The table for twenty had been replaced with a table for two. The arrangement was almost comical in the long room. As the hostess had promised, to one side was a window that offered a view of the large wine cellar.
As the hostess and I entered, Damien stood, his arrogant smirk in place, as his eyes scanned from my hair to my shoes and back to my eyes. His earlier suit was gone, leaving his long legs covered by dark jeans and his toned muscular torso covered by a black button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled to near his elbows, and the top two buttons were undone. With the precision of a gentleman stalker, he walked to the opposite chair and pulled it back for me. Turning to the hostess, he kindly dismissed her.
I couldn’t be sure of his send-off because as I sat, the intoxicating scent of his cologne surrounded me. His lips blew warm breaths near my ear, and in a deep voice, he whispered, “You’re late, Ms. Crystal.”
My mouth went dry as his timbre and tone shouldn’t send shock waves through my body.
I didn’t want to react.
That didn’t negate the fact that I did. My body quivered all the way to my freshly trimmed and uncovered pussy. Thankfully, the cups in the bodice shielded my nipples from sharing my body’s unwanted reaction. Keeping my thighs pressed tightly together, I maintained my dignity, my neck straight and my chin high.
The door closed, leaving us alone in the cavernous underground room.
“I had an unexpected change of plans,” I explained as Damien walked back to the other wingback chair and sat.
“We can discuss tardiness at a later time.” He lifted the bottle of wine. “2018 Paul Hobbs Nathan Coombs Estate Cabernet Sauvignon.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious.”
“While I was waiting, I sampled it. You’ll find hints of baker’s chocolate and dark cherry to crème de cassis to tapenade.” He poured some in my wine goblet. “It’s both graceful and bold. The broad tannins balance the acidity, and you’ll taste the tension and freshness.” Damien lifted his glass. “To more negotiations.”
After tapping our glasses, I lifted the goblet to my nose and swirled the deep crimson liquid. “It smells nice,” I mocked before taking a sip.
Damn. It was delicious.
“I recalled you liking it.”
“I also like the giant bottle of Woodbridge I can buy at Walmart on sale for twelve dollars.”
Damien’s forehead furrowed in a scowl. “Self-deprecation isn’t a good look for you, Ella. You know how to enjoy the finer things in life. Perhaps you’ve forgotten.”
Setting my glass on the table, I looked around. “Restraint, Damien. Reserving an entire room isn’t restraint. It is narcissistic. I know you have money. I don’t need to be reminded.”
“It’s not about money. It’s about privacy.”
“We could have eaten carry-out and continued our discussion in your office.” I nodded toward his attire, thinking how we’d also matched at the gala. “Was there a memo to wear black?”
He grinned. “You’re lovely, as usual.” He leaned forward, his eyebrows raised. “I’m not going to ask about your show of good faith.” His lips curled. “If my senses are to be trusted, you complied. My sense of smell is rather acute. Your arousal is even sweeter than the wine.”
“Cabernet is known for its dryness.”
My rebuttal earned me a smirk and scoff.
Before our discussion continued, the door opened and two waiters entered, one pushing a linen-covered cart.
“Good evening,” the first man greeted. “I am George, and this” —he motioned to the second man— “is Benjamin. We are here for you this evening.”
“Hello, George and Benjamin,” we answered in unison.
George was apparently the speaker of the two. “Is the wine to your liking? I would be happy to get you…” He went on and on...
Damien’s impatience began to show as George recited every special including the multitude of ways they could be cooked. It was as George was gilding the lily of the numerous side-dish options that Damien finally lifted his hand.
“Thank you, George. We will share tuna tartare. The lady will have your Mediterranean salmon with a Caesar salad, and broiled asparagus. I will have your Wagyu filet, nine ounce, medium rare, with lobster Maxwell and a wedge salad.”
“Very well.”
“Excuse me,” I said with a placating smile. “I’ve changed my mind.” Not that I’d ever stated what I wanted. I hadn’t even looked at a menu until George started speaking. “I’ll have the Wagyu filet also. Make mine the six ounce, cooked medium, but instead of lobster Maxwell, I’ll take mine with crab Oscar. And I don’t need a salad.”
George nodded. “Very well.” He looked to both of us. “Tuna tartare?”
We both nodded.
“We’ll serve the bread first. Is there anything else I can bring you?”
Instead of answering, Damien lifted a brow and tilted his head toward me. “Is everything to your liking—in case you’ve changed your mind?”
“Please bring two checks. Oh yes, now I think I’m good.” I opened my eyes wide. “I wouldn’t want to speak for you, though.”
His lips came together as if he were trying to suppress a smile. “I believe we’re good for now.” He lifted one finger.
George nodded.
When the door closed, Damien’s laugh filled the room. “What did I say Saturday about your take-charge sexy side?” He lifted his glass. “That’s right, I said it was fucking hot.”
“You’re mistaken. I’m not trying to be hot. We’re also not on a date. I am capable of ordering my own meal and paying for it. Now, talk to me about the campaign.”
“The details have been finalized with Beta Kappa Phi.”
Details regarding my assignment. “I’m the one you want working at Sinclair Corporate. Unless you plan on one member or all of the legal team working there, they aren’t the final word. Start talking.”
His head shook only slightly. It was mostly visible in the way his dark blond hair moved. After a sigh, Damien refilled both of our glasses. “Here’s the thing,” he began. “The coalition consists of seven smaller pharmaceutical companies. In the two years since its inception, we’ve had continued success in our lobbying effectiveness as well as the ability to reach legislators who ultimately vote on our individual specialty drugs. Beta Kappa Phi can work as an adjunct, reaching people and organizations that we aren’t able to reach.”
“Are there any legal issues with this proposed campaign?”
“No.” He hesitated. “What we’ve faced is more of an ethical dilemma.”
“You want Beta Kappa Phi to breach ethical boundaries?”
“No. Think about your gala Saturday night.”
I nodded.
“You worked the room. You exceeded your donation goal. Now, imagine doing the same thing, working not only donors, but the facilities and specialists who prescribe our formulas. Talk to them about Beta Kappa Phi’s campaigns, those that assist with medical expenses, that work to improve access to care, hell…invent new campaigns. Then as you implement the campaigns, let the executive board or the officers of the facilities know that our coalition has made your work possible. Along the way, let them know about our different signature formulas. It’s like the saying, I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.”
“You basically want me to lobby to the people we help?”
He shook his head. “The people the fraternity aids need your help. There are more people who could benefit from Beta Kappa Phi. That’s where we, the coalition, come in. It’s not the patients or clients who you will be lobbying. You will alert the administration of the facilities that your good work is made possible by the coalition. For example, if Beta Kappa Phi is helping to pay for treatment.” He pressed his lips into a straight line. “For cancer treatment?”
I nodded.
“Beta Kappa Phi reimburses the facility, not the client, correct?”
“Correct. Different facilities work closer with us. The cost is prorated. And giving to the client would cause tax problems for many of them who can’t afford that.”
“Prorated,” he repeated, “because you work with that facility.”
“Yes.”
“Ella, it’s the same thing. Your position will be as the program director over the coalition’s distribution campaign.”
Before I could respond, the door opened, and George returned with our tuna tartare.
As we started to eat, Damien asked, “Do you have any questions?”
The appetizer melted on my tongue. “I’m certain I will. I’m not thinking straight.”
Damien’s lips quirked. “Is it the wine, the tuna, or the company?”
“It’s been a long day.” I took another sip of wine. “Why can’t this work be done from my office, within Beta Kappa Phi?”
“Because you have a lot to learn about the seven different companies.” He lifted his hand. “I’m sure you were well versed with Sinclair, but we’ve made significant advancements in the last two years. Wade, Holston, McCree…they’re all different, and the same. I don’t believe even Julia or any other CEOs would be happy with you taking proprietary information about their companies to your office in Carmel. Hell, I don’t want Sinclair data there. They, the members of the coalition, have agreed to allow you access to their sensitive data in a controlled environment.”
I shook my head. “Is that what Sinclair Corporation is…a controlled environment?”
His blue orbs lightened like white-hot embers. “Control is one of my objectives.” He wiped the corners of his mouth. “Speaking of which...may I see your purse?”
“A purse is a rather personal collection of items.”
He lifted his hand.
Maybe it was the wine or the tuna. I couldn’t pinpoint the reason I handed him my clutch.
With a smirk, he unclasped the latch. With the innate sense of a bloodhound, Damien didn’t hesitate to dig his long fingers beyond my comb, phone, and lipstick. As the door opened again, he retrieved my panties, balled them into his fist, and placed them in the front pocket of his jeans.
With a grin, he handed me back my purse. “Thank you.”
Oh my God .
“If you need another tissue…” I said, fearing George was listening.
Damien smirked. “I’m not done. There are more answers to learn.”
While having George walk in on us was embarrassing, I was relieved that with the interruption Damien didn’t have the chance to examine the panties, to learn they were clean or check to see if I was wearing any.
“Another time,” I said with a smile as George retrieved our appetizer plates.
“The night is young.”