Kat Cantrell - Matched To Mr Right

“What percentage stake in his company did you offer in the proposal?” He did a double take and she laughed. “I read up on how venture capital works. How can I help you land the deal if I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Perhaps he should have had a cup of coffee with his wife long before now. “I guess I thought you’d handle the party details and I’d handle Garrett. But I’m reconsidering that plan.”

If he unleashed the formidable force of Daniella on Tommy Garrett, the poor guy probably wouldn’t even know what hit him.

“You do that. Tell me more.”

Her smile relaxed him. She had the best smile, easily given, genuine. He liked seeing it on her, but liked being the one to put it there even more. Making women smile wasn’t a skill he felt particular proficient at, though. Maybe he should take a cue from his wife and practice.

“Not only will his design fit new engines, it retrofits to existing engines so it can be sold to both consumers and automobile manufacturers. It’s almost miraculous. He might as well have designed a way to print money.”

“Sounds like you really believe in the product. I can’t imagine why Mr. Garrett would choose another venture capital firm.”

“Because it’s business. Not personal. And actually, I couldn’t care less what the product is as long as the entrepreneur comes to me with a solid business plan and proven commitment.”

“All business is personal, Leo,” she said quietly. “If you didn’t spend so much time behind the scenes, you might discover that for yourself.”

“Behind the scenes is where I function best.” Ensuring the players never had to worry about money as they took center stage—that was his comfort zone. He couldn’t afford to get truly involved or he’d bury himself.

Her expression softened, drawing him in. “But in the middle of things is where the best experiences are.”

He had the distinct impression they weren’t talking about Tommy Garrett anymore and had moved on to something he did not want to acknowledge in any way, shape or form.

“Thanks for the coffee. I’m going to head in to the office.” He glanced at his watch. Almost seven-thirty, but there was no rush hour on Saturday, so he hadn’t lost too much time. “If you have any more questions about the party, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Have a good day.” She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Don’t look now, Leo, but I think we just had a friendly conversation. Are you shocked it didn’t kill you?”

No, the shock happened when he laughed.

Her return smile stayed with him as he climbed into his car. The gas gauge needle pointed to full. When was the last time he’d even glanced at it? He drove to the office and instead of thinking about whatever else should be on his mind, he thought about Daniella.

Dannie. Maybe she could be Dannie and that wouldn’t kill him, either.

No way. He couldn’t imagine allowing it to roll from his tongue.

As much as he wished he could ignore his wife, he was painfully aware she conversely wished he wouldn’t. They had an agreement, but it didn’t seem to be sticking and she was flesh and blood, not a piece of paper. Or an employee.

And agreements could be terminated.

He was getting what he hoped from this marriage. She wasn’t, not fully. If he wanted her to be happy, he had to give a little. Otherwise she might walk. A sick worm of insecurity wiggled into his stomach at the idea of losing a woman who fit into his life so well. And who, against all odds, he liked.

Friends. It didn’t sound so terrible. Surely he could handle a friendship with his wife.

Six

Dannie hummed as she drew up proposed menus. She hummed as she perused the guest list Leo emailed her and savored the little thrill she got from the short message at the bottom.

You make a great cup of coffee.

She hummed as she waited on hold to speak with Tommy Garrett’s admin and later as she checked off several more things on her to-do list. The tune was aimless. Happy. Half of it was due to finally connecting with Leo on some small level, especially after he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in developing their relationship.

The other half had to do with finding her niche. Growing up, her chief source of entertainment had been old movies and TV shows on the free channels, and she’d always wanted to have her own household like the glamorous women of the ’50s. It was everything she’d expected. Being in charge of her domain gave her a heady sense of accomplishment and purpose, which popped out of her mouth in song.

When Leo strode through the door at six o’clock that evening with a small, lopsided grin, her throat seized up and quit working entirely.

“I thought we’d have dinner together,” he said as she stared at him, wordless. “If you don’t have other plans.”

Dinner? Together? Why?

“Oh,” she squeaked and sucked in a couple of lungfuls of oxygen in hopes it might jar everything else into functioning. “No plans. I’ll let the cook know.”

Clothes, she thought as she flew to alert the staff Leo would be dining in. She should change clothes. And open a bottle of wine. Her foot tangled on the edge of the Persian runner lining the stairs to the second floor. And slow down. A broken leg wouldn’t do her any favors.

This was the first time she’d dine alone with Leo since they’d gotten married. It was practically like a date. Better than a date, because it had been his idea and totally a surprise. She wanted it to be flawless and so enjoyable he couldn’t wait to do it again.

In spite of a triple-digit pulse and feeling as though her tongue was too big for her mouth, she could get used to that kind of surprise.

Dannie opened her closet and surveyed her small but lovely wardrobe. She’d never owned such amazing clothes and shoes before and never got tired of dressing up. She slipped into a casual black cocktail dress that veed over her breasts, buckled her feet into the sexiest Louboutins she owned and curled her lip at the state of her hair. Quickly she brushed it out and twisted it up into a sleek chignon.

Done. That was as close as she could get to looking like the kind of wife a man would enjoy coming home to. She took her time descending the stairs in her five-inch heels and spent a few minutes in the wine cellar glancing at labels until she put her hand on a sauvignon blanc Wine Spectator had talked up. A perfect date-night wine.

She stuck the bottle in a bucket of ice and left it on the formal dining room sideboard to chill until dinner, which the cook informed her would be a few minutes yet. At loose ends, she tormented the place settings until the silverware was either perfectly placed or exactly where it’d been when she started. She couldn’t tell, which meant stop obsessing.

The cook announced dinner at last. She went to fetch Leo and found him in his study, of course, attention decisively on his laptop. His suit jacket hung on the back of the leather chair. His shirtsleeves were rolled up on his forearms and he’d already removed his tie. Rumpled Leo might be her favorite.

Leaning on the doorjamb, she watched him type in efficient strokes, pause and type again. Mentoring anonymously via chat again, most likely. She hated to interrupt. But not really.

“Dinner’s ready.”

He glanced up without lifting his head and the way he peeked out from under his lashes was so sexy, it sent a spiral of heat through her tummy.

“Right now?” he asked.

“Um, yeah.” She cleared the multitude of frogs camping out on her vocal cords. “We don’t want it to get cold.”

He typed for another couple of seconds and then closed the laptop’s lid with a snick as he stood. “That would be a shame.”