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Emily took in their surroundings then looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window to an internal courtyard where sculptured water features and luxuriant plant life created an exotic, colourful haven. ‘This is beautiful.’
Ramon signalled to the redhead, who pressed a button, and then the wall of glass beside them slid back.
A smile spread over Emily’s face. ‘I feel like I’m sitting in paradise!’
Her reaction was unguarded, her smile so beautiful, so real, that Ramon felt its impact like a burst of warmth in his chest. He was trying to process the feeling when a waiter materialised with menus, the champagne he’d pre-ordered and two amuse-bouches served in shot glasses with delicate glass spoons.
‘Foie gras, figs and apricot,’ the waiter explained. He uncorked the champagne, filled their flutes then melted away again.
After one mouthful of her amuse-bouche, Emily made an appreciative humming noise in her throat that Ramon was fairly sure he could feel in his groin.
‘That is delicious.’ She scraped the glass clean and savoured her last mouthful. ‘Who’s your executive chef?’
‘Levi Klassen.’
Her grey eyes, which had a softer look about them tonight, rounded. ‘The Dutch chef?’
‘You know him?’
‘I know of him. Our executive chef at The Royce speaks highly of him.’
He finished his own amuse-bouche and acknowledged it was exceptional. As he’d expected. He only hired the best. ‘Perhaps we can have them collaborate on a menu some time.’
‘Really? That would be amazing.’ She turned her attention to the menu on the table. After a quick scan, she asked, ‘Are the desserts on a separate menu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Problem?’
‘I always check the desserts first.’ She glanced up and must have seen the question on his face. ‘So I know how much room to leave,’ she elaborated.
Ramon tried to think of a time he’d taken a woman to dinner and watched her do more than pick at a lettuce leaf or a piece of white fish. He found himself smiling.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Have I amused you?’
‘Surprised me,’ he admitted. He caught the waiter’s attention and sent the man for a dessert menu.
‘Because I like to eat dessert?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t often dine with women who admit to having a sweet tooth, let alone indulge it.’
‘That’s because supermodels live on diet pills and fresh air,’ she said pertly and, given that a number of beautiful but rake-thin models had come and gone from his bed over the years, he was hard pressed to defend himself against that comment.
Fortunately, their waiter returned and saved him from having to. He sipped his champagne and watched as Emily studied the list of desserts, amusement mingling with a hot flare of curiosity. What other passions besides her sweet tooth did she hide beneath that beautiful, rese
rved exterior?
She put down the menu. ‘Okay. I’ve made up my mind.’
The waiter noted their selections and then Emily settled back in her chair. ‘The membership secretary put four new applications on my desk today.’ She spoke quietly, her gaze fixed on her champagne, her long, slender fingers sliding idly along the delicate glass stem. ‘I noted all four are board members of the Vega Corporation. I also saw that Lord Hanover has stamped his endorsement on all of them.’ She glanced up, her expression difficult to read. ‘How did you manage that?’
The same way he accomplished any major business win—by doing his homework, being prepared. ‘In negotiations, there’s a simple rule of thumb for getting what you want.’
She gave him a thoughtful look. ‘Knowing what the other party wants?’ she correctly guessed. She tilted her head, her magnificent honey-gold hair catching shards of reflected light from the modern chandelier above their heads. ‘And Lord Hanover?’ she asked. ‘What does he want?’
His palms itched with a strong desire to bury his hands in those lustrous curls and explore their silken texture. He tightened his hand on his champagne glass. ‘His son-in-law is chasing a major multi-billion-dollar construction contract in Saudi Arabia.’
