Unable to help herself, she tugged at the hem of the dress again, pulled herself up taller, and forced herself to meet his stare. It was a mistake. His eyes danced with an unspoken challenge. She could see he was amused by her discomfort.
“Elliot,” she said in greeting.
“Ms. Shaw.” He inclined his head slightly. “You look utterly delectable.”
Thandie could feel blood rushing to her face, and knew she was turning deep red. She gripped her clutch tightly.
“Mr. Richards,” an enthusiastic female voice called out.
Both Elliot and Thandie turned to see the restaurant’s hostess approach them. She was practically beaming at Elliot. Thandie bit her lower lip in annoyance. The entire time she’d been waiting in the foyer, the hostess hadn’t so much as spared her a passing glance.
“We’re happy to have you join us today,” she simpered. “Your table is ready.”
Elliot flashed her a smile. “Very good. Please, lead the way.” He turned to Thandie and, surprising both women, placed a possessive arm around her waist. “Shall we?” he whispered in her ear, as he ushered her forward.
Thandie walked stiffly at his side as the hostess navigated around tables before climbing a short flight of carpeted steps. They arrived at Elliot’s table, a secluded booth near the rear of the upper level. It offered a superior view of the dining areas and bar below, and yet was obscured from curious eyes by layers of decorative silk curtains.
Thandie slid in first, settling herself as far on the opposite side as possible. Elliot slid in beside her, purposely eating up much of the space she’d created. His head lowered slightly, and she was momentarily surprised by the fan of dark lashes that shaded his eyes. They were long and thick—the kind women paid a small fortune to possess.
Her attention was disturbed when their waiter arrived and placed leather-bound menus before them. He greeted Elliot by name before asking for their drink requests. Without even consulting Thandie, Elliot ordered a bottle of wine. The waiter nodded his approval and disappeared. When he was well out of earshot, Thandie showed her irritation.
“I can order for myself,” she said tersely.
“I’m sure you can. However, tonight I am ordering for you. So get used to it.”
“I’m not accustomed to having a man treat me like this.”
“That’s because I’m the first man you’ve ever dealt with.”
She laughed dryly at his statement. His cocky presumption nearly toppled her patience.
“You look nervous,” Elliot remarked. “I hope I’m not the reason.”
“I’m not nervous,” she said frostily.
He said nothing, but the grin he gave her was wicked and knowing.
Thankfully, the waiter arrived with the wine. Elliot took the bottle, insisting he be the one to fill their glasses. As he did so, he placed their entrée order. The waiter again nodded his head.
“Please send the chef my respects,” Elliot added. “And press upon him my eagerness to dine. I have a healthy appetite tonight—” he paused to let his gaze slide over Thandie once more “—and my date looks good enough to eat.”
“Yes, Mr. Richards,” the waiter said promptly. “I will tell the chef.” He vanished without another word.
Elliot watched him leave, the hint of a smile played on his lips.
“Was that really necessary?” Thandie asked.
“It was,” Elliot said as he took a sip from his wine glass, “because it’s true. You look utterly edible tonight. My compliments to your dress.”
Thandie had to bite down on her lip again. She reached for her own glass, in a desperate attempt to keep her hands busy, and took a sip. She was surprised to discover it was pretty good. Better than good. It was wonderful. She could feel a rush of warmth wash over her as the smooth liquid went down. She looked at Elliot, not at all surprised to see him watching her.
“You like it,” he said. “I can tell. Your face is glowing.”
Thandie impulsively took another sip before resting her glass on the tabletop. He’d been right of course. However, she’d die a slow death before she’d admit as much to him. She pushed her glass a few inches farther away from her. She didn’t intend to get lightheaded on wine during her meeting. She would have to pace herself.
“How was your first night at Babylon?” he asked casually.
“Great,” she breathed, relieved the conversation had turned to business. “I was telling Warren this morning I thought he’d made a very sound investment.”
Something flickered across Elliot’s face. It bordered annoyance, but she could not be sure. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Yes,” he said smoothly, “it’s a very sound investment.”
“You mentioned yesterday you wanted me to host a series of events at the club,” she said. “Did you have in mind any particular kind of events?”
“That will be entirely up to you,” he said vaguely.
“Entirely?” she pressed.
Elliot smiled. “With my approval, of course.”
“Of course,” she said under her breath, slightly irritated by the lack of direction he was giving her. “Is there anyone specifically you wish to attend these events?” she asked. “I have a lot of contacts in New York. I planned to work my connections to get as many celebrities as your staff thinks they can handle. I know Brandon Audrey’s agent. I can see how his schedule lays out.”
If he was impressed by her dropping the name of a major movie star, he was a remarkable poker player. He didn’t even flinch. Whether it was because he didn’t care for Brandon Audrey or doubted her abilities to book him, was a mystery to her.
Elliot gave her a patronizing smile. “I see you’re not familiar with how things work here. Miami is known for two things.” He ticked his words off on his fingers. “Music artists and models. Wherever there are musicians, there will undoubtedly be models. And where there are models, there are wealthy men. Where there is wealth, there are more beautiful women, and where there are beautiful women, there are men. My point is, you need to focus on getting music artists here. The occasional actor is fine, but concentrate your energy on music. Am I making myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, relieved he was giving her specifics she could use. “And while we’re on the subject of the target market, what about the press? Are there any syndications you want to be featured in? The Tower would make for some great photo opportunities. Elle Décor or even Architectural Digest might consider doing a story—” She broke off when he started shaking his head. “Is there a problem?”
“No press.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, certain she had not heard him correctly.
“No press,” he repeated, “and absolutely no photographers.”
Thandie laughed. “This is a joke, right?” She stopped abruptly when he didn’t join her. Instead, he sat patiently, staring at her. “You can’t be serious,” she said.
He flicked away an imaginary piece of lint from his suit lapel.
“You’re serious?” she gasped in disbelief.
“No photos. It’s a club policy.”
“Who would make such an absurd policy?”
“I did.”
“But this is for promotion,” she stammered. “How can we motivate people to come to the club if you aren’t willing to show your establishment?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Shaw, but I’m quite firm