Page 14 of Trust Me
“Which has been the cornerstone of our business for over three decades,” Waterson says, then turns to me. “Kyle, have you met Riley …” He pauses.
“Martin,” she finishes for him. “Riley Martin of Martin Consulting & Company.” She sticks out her hand for me to shake. “We’ve met before, but I have to say I don’t think I made the best impression.”
I glance down at her hand before meeting those coffee eyes of hers again. It’s difficult not to let my eyes trail down to her smiling lips, but I manage.
“Ms. Martin,” I reluctantly introduce, taking her hand into mine. A feeling I can’t explain pushes through my hand at the contact.
“How long ago did you two meet?” Waterson asks.
Before I can respond, she replies, “Kyle not so graciously kicked me out of a nightclub a couple of weekends ago.”
Waterson glances at me with bulging eyes.
“Ms. Martin’s exaggerating. She was in the wrong section, and I had my security show her where she belonged.”
He glances between us, then his eyes drop to our clasped hands. I quickly free her hand, shocked that I still held onto it.
“Well, Riley was just telling me about the work she did for …” He pivots to ask her,
“Who was it?”
“While I don’t like to name drop, it was for Chad Reagle’s tech firm,” she supplies.
Waterson snaps. “That’s right. I heard from a few colleagues that he raved about the consulting you did for him.”
She nods. “We’re proud to work with startups to help get them what they need.”
“I’ll say,” Waterson adds. “The deal you consulted on for him netted his firm an additional eight figures to fund some upcoming projects.”
Riley’s smile widens, and I can’t look away from it.
“That was a merger deal, correct?” Sam asks.
“Yes.”
Sam turns to me. “Riley’s expertise could be beneficial if this deal between my company and Townsend Industries goes through.”
I spare Riley a glance. “I’ll consider that,” I say, lying. “Since we’re discussing the merger, I have the papers in my hotel room if you want to sign tonight.”
“I suspected you would. My attorneys are looking over a few more items in the contract. Hey, I see someone I want to talk to. Would you both excuse me?”
“No problem,” Riley says.
“Please.” I step aside, working overtime to hide my annoyance as he passes between us.
I immediately start in on the woman before me. “What are you doing here?”
Riley blinks, surprised.
It’s an act because she quickly recovers and replies, “I’m here as a lover of art just like you, Kyle.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks. I want to say it’s a result of anger or annoyance at her intrusion, but strangely I suspect it’s more related to hearing her say my name.
I look her up and down. In her heels, she’s only a few inches shorter than my six-foot-three height. Instead of that form-fitting dress she wore the night at The Black Opal, she has on a pair of loose cream trousers and a silk blouse. I can’t help but notice the swell of her hips in those damn pants.
“You are persistent, aren’t you?” I say, meeting her eyes. “I’ve had a few groupies do their best to follow me, but I can’t remember the last time one dared to show up at a nightclub and then follow me to Miami.”
She lets out a laugh, but it’s hollow. “You do flatter yourself, don’t you?”