Page 43 of Once Upon A Sale

Although, maybe a little. Not that I would ever give him the satisfaction.

Right now though, I need to stop thinking of a certain evil dom who plays my body like a maestro and makes me come on demand. Must. Stop. Thinking. I’m about to walk into a meeting with a new donor for one of our most popular charity events…saving the Floridian wildlife and placing them back into their natural habitat.

The meeting is taking place in Miami Beach, where the rich and famous like to be seen and not approached. Although it’sone of the most highly prized hotels, we’re just having a working lunch to see if we’re compatible. Work wise, of course.

“May I help you?” The hostess flashes a bright white smile almost the same shade as her knee-length strappy dress that falls around her every curve.

“Yes, I’m meeting Dexter Hamilton on the lower deck, please.” I’m in socialite mode with my floor-length dress in white and gold hues that leaves my back exposed except for the criss-crossing of the straps. It’s May in Miami and the sun is a permanent fixture these days. Soon enough, it’ll be the rainy season and we’ll have to plan around the afternoon storms. So I smile back and watch as she checks her tablet and steps around her podium when she finds the reservation.

“Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you. Please, follow me.”

Miami loves white decorations. The seats, the cushions, the walls with just a hint of leather accessories. Here is no different. As we walk down the familiar walkways that lead to the poolside seating, it doesn’t escape my notice that we’re headed toward the more secluded tables of the outdoor restaurant where the booths are higher, granting their occupants more privacy.

“Here you go, your server will be right with you.” I slip her a twenty and she bows her head in thanks. These places may cater to the rich, but the staff is far from it.

“Miss Warren, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.” I recognize his voice from our multiple phone conversations. Referred by one of our long-standing donors, he contacted me last week about his newfound love of animals. Apparently, his father was a wildlife supporter all his life and in his will, he had a clause that a portion of his inheritance continue to go toward any animal charity his son chose.

Lucky for us, he chose the Warren Wildlife Foundation.

“Mr. Hamilton, thank you for meeting with me.” Tall, with an understated post-war elegance about him, he reminds me of theold black-and-white movies Mom loved to watch when she was at her lowest point. Lots of drinking and smoking and dancing in those films, but life always seemed untouchable. Dexter has that timeless look about him. Square jaw, brushed back hair, and an assessing pair of blue eyes that match the backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean. Yeah, for any woman, this guy is a definite catch.

“Of course. I usually let my assistant take care of all the finer details for the charities we support, but I was intrigued.” I sit, then he follows by taking a seat across the table from me.

“Are you staying at the hotel?” I already know the answer to my question, because of course I researched him before meeting with him. There’s no fucking way I’m wasting my time with someone who’s not a serious donor. Turns out, he’s one hundred percent legit.

“Yes, for the next couple of weeks since I have business here in Miami.” He leans in closer, hands folded one on top of the other, and smiles all the way up to the laugh lines of his eyes. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Miss Warren.”

Sitting straight with my back flush against the high back booth, I cross my legs beneath the table and grin.

“Correct. As you can imagine, I’m a busy woman. I don’t have the time nor the will to have lunch with strangers who aren’t serious about donating to our causes.” May as well go for the direct route.

“I admire that, and yes, I can imagine and respect your position.” We assess each other in silence when the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck tingle just as the waiter stops at our table.

“Welcome, my name is Levy and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you a drink? Appetizer? We have a wide selection of gluten free and vegan appetizers and main entrées.” To his credit, he looks at us both, not just the man at the table. I’ve noticed in the last few years that this is becoming the norm in these places and it makes me very happy.

Dexter graces me with an expectant look and I take his cue.

“I’ll have a Brut rosé.” Tilting my head at Dexter, I mirror his smirk.

“A Champagne advocate. Good choice.” Turning to the server, he orders. “I’ll have the same. Ruinart.” The server, with his hands behind his back as he memorizes our orders instead of writing them down, just nods. “I’m guessing one glass since it’s a working lunch?” My brow raised, I smile in the guise of an answer. His instincts are on point.

Hot and smart. Now, this is the kind of guy that I should be interested in dating. Not demanding, obsessive killers who train women to be submissive to powerful assholes.

Blinking away those thoughts, I give myself a tiny shake of the head to disperse all the thoughts of said wolf in designer clothing.

We order seafood appetizers and entrées after that, but as soon as Levy, our server, is gone, I’m back in business mode.

“May I ask, Mister Hamilton—”

“Please, we are breaking bread together, call me Dexter.” As if by magic, the waiter brings our drinks and a basket of French bread with two servings of black olive tapenade.

“All right, Dexter, but only if you call me Ophelia.” Extending my hand over our food, like we’re meeting for the first time, I expect him to shake it. Instead, he rises, comes to my side and kisses the back of my hand with his gaze firmly on my eyes.

“Pleasure.” It’s weird in a sexy and endearing kind of way.

The rest of the meal goes by quickly as we talk about the foundation and his work-life balance. As a real-estate mogul—he inherited his father’s business—he often travels around the United States and abroad to build, sell, or buy properties according to the markets.

Or some shit.

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