LITMIR.BIZ

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and sleep with the enemy. And from what I’ve seen of his stodgy personality, I mean that literally.”

      No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than an image of Ike’s face popped into her mind. The one he’d worn earlier when clearly chagrined that she’d stopped by his workplace. Fiery dark eyes. The hint of a cleft in his jutted chin. Well-defined lips. And words delivered in a way that brooked no argument, from a man clearly used to being in control. In Quinn’s first serious relationship, she’d worn the pants. Her ex-fiancé had let her do what she wanted. Quinn liked calling the shots—after a childhood in which she had no voice, she liked control. Remembering the power in Ike’s strong body and the force of his stern words made Quinn realize she might enjoy a man who took control.

      “You okay?”

      Quinn looked up to see the waiter by their table. “I’m fine,” she answered Peyton. “Just had a crazy thought, that’s all. You go first.”

      Peyton looked amused. “I’ve already ordered.”

      “Oh.” Quinn took another quick look at the menu. “I’ll have the baked salmon.”

      “With a side of Ike?” Peyton asked.

      “You’re nuts.”

      “Maybe. But the look on your face just now got me thinking that you and Ike might be more alike than you know.”

      “I couldn’t care less. By this time next week, that’ll be behind me.”

      She delivered this statement with complete confidence and secretly hoped the fire in her belly from the encounter with Ike would leave just as quickly.

      * * *

      Later that afternoon in San Francisco, the Drake men were in a festive mood. The meetings had gone better than expected. Before heading back to PC, the men had decided to have dinner at one of Ike Sr.’s favorite restaurants. “The best Italian food outside of Italy” was how he described it. The Ikes and Terrell watched the sommelier uncork a vintage cabernet sauvignon blend. A single bottle cost more than some paid for rent, but next to a wine their Southern California cousins produced, it was Ike Sr.’s favorite. The complex, rich flavor was achieved through extensive knowledge, deft blending and patience. Ike thought the pairing a perfect choice.

      He held up his glass. “To our new silent partner, Global 100, their rep, Bernard Lindsay, and the procurement of Ten Drake Plaza. The financing has been solidified. We’ll be able to close in less than sixty days. Good work, sons.”

      Terrell held up his glass.

      Ike held back. “You said it yourself, Dad. We’ve got sixty days or less until it’s official. Let’s toast then.”

      “Ah, man!” Terrell shook his head as he and his dad clinked glasses. “Stop being so pessimistic, bro. Getting to this point took three years. Let’s celebrate.”

      “It’s not pessimism, it’s pragmatism. I don’t like counting chickens before they’re hatched.”

      “Ike tends to be more cautious,” Ike Sr. said. “On the other hand, you, Terrell, are more instinctive. You sometimes act first and think later. Both qualities have advantages and disadvantages. That’s why we make such a great team.”

      “What quality do you bring to the table, Dad?” Terrell asked.

      Ike Sr. answered without a pause. “My checkbook.”

      They laughingly toasted to this truth.

      Ike swirled the wine and took another taste. “This is very nice, Dad.”

      Ike Sr. looked over the rim of the glasses he’d donned to read the menu. “Glad you approve.”

      “It’s all right,” Terrell said. “Though it doesn’t beat a good shot of Louis XIII.”

      “I’ll admit that cognac pairs well with a Cuban cigar, but for the perfectly cooked trio of duck, lobster and venison that I’m about to enjoy, this—” he raised the glass in Terrell’s direction before taking a sip “—is the perfect choice.”

      “How’d you find out about this place?” Terrell asked, casually taking in the room.

      “Came to a meeting here several years ago.”

      Terrell nodded. “A business meeting?”

      “A discussion about networking that could have led to business deals, but more about how we could impact the young men in this area, especially Oakland.”

      Ike looked up from his cell phone. “I don’t remember you ever working with men from here.”

      “You were busy in the field then, son. Working hard to come up in the company and make a name for yourself. It was right around the time you negotiated the deal on our office building.”

      “Then it’s no wonder. Until it closed and we had the keys, that deal was the only thing on my mind.”

      “Not much has changed,” Terrell teased.

      Ike ignored him. “Are you still in contact with any of them? Perhaps those affiliations can be of future benefit. As our Bay Area portfolio grows, our presence will as well.”

      “Quite possibly,” his father replied with a nod. “One of them has become especially successful in the ten years or so since that meeting. Though I’m glad not to have needed him. He’s a high-powered criminal defense attorney, mostly white collar. Became a judge a few years ago.”

      “Who?”

      “You’ve met him a time or two,” Ike Sr. answered. “Glen Taylor.”

      Ike sat back, deflated. “Her father?”

      “I think she put a spell on you, brother. Even out of town, you can’t get away from Quinn Taylor.” Terrell smiled broadly as he emphasized the last name and watched Ike squirm.

      Ike Sr. looked between his sons. “What am I missing?”

      “Terrell’s trying to be funny and not doing a good job. Quinn is the woman who hit the Ferrari and destroyed over a year’s worth of restorative work, causing about a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage in an instant. According to Audrey, she’s Glen’s daughter. She attended the ball, Dad. You were away from the table when Mrs. Newman introduced her to the family.”

      “He’d just gotten married when I met him. Don’t remember hearing about a daughter, though our interaction has been limited. A couple golf tournaments, some charity events.”

      “He’s hoping they’re not related,” Terrell explained. “Ike sued Quinn to make sure he gets paid.”

      “I’m protecting my investment.”

      “That’s a wise move, son. The value of rare cars like that only increases, especially those in pristine condition.” The elder Drake studied the label on the bottle of wine. “It will be a bit awkward, however, if that is his daughter.”

      “Trust me, Dad. There’s no way. She’s wild, impetuous, unreasonable...”

      Ike Sr. gave his son a level stare. “Have you forgotten that your mother and I raised London?”

      “You tried,” Terrell responded, “but our dear sister is in a whole other category. I’m still not convinced that someone didn’t drop her off on our doorstep after spending those early formative years being raised by wolves.”

      London was the youngest Drake sibling, ten years Ike’s junior and a bundle of drama from the time she was born. At thirteen, her front-page antics and headstrong defiance to parental rules had her shipped off to a prestigious boarding school. What was supposed to be a form of punishment designed to tame their wild child had the opposite effect. Just before graduating high school, she was discovered by a modeling scout and given a contract. Mere days after “Pomp and Circumstance,” she landed in Milan, dived headfirst into the party scene and continued

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