Moonlight Kisses. Phyllis Bourne

Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

      Misunderstanding, huh? Sage stifled the harrumph on the tip of her tongue. “Hard to tell,” she said, “considering the way your secretary tossed me out of your office afterward like she was a nightclub bouncer.”

      “Oh, dear. Please accept my apologies if my staff was a touch overzealous. Again, I assure you it was all a big mistake. One I hope we can...”

      “Just stop.” Sage had heard enough.

      “P-pardon?”

      “Before you continue, you should know I refuse to do business with anyone who lies to me.”

      Silence.

      Figuring the buyer was weighing her options, Sage waited, making no attempt to fill the dead air. Long awkward moments passed, before a sigh emitted over the line. “Okay, the truth is I didn’t want to risk offending my more conservative clientele by selling lipsticks and eyes shadows with names like Spank Me and Missionary Position.”

      There was another sigh, this one deeper and more drawn out. “Next thing I know, the hottest female singer on the planet is telling a national television audience she adores your lipsticks. Suddenly the same customers I was worried about offending are clamoring for Stiletto products, and I couldn’t be more sorry for turning you down.”

      Finally, Sage thought, the truth.

      She’d returned nearly a dozen calls that morning from eager buyers, the same people who had practically slammed the door in her face previously, criticizing everything from Stiletto’s faux black leather packing to the titillating names of their products. Of course, they’d changed their tunes in the weeks since pop star Crave had whipped out a tube of Stiletto lipstick and called it her secret weapon.

      Sage knew it was just foolish pride. Still, she couldn’t help feel irked that instead of owning up to their blunder, they’d tried to gloss over it. Insulting her intelligence with meaningless flattery.

      “My assistant will contact you later today to schedule a meeting to discuss adding Stiletto to your boutique’s lineup,” she said, satisfied. “However, you should know that as circumstances have changed, so has my first offer. Any deal we strike now will definitely have terms more favorable to Stiletto.”

      “Eh...uh...of course,” the boutique’s buyer said. “I look forward to our meeting.”

      Sage ended the call just as her assistant, Amelia, bounded into her office clutching a pink message slip. A huge grin deepened the dimples in the cheeks of her smooth brown skin. “I thought it would take forever for you to finally get off the phone.”

      “What’s up?” Leaning forward in her office chair, Sage propped her elbows on her desktop. She dropped her chin to her chest and began rubbing out the kinks that had developed in her neck from talking on the phone all morning.

      “You’ll never guess who called for you.” The nineteen-year-old shifted from one leg to the other, practically bouncing with excitement. “Not in a million years.”

      “Well, don’t keep me...” Sage stopped midsentence and glanced up at her assistant. “Hold on. What are you still doing here?” She glanced at her watch. “Your accounting class starts in five minutes.”

      Amelia huffed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I know. I know.”

      The teen had started working for Stiletto a few hours a week after school during her last year of high school. Sage thought she was doing the girl a favor, but quickly discovered that in the efficient and organized Amelia, she’d struck employee gold.

      A year later, when graduation and her eighteenth birthday aged her out of the foster-care system, the job became full-time with the stipulation that Amelia would enroll in college. Having grown up in the foster-care system, Sage knew the importance of having an education to fall back on when you had no one to depend on but yourself.

      “Well?” Sage raised a brow.

      “But I couldn’t leave. Not just yet. Not until I tell you who...”

      “I don’t care who called. There isn’t anything or anyone more important than you being at school right now,” Sage said.

      The same brusque tone that sent her other employees, and most people, scurrying for cover rarely intimidated Amelia. Nor did it dampen her bubbly enthusiasm over the caller she was dying to tell her about.

      “Stand down, General. I’m going to class, but first you have to hear who called you before I explode.”

      “For goodness’ sake. Spit it out so you can haul your fanny over to the community college.” Sage sighed. “And if you’re going to call me General, can’t you do it behind my back like everyone else around here?”

      “Cole Sinclair!” The name popped out of her assistant’s mouth like the cork on a bottle of champagne.

      Sage studied the message slip Amelia handed her and tried to place the familiar name. Then it hit her. “As in Espresso Cosmetics?” He and his family’s company had been a footnote in a feature article on Stiletto that had run a few days ago in America Today.

      “Well, yeah, but Cole Sinclair is worth way more than that granny makeup company he runs.” Amelia dismissed the connection with a flick of her hand. “Remember the puzzle game we deleted from our phones and you banned from our office computers because it was too addictive?”

      Sage nodded, recalling getting so caught up in the colorful game she’d spent an entire evening matching trios of circus clowns in an attempt to beat enough levels to earn the elusive title of ultimate ringmaster.

      “Well, Cole Sinclair invested in the gaming studio that developed it years ago, back when it was just two college kids in their parents’ basement. His meager investment turned him into a millionaire twenty times over when the business eventually sold to a major corporation,” Amelia said. “It was one of the topics in my entrepreneurship class last semester.”

      While the background information on Sinclair was mildly interesting, Sage’s concern was her own business and turning it into a multimillion-dollar endeavor. She stared at the name on the message slip. “Did he say what he wanted?”

      “Only that it was important,” Amelia said. “What do you think?”

      Sage shrugged. “Maybe he’s miffed about that article in America Today. The mention of Espresso wasn’t exactly flattering. Nor was that photo of the young, chic woman symbolizing us versus the old one that was supposedly Espresso.”

      “Or maybe—” Amelia paused dramatically “—maybe he took one look at the photo of you with that article and fell head over heels for you. And he wants to ask you out on a date. Just think about it.” The young woman let out a squeal. “A tall, good-looking millionaire is smitten by your photo, falls hopelessly in love and is determined to sweep you off your feet.”

      Sage stared at the dreamy look on the teen’s face, unable to believe the crap coming out of her mouth. How could a girl so smart about most things be so dumb about this one? Sage waited a beat, reaching for diplomatic words to set her assistant straight without hurting her feelings.

      There were none.

      “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.

      “It could happen,” Amelia protested.

      “Yeah, and maybe he’ll charge into my office on a white horse wearing a suit of armor or bare chested like the men on the covers of those ridiculous romance novels you’ve always got your nose stuck in.”

      This time it was her assistant who frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic. In fact, the more I think about it, a date is just what you need. It would loosen you up, and maybe folks around here might stop calling you General behind your back.”

      They could call her Godzilla for all she cared, as long as they did