She had hardly been able to contain her anger at this impudent mei gwok lawyer as he led her out of the crowded ballroom of the Chinese Palace and onto the terrace. And she was just as angry that Cohen had introduced them. Then he stopped and smiled at her. ‘My name’s not London, its Hatcher,’ he said in perfect French. ‘And I think what you did to those Americans was lovely and I can get you Indian cotton, top grade, delivered wherever you want it, for half of what you’re paying now, which should be worth as much as — at least a ten percent markup for you.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘Not only that, bud can make you laugh a lot.’
She had stared at him for several seconds, amazed at his audacity, and drawn to his gray eyes. But she quickly recovered.
‘How much?’ she asked.
‘How much what?’
‘How much cotton can you deliver, how fast and at what cost?’
‘I’ll have to figure that up. I don’t do that kind of thing in my head.’
‘Neither do I,’ she heard herself say.
‘Lunch tomorrow. Strictly business. I’ll have the figures, you bring the check. No managers, no accountants, no lawyers, just you and me.’
‘I warn you, I don’t compromise.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘Everybody, loses in a compromise. I negotiate. When you negotiate, everybody wins.’
‘Oh? How so?’
‘You decide up front what you don’t really care about. Narrow it down to what’s important. That’s your line. I’ll do the same. Trust me, we’ll deal fast a7zd have time to do a lot of laughing before the meal is over.’
‘How come laughter is so important to you?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Laughter is the key to heaven,’ he said.
And to her surprise, she had agreed to lunch.
There had never been any cotton deal between them.
But he had made her laugh — a lot. And he was right, it was the key to heaven.
‘I’m going back to my room,’ Cohen said from the living room. ‘My side is beginning to act up a little.’
They ignored him. He shrugged and went off toward the rear of the house.
There was an awkward minute or two when neither Daphne nor Hatcher knew exactly what to say. She broke the ice.
‘What happened to your throat?’ she asked, staring at the scar on his neck.
‘I was in a very bad prison. I spoke when I shouldn’t have. A guard decided to discourage me from ever speaking again.’
‘Is it painful?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘I am glad,’ she said, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Your voice is very sexy.’
‘Merci. Wasn’t it always?’
‘Not like now,’ she said. Then after a pause, ‘What happened to you? You just vanished. Everyone thought you were dead.’
