Chapter 12 Jade
JADE
I'm finishing breakfast on the terrace when Phoenix appears with car keys in his hand.
"Get dressed," he says. "Something nice. We're going into the city."
"What's in the city?"
"My office. I want to show you what I do." He pauses at the door. "There's a dress in your closet. Wear that one."
He's gone before I can argue.
In the cottage, I find the dress hanging in the closet where it wasn't an hour ago. Black, designer label I recognize from magazines, probably costs more than I used to make in a month. The fabric is butter-soft against my fingers.
I should refuse to wear it. Should prove I'm not some doll he can dress up and parade around.
But I put it on anyway.
It fits perfectly. Of course it does. He probably knows my measurements down to the inch after however long he's been watching me.
The thought should disturb me more than it does.
When I emerge from the cottage, Phoenix is waiting beside a different car. This one is matte black, low to the ground.
"Aston Martin," he says when he catches me staring. "Thought you'd prefer it to the sedan."
"How many cars do you have?"
"Enough." He opens my door. "Do you care?"
I slide into leather seats that probably cost more than my entire apartment's furniture. "I'm not sure yet."
The drive to downtown LA takes an hour. Phoenix doesn't make small talk. He drives fast, confident, one hand on the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift. I watch the city blur past, trying not to think about how his hand would feel on my thigh instead.
Crawford Ventures occupies the top three floors of a glass tower in the financial district. His name is on the building. Not the company name. His actual name.
"You own the building?" I ask as we pull into an underground garage.
"I own several buildings. This one just happens to have my office in it." He parks in a spot marked RESERVED - CRAWFORD. "Come on."
The elevator is all mirrors and polished steel. I catch my reflection and barely recognize myself. The dress, the makeup I actually took time with, the woman standing next to a man who looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread.
This isn't me.
Except it is.
The top floor is open concept, all glass and chrome. People who look up when Phoenix walks in. His assistant meets us at the elevator.
"Mr. Crawford, the Bangkok team is in conference room A. They've been waiting for twenty minutes."
"Let them wait another five." Phoenix's hand finds the small of my back, proprietary and warm. "Jade, this is Sarah. Sarah, Jade."
Sarah gives me a polite smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Nice to meet you. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"I'm fine, thank you."
Phoenix guides me to his office. Corner space, floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides offering an unobstructed panorama of downtown Los Angeles sprawling below.
The kind of view that makes you forget you're in a city at all, that makes everything below seem small and inconsequential.
His desk is massive, dark wood, organized in a way that suggests he actually uses it rather than just posing behind it.
"Make yourself comfortable." He gestures to a leather couch that faces the windows. "This shouldn't take long."
"What is 'this'?"
"Business." He's already moving toward the door. "Feel free to look around. Just don't touch anything on my desk."
Then he's gone, disappearing into a conference room with glass walls that let me see everything but hear nothing.
I watch him work.
There are six men in that conference room. All of them older than Phoenix, most of them in expensive suits with the kind of confidence that comes from decades of success.
None of them matter when Phoenix speaks.
I can't hear what he's saying, but I can see the effect. The way the other men lean forward. The way they nod. The way one of them tries to argue and Phoenix shuts him down with a look that makes the man's face go red.
This is power. Real power. Not the kind that comes from money, though Phoenix clearly has that. This is the kind that makes grown men defer to someone half their age because they know he'll destroy them if they don't.
After fifteen minutes, Phoenix stands. The meeting is over. The other men file out looking exhausted. Phoenix looks energized, alive in a way I haven't seen before.
He comes back to the office and closes the door.
"Sorry about that. Hostile takeover. They're fighting it. They'll lose."
He says it so casually. Like crushing a company is just another Tuesday.
"Doesn't that bother you?" I ask. "Destroying something people built?"
"I'm not destroying it. I'm making it better." He loosens his tie, and I force myself not to watch his hands. "They were bleeding money, making bad decisions. We'll fix it."
"And the people who work there?"
"They'll keep their jobs. We're not monsters, Jade. We're just better at this than they are."
The confidence in his voice is absolute. He doesn't doubt himself for a second.
"Is that what you do? Buy companies and fix them?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes we invest in startups. Sometimes we create our own companies and sell them. Whatever makes the most money." He sits on the edge of his desk, facing me. "Does this bother you? What I do?"
"I don't know yet." I stand, moving to the windows. The city stretches out below us, tiny cars and tiny people living their tiny lives. "It's just so different from anything I know."
"That's the point." His voice is closer now. He's moved behind me, close enough that I can feel him without him touching me. "I want to show you what life could be like."
“What it’s like to crush people who get in your way?"
"If necessary." No apology in his voice. "The world isn't kind to people who play fair. You know that better than anyone."
He's right. I do know that. I've worked three jobs and still couldn't keep my head above water. I've followed all the rules and ended up drowning anyway.
"Come on," Phoenix says. "I'm taking you to lunch."
Nobu Malibu is the kind of restaurant where celebrities go to be seen. Phoenix parks at the valet like he owns the place, which for all I know, he does.
We're seated immediately at the best table, the one with an unobstructed ocean view. The server knows Phoenix by name, doesn't bother with menus.
"The usual, Mr. Crawford?"
"Please. And whatever the lady wants."
The server finally looks at me and hands me a menu.
"There are no prices," I say to Phoenix when the server leaves.
"That's how you know it's expensive."
"Phoenix—"
"Order whatever you want. It's on me."
"Everything is on you. The flight, the house, this dress—" I gesture at what I'm wearing. "I'm not comfortable with you buying me things."
"Why not?"
"Because it feels like I owe you."
He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. "You don't owe me anything. I'm giving you things because I want to. I like seeing you in beautiful things. Because I can."
"That's not a good enough reason."
"It's the only reason you're going to get." His voice drops lower. "Jade, if I wanted something from you, I'd ask for it. If I want something, I take it."
The way he says "take it" makes heat pool low in my stomach.
The food arrives. I don't even remember ordering. Everything is beautiful and probably costs more than my weekly grocery budget used to be.
We're halfway through the meal when two women approach our table.
They're stunning. Model-thin, designer everything, the kind of beautiful that takes work and money to maintain. And they're looking at Phoenix like they own him.
"Phoenix!" The blonde one reaches our table first. "We haven’t seen you in ages!”
Phoenix barely looks up from his food. “I’ve been busy."
The brunette's eyes slide to me, dismissive. "And who's this?"
"Jade." Phoenix doesn't elaborate. "Ladies, we're in the middle of lunch."
It's a dismissal. Cold and final. They both recognize it, their smiles faltering.
"Of course. We'll catch up later." The blonde touches his shoulder, familiar. "Call me."
They leave, and I watch them go. Watch the way other people in the restaurant watch them. Beautiful people going back to their beautiful lives.
"Acquaintances?" I ask.
Phoenix sets down his fork. "Women I've slept with."
The honesty catches me off guard. "Both of them?"
"Not at the same time, if that's what you're asking."
I don't know what I'm asking. Don't know what answer I want.
"You want to know if you're just another woman I'm trying to add to the collection," Phoenix says, reading my mind. "You're not."
"How do I know that?"
"Because if you were, I wouldn't have spent $387,000 to get you here. I would've just asked you out." He picks up his wine glass. "You're different, Jade."
"How?"
"They were convenient. You're not."
I don't know if that's romantic or insulting.
After lunch, Phoenix drives us to a private marina. His yacht is docked there, white and sleek and obscenely large.
"Of course you have a yacht," I mutter as we board.
"Would you prefer I didn't?"
"I'd prefer you weren't so much of a cliché."
He laughs. Actually laughs. "Fair enough. But since I am a cliché, we might as well enjoy it."
There are three men already on the yacht waiting for us. They're older, dressed in expensive casual wear, and they look at me with barely concealed curiosity.
"Gentlemen," Phoenix says. "Give us a few minutes."
They disappear below deck, and I turn to Phoenix.
"What was that about?"
"Business associates. This won't take long." He guides me to a chair on the upper deck. "Wait here. Make yourself comfortable."
He leaves, and I'm alone with the ocean and the sound of voices drifting up from below.
I can't hear everything. But I hear enough.
"—Singapore deal needs to close by Friday—"
"—leverage the board, threaten the lawsuit if necessary—"
"—shell company in the Caymans will handle the transfer—"
"—if they don't comply, we bury them—"
This isn't friendly business discussion. This is corporate warfare. Strategy and threats and the kind of maneuvering that probably skirts the edge of legal.
The men emerge thirty minutes later, all handshakes and smiles. They leave, and Phoenix comes back to the upper deck.
"All done," he says, like he didn't just orchestrate what sounded like a hostile takeover. "Ready to sail?"
"What was that about?"
"Business."
"It sounded more like a mob meeting."
He grins. "It's not that dramatic. Just negotiations."
"With threats and shell companies?"
"That's how business works at this level. You can't be nice and expect to win." He starts the engine.
He takes us out of the marina, and soon the coast is a distant line on the horizon. The sun is starting to sink, painting the sky in oranges and pinks that look unreal.
Phoenix cuts the engine and we drift.
"Come here."
I walk over to where he's standing at the wheel. He pulls me in front of him, my back to his chest, his arms on either side of me, caging me in.
"Look," he says, his voice low against my ear.
The ocean stretches out forever. The sunset turns everything gold. California coastline in the distance, beautiful and wild.
"This could be your life," he says.
My breath catches. "What do you mean?"
"Stay. Not just for a week. Stay here with me. Write full-time. No more coffee shop. No more tutoring. Just you and your writing and this."
I should pull away. Should put distance between us. But I can't seem to move.
"In exchange for what?"
"Nothing."
"Phoenix—"
"I mean it." His arms tighten around me slightly. "Stay. Let me take care of you. Let me give you the life you deserve."
"Nobody gives something for nothing."
"I do." His breath is warm against my neck. "For you."
I turn in his arms, and suddenly we're face to face, inches apart. His eyes are dark and intense and locked on my mouth.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why me?"
"Because when I look at you, I don't see someone who needs rescuing. I see someone worth everything I have."
He leans in. Slowly. Giving me time to pull away.
I don't.
Our lips are almost touching when his phone rings.
The sound shatters the moment. Phoenix's jaw clenches, but he doesn't move away. The phone keeps ringing.
"You should get that," I say, my voice shakier than I want it to be.
"I should."
But he doesn't. For three more rings, he just looks at me. Then finally, reluctantly, he steps back and pulls out his phone.
"What?" His voice is sharp. He listens for a moment. "Fine. Tomorrow. I'll handle it."
He hangs up and looks at me. The moment is gone, the connection broken.
"We should head back," he says.
The sail back to the marina is quiet. The sun has set completely by the time we dock, and the air is cold enough that I wrap my arms around myself.
Phoenix drives me back to the cottage without speaking. When we arrive, he walks me to the door.
"Thank you for today," I say, because I don't know what else to say.
"Tomorrow," he says. "I'm taking you somewhere else."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
He leaves before I can ask more questions.
Inside the cottage, I collapse on the couch and pull out my phone. Three missed calls from Chloe and a string of texts.
How's it going?
Should I be worried?
JADE. Answer your phone.
I call her back.
"Finally," she says. "I was about to book a flight out there."
"I'm fine."
"That's what you said yesterday. Are you actually fine or are you just saying that?"
I think about Phoenix's arms around me on the yacht. About the almost-kiss that would have been a real kiss if his phone hadn't rung. About the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"I don't know," I admit. "He took me to his office today. Then lunch. Then his yacht. He's showing me his world."
"And? How do you feel about it?"
"Overwhelmed. Attracted. Terrified."
"That's pretty much what I expected." Chloe pauses. "Jade, you know what he's doing, right?"
"What?"
"Love-bombing. Showering you with attention and gifts and experiences. Making you dependent on him. It's textbook manipulation."
"What if it's real?"
"What if it's not?"
The question hangs between us.
After we hang up, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. I can still feel Phoenix's arms around me. Can still remember the moment before his phone rang, when everything narrowed down to just the two of us.
I wanted him to kiss me.
That's the problem.
I wanted it so badly that I would have let him. Would have kissed him back. Would have given him whatever he wanted in that moment.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
Because my mother was right. Rich men take what they want and leave you with nothing.
The question is: what happens when you want to give it to them anyway?