Chapter 20 Phoenix
PHOENIX
Jade emerges from the guest house, and the sight of her hits me like a fist to the chest. The dress I sent over, deep emerald silk that clings to every curve before cascading to the floor, transforms her into something otherworldly.
Her dark hair, almost black in this light, falls in loose waves over one shoulder, exposing the delicate column of her throat.
Her skin is luminous against the jewel tone, all cream and shadow.
The diamond studs I left on her vanity catch the fading sunlight, throwing tiny sparks of fire near her jawline.
She didn't have to wear them.
But she did.
I take my time looking at her, letting my gaze drag from the plunging neckline to the slit that reveals a tantalizing glimpse of thigh with each step.
Her lips are painted a deep berry red:bold, defiant, the color of crushed roses and spilled wine.
Her dark eyes meet mine, lined with something smoky that makes them look enormous, depthless, full of secrets.
She's not beautiful.
Beautiful is too small a word.
She's devastating.
"You're staring," she says.
"I'll stare as long as I want." I close the distance between us, letting my hand settle on the curve of her waist. The silk is cool under my palm, but I can feel the heat of her body beneath it. "You're mine. That means I get to look."
Something flickers in her eyes, resistance, maybe, or that stubborn independence that drives me insane. But she doesn't pull away.
"The dress is beautiful," she says quietly.
"You're beautiful." I lean closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "The dress is just wrapping paper."
Her breath catches. Just barely and just enough to satisfy me.
"We should go," she says. "Don't want to be late."
I pull back and offer her my arm. "Let's go make them jealous.”
The restaurant is the kind of place that doesn't need a sign.
If you don't already know where it is, you can't afford to eat there.
Private rooms, discrete staff, extensive wine lists.
Marcus arranged everything—the venue, the guest list, the careful choreography designed to separate investors from their money.
All I had to do was bring Jade and my charm.
And God, did I deliver.
She walks into the private dining room on my arm, and I watch every head turn.
The men try to be subtle about it—quick glances, appreciative nods in my direction.
The women are more obvious, their eyes raking over her dress, her jewelry, her effortless composure with a mixture of admiration and envy.
That's right, I think. Look at her. And know that she's mine.
We're seated at the head of a long table draped in white linen.
Crystal glasses catch the candlelight. Twelve investors and their wives fill the remaining seats, a carefully curated mix of old money and new ambition.
Marcus takes his position at my right, already working the room with his easy charm.
Jade sits at my left, her posture perfect, her smile warm but reserved. She looks like she was born to be here. Like she's been attending dinners like this her entire life.
No one would ever guess she was drowning in debt a month ago.
The thought sends a dark thrill through me. The woman I plucked from obscurity and polished into this glittering creature who has every man in the room wishing he were me.
"So how did you two meet?" Ellen Teo leans forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. Her husband Richard is our biggest potential investor—the lynchpin of the entire deal.
I open my mouth to deliver the rehearsed story, but Jade speaks first.
"He swept me off my feet," she says, her dark eyes finding mine. "Quite literally. I wasn't looking for anyone, wasn't expecting anything. And then Phoenix appeared, and everything changed."
It's not a lie. Not exactly.
Ellen sighs. "How romantic. Richard never swept me anywhere. I had to practically drag him to the altar."
Laughter ripples around the table. Richard rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Jade smiles, and it's so convincing that even I almost believe she means it.
Almost.
Dinner is served. Wagyu beef, truffle risotto, wine that costs more per bottle than some people earn in a week.
The conversation flows easily. We talk about market trends, vacation properties, and the tedious social calendar of the wealthy.
Jade holds her own, engaging the wives with questions about their children and charity work, deflecting attention from herself with graceful precision.
She's perfect.
It’s all too perfect. But I push the thought away.
Marcus's phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and frowns. "Excuse me—I need to take this." He's already pushing back from the table, phone pressed to his ear as he slips toward the hallway.
I watch him go, mildly irritated. We're in the middle of the most important dinner of our career and he's taking calls.
But the conversation continues smoothly without him. Richard Teo asks about my projections for next quarter. Ellen wants to know where Jade got her dress. Everything is flowing exactly as planned.
I let myself relax into my chair, my hand resting possessively on Jade's thigh beneath the table. The silk is warm now, heated by her body. She doesn't flinch at my touch. Doesn't acknowledge it at all.
Six months of work. Countless meetings. Endless negotiations. And it's all coming together because these people finally see what they need to see: Phoenix Crawford, stable and settled, with a stunning woman by his side.
The deal is going to close.
I can feel it.
Jade sets down her napkin and rises gracefully. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."
I watch her go, my eyes tracing the sway of her hips, the way the emerald silk catches the light with each step. Several of the men watch her too. I let them. Let them look and want and know they'll never have her.
She disappears down the hallway toward the restrooms, the same direction Marcus went.
"She's exquisite," Ellen Teo says, following my gaze. "Wherever did you find her?"
"She found me," I say smoothly. "I just had the good sense to hold on."
"Smart man." Richard raises his glass. "To smart men and the women who tolerate us."
Everyone drinks. I count the minutes until Jade returns.
Five minutes.
Marcus reappears first, sliding back into his seat with a satisfied expression. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"
Ten minutes.
I'm about to excuse myself to check on her when she reappears at the end of the hallway.
She stands there for a moment, framed by the dim lighting, her expression perfectly composed. But something is different. Something in the way she holds herself—straighter, sharper, like a blade being unsheathed.
Then she walks back to the table.