Phoenix Crawford is dangerous. I know that.
But danger is starting to look a lot like the only interesting option I have.
I take a shower in the bathroom with the heated floors and the rainfall showerhead. I put on clean clothes and actually do my makeup properly for once. I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back.
She looks almost… confident.
Almost like she belongs here.
It's nine o'clock when I step out of the cottage and follow the pathway toward the main house. The morning air is cool and smells like salt and eucalyptus. The ocean is calmer today, almost peaceful.
Phoenix is waiting on the terrace when I arrive.
And despite everything, despite all the warnings and red flags and reasons I should run, my heart skips when I see him.
That's when I know I'm in trouble.
Real trouble.
The kind you don't come back from.
12
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.
