I think about the way he looked at me when I walked out of the guest house tonight. The hunger in his eyes. The possessiveness in his touch.You're mine, he said.I want everyone to know it.
I thought it was passion, but it was just marketing.
"Anyway, I should get back before anyone notices I'm gone," Marcus says. "I'll call you tomorrow with the numbers. But between us? This deal is locked. Phoenix delivered."
He ends the call and tucks his phone into his jacket. For a long moment, I just stand there.
The hallway feels like it's spinning. The tasteful lighting, the expensive art, the muffled sounds of wealthy people making small talk over obscenely priced wine—it all feels like a stage set. A beautiful lie designed to separate fools from their money.
And I'm the biggest fool of all.
I think about the beach yesterday. The way Phoenix looked at me when he admitted he didn't know about his parents' story. The shake in his voice. The vulnerability I thought I heard.
Lies.
I think about last night, tangled together in his bed, his mouth on my skin, his voice rough in my ear.You're mine. Stay anyway.
Lies.
I think about all the moments I let myself believe this could be real. That a man like Phoenix Crawford could actually want me—not for what I could do for him, but for who I am.
I’m stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.
The anger comes slowly at first, then all at once. A wave of fury so intense it takes my breath away.
He bought me. Like a dress. Like a piece of jewelry. Like a prop to be positioned and displayed and discarded once it's served its purpose.
And I let him.
I walked right into his beautiful trap and thanked him for the privilege.
My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists, pushing my nails into the palms of my hands.
I could leave. Walk out the front door, call a cab, disappear before anyone realizes I'm gone.
But that would let him off too easy.
He wanted a convincing girlfriend for his investors? Fine. I'll give him a performance he'll never forget.
I take a deep breath. Smooth down my dress. Check my reflection in the darkened glass of a nearby frame.
The woman looking back at me isn't naive anymore.
She's furious.
And she's about to burn Phoenix Crawford's careful little world to the ground.
I paste a smile on my face and walk back toward the dining room.
22
PHOENIX
Her smile is still in place. Her posture still elegant. But her dark, beautiful eyes have gone cold and flat. The warmth that was there before has been replaced by something I can't read.
She sits down beside me, and I lean close. "Everything alright?"
"Perfect." Her voice is light. Too light. "Just freshening up."
