Chapter 16: The Dress

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“One dress. And I’m paying you back.”

“Whatever you say.”

She left.

Jordan stood alone in the suite, looking out at Paris spreading beneath him like a promise.

He had forty-eight hours to prove himself.

Forty-eight hours to show her that he could be more than Jordan Blackwell, CEO.

That he could be just Jordan. A man who’d been lonely for five years and too stupid to realize the woman who could save him had been sitting three feet away the entire time.

His phone buzzed.

A text from Marcus Ashford.

Heard you’re in Paris with my Martina. Careful, old friend. She’s not yours to take on business trips anymore. When she gets back, she’ll be working for me. I made her an offer she can’t refuse.

Jordan stared at the message.

Rage and fear warring in his chest.

Marcus had offered her a job. Of course he had. Marcus Ashford didn’t do anything halfway. If he wanted Martina, he’d give her everything Jordan had been too proud to offer.

Recognition. Respect. A title that matched her abilities.

Probably a salary that would make her current compensation look insulting.

And she’d be right to take it.

She’d be right to walk away from Jordan and never look back.

But Jordan had forty-eight hours.

And he was going to use every single second.

She emerged from the boutique two hours later.

Wearing crimson.

Not the same crimson as Saturday night. This was darker. Richer. The color of wine and secrets and sin.

The dress was elegant and devastating. A high neck that somehow made it more sensual than any plunging neckline could manage. Long sleeves that clung to her arms like a second skin.

A skirt that flowed like liquid when she moved.

She’d left her hair down.

Natural. Beautiful. Glorious.

Jordan forgot how to breathe.

“Too much?” she asked, uncertainty flickering across her face.

“Perfect,” Jordan managed.

“You’re perfect.”

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