Unhealthy - Anne Marie, Shania Twain; Animals - Maroon 5
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Chapter Eighteen
The wind brushed by....
The city never slept, but tonight even its glitter couldn't distract Jeffrey Black. He sat in the back of his car, jacket undone, bow tie loose, his hand drumming restlessly against the leather seat. The gala was over, the deals sealed, the cameras fed, but the only thing he could think about was the way Diane Dalton had felt in his arms on the dance floor.
She hadn't wanted to dance, he'd seen it in her eyes, but the moment she placed her hand in his, the room blurred. He remembered the faint perfume clinging to her, sharp yet soft, and the way she held her chin high like she wasn't fazed, though her pulse had betrayed her. He shouldn't have noticed her pulse. He shouldn't have cared.
But he did.
He leaned back, exhaling hard. This wasn't supposed to happen. Women were supposed to be temporary, no attachments, no strings, no scars. He'd built a reputation on that. His brothers teased him endlessly about the revolving door of models, actresses, and heiresses he entertained. But none of them knew the truth, none of them knew that once, years ago, he had let someone too close.
Her laugh still sometimes echoed in the back of his mind, uninvited. Her betrayal sharper than a blade. He shook his head violently, as if to push the ghost away. Never again, he had sworn that night. Love was weakness. Desire was control. He wouldn't be the fool twice.
And yet, here he was, thinking about a woman who didn't even seem to like him.
By the time he got home, his brothers were sprawled in the lounge, half-drunk on scotch and sarcasm. Jason raised an eyebrow the moment Jeffrey walked in.
"Well, well," Jason drawled. "The great Jeffrey Black, conqueror of boardrooms and ballrooms. You looked… distracted tonight."
Damon grinned wickedly. "Yeah. Couldn't keep your eyes off a certain Dalton, could you? Don't deny it, Jeff, we all saw you."
Jeffrey tossed his jacket onto the couch and poured himself a drink. "Don't you two have lives?"
"Yours is more entertaining," Damon shot back. "Admit it, you like her."
Jeffrey smirked, masking the unease tugging at him. "Like? She barely tolerates me. And I'm not exactly in the market for 'liking.'"
Jason studied him quietly, too perceptive for comfort. "Maybe you're not. But that doesn't mean it isn't happening."
Jeffrey's jaw tightened. He downed the scotch in one swallow. His brothers didn't get it, how dangerous it was to care. How easy it was for someone to get inside your walls and rip them down. He couldn't let Diane Dalton become a weakness. Not when his family was already breathing down his neck about marriage and heirs and controlling the empire.
The thought of it made his chest heavy. His grandfather had cornered him before the gala, reminding him in his gravelly voice that the company wouldn't "wait forever" for him to settle down. His parents had chimed in too, listing names of suitable women like they were interviewing candidates for a throne. He hated every second of it.
Marriage, to them, was a contract. A transaction. To Jeffrey, it was a battlefield he had no intention of losing again.
But Diane, Diane, Diane.....Diane wasn't on their list. She wasn't anyone's pawn. And that made her dangerous in ways none of them understood.
"Relax," Jeffrey muttered finally, forcing a grin for his brothers. "She's just business."
Jason chuckled. "Keep telling yourself that, little brother."
Damon clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll be here to watch you crash and burn."
They laughed. Jeffrey didn't. He poured another drink, staring out the window into the city lights, and wondered when the ground beneath him had started to shift.
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Diane Dalton wasn't easily shaken. She had trained herself to thrive under pressure, to walk into rooms full of power and make them hers. But tonight, in the quiet of her penthouse, she found herself replaying a single moment again and again: Jeffrey Black's hand on the small of her back, his breath against her ear, the way the entire gala seemed to pause when they moved together.
She told herself it meant nothing. That it was just a dance, a performance, another strategic move in a long game. She had always known how to compartmentalize, how to draw lines between duty and desire.
But for the first time in years, the line felt blurred.
Diane shook her head and pulled off her earrings, tossing them onto the dresser. She wasn't about to let a spoiled Black brother undo her. Not now, not ever.
Still, as she crawled into bed, her heart betrayed her with a
whisper she refused to name.
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