SMA - Nasty C, Rowlene; Born For This - The Score
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Chapter Twenty-Three
Jeffrey Black had always been good at humiliating her. The gall of the man, standing across that auction floor with his smug grin, outbidding Alexander Pierce just to spite her. Diane Dalton could still feel the heat creeping up her neck as she replayed the whispers from that night, business partners exchanging curious looks, reporters scribbling notes, Chelsea smirking like she'd just been fed her next headline.
And Alexander. Sweet, perfect Alexander, left in the awkward position of pretending he wasn't annoyed by Jeffrey's childish stunt.
Now, hours later, Diane sat in her penthouse office, arms folded tight, her nails tapping against her skin. Chelsea lounged on her couch like she owned the place, heels dangling off the edge.
"You're still sulking," Chelsea said, snapping a photo of her own manicured hand against Diane's velvet pillow. "God, you hate him. Or you love him. There is no in-between with you two."
Diane scowled. "I hate him. I truly do. That was my moment, Chelsea. I had the press, the investors, Alexander....." she faltered slightly, but pressed on, ".....all aligned. And then he swoops in like a spoiled child needing to prove he has the bigger wallet."
Chelsea raised a brow. "Alexander, huh? Funny how you suddenly mention him with such… weight. Don't tell me you're considering Pierce as a viable option. He's handsome, sure, but he's no....."
"Don't say it," Diane snapped, standing. She moved to the window, gazing down at the city glittering below. "Maybe I should consider him. Alexander doesn't play games. He doesn't embarrass me in front of half of New York's elite. He's dependable, charming, respectable."
"Boring," Chelsea drawled, inspecting her nails. "You'd eat him alive in a week."
Diane spun around. "Better boring than infuriating."
Chelsea smirked knowingly. "Infuriating sticks. That's why you're still pacing your office in Prada at two a.m., instead of sleeping."
Diane opened her mouth, then closed it, unwilling to give Chelsea the satisfaction. Instead, she poured herself a glass of water, muttering, "Jeffrey Black is irrelevant."
Chelsea grinned like a cat who'd already caught the mouse. "If you say so."
Across town, in the Black family's Manhattan townhouse, Jeffrey sat nursing a drink, his tie undone and shirt sleeves rolled up. Damon leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, watching his older brother sulk. Jason sprawled on the couch, grinning like the devil himself.
"You looked ridiculous," Jason started, voice dripping with amusement. "Honestly, Jeff, that little bidding war? You might as well have stood up and shouted, 'She's mine!'"
Jeffrey glared. "It was business."
"Business?" Jason snorted. "Because when I bid for a Ming vase, it's definitely not to stop someone from impressing my not-girlfriend."
"Not to mention," Damon added dryly, "you nearly lost us that deal with Callahan. He thinks you've lost your edge. Said you were letting emotions cloud your judgment."
Jeff slammed his glass down. "I don't give a damn what Callahan thinks."
"Oh, you do," Jason teased. He leaned forward, eyes glinting wickedly. "You care so much, it's practically written on your forehead. And Diane? God, Jeff, she was livid. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under in a Tom Ford suit."
Jeff's jaw tightened. "I don't care what she thinks."
"Sure," Jason said cheerfully. "Just like I don't care that Chelsea and I are getting along so well. In fact, she laughed at all my jokes at the auction. Said I was refreshing. Charming. Basically everything you're not."
Jeff's glare could have set the couch on fire. Jason only grinned wider, enjoying every second of the torture.
"Maybe I should bring Chelsea flowers," Jason mused aloud. "Oh wait, that's Alexander's move, isn't it? Poor guy didn't even know he was competing in your one-sided pissing contest. Diane probably appreciates his… consistency."
"Enough," Jeff growled, rising to his feet. Damon chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Jason leaned back, smug. "Face it, Jeff. You don't hate Diane Dalton. You're obsessed."
Jeff didn't respond. He couldn't. His silence was damning enough.
Meanwhile, Diane was doing what she always did when the world pressed against her, throwing herself into work. At her design studio, racks of gowns lined the walls, models paraded fabrics under bright lights, and assistants rushed around her like satellites orbiting the sun.
Her empire, her success. Not Jeffrey's, not her family's. Hers.
Still, her mind drifted back to that infuriating smirk at the auction, the way his dark eyes had locked on hers as if daring her to challenge him. She pressed her fingers against her temple, willing the image away.
A knock at her office door startled her. When she looked up, an assistant carried in a massive bouquet of white lilies and roses.
"From Mr. Pierce," the assistant said with a smile. "He sends his best regards."
Diane blinked. "Alexander?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The flowers were elegant, understated yet thoughtful. The card read: To new beginnings, and the brilliance you always deserve. – A.P.
Diane set the card down slowly, staring at the arrangement longer than she intended. Chelsea's voice from earlier echoed in her head: Maybe I should consider him.
Alexander Pierce was stable. Respectful. The kind of man who didn't play games. And yet, as much as the gesture warmed her… it didn't burn.
Jeffrey's smirk burned. His laugh burned. His arrogance, his relentless ability to rile her, it left a scar that flowers couldn't touch.
Diane inhaled sharply, angry at herself for even comparing the two. Alexander Pierce was a viable option. Jeffrey Black was a liability. She repeated it like a mantra as she turned back to her sketches.
In his office, Jeffrey poured another glass of whiskey. Damon had gone home, Jason had finally grown tired of taunting him, but their words lingered.
Obsessed. Ridiculous. Weak.
Jeffrey stared out over the city lights, jaw tight. He wouldn't let Diane Dalton ruin his composure. He wouldn't let her, of all people, be the reason others doubted him.
"No one embarrasses me," he muttered into the silence. "No one."
He lifted the glass in a silent toast, as though daring the night to test him.
But deep down, where even he wouldn't admit it, Diane's furious eyes still haunted him.
And the worst part?
He didn't want them to stop.