Chapter 6 — The Confrontation
1247 Words
Tiana had cursed him a thousand times over in her head, but her face never dropped the smile.
She cooed, "CEO Vance, I know you were only bored for a minute. But you've had your fun now—do be merciful and give me back those photos."
"No. Can't." Jason Vance threw the same two words back, just as stubborn.
She dropped the smile and gritted out, "What will it take for you to return them!"
Jason Vance narrowed his eyes at her, a cold snort through his nose. "Nothing will."
Tiana stared at the smug man in front of her and felt the urge to claw his face off. She wanted to march over and slap him silly, the p*****t!
Who did he think he was, throwing his Vance-CEO weight around like it made him somebody!
Every instinct she'd learned on the orphanage's hard floors said to bow out now, take the loss, survive. But the photograph on tomorrow's front page was a loss she couldn't survive—so she stayed, jaw set, and let the fury do what fear never could.
Another standoff. They glared, like they were having a staring contest.
Finally Tiana caved and raised the white flag.
"CEO Vance!"
"Spit it out—what do you even want! You're not trying to blackmail me with those photos, are you?"
"I'll be straight with you. I've got about fourteen hundred bucks in my bank account. If you want it, take it all."
"Though from the looks of you—all gold and glorious, big-shot CEO—you probably don't care about my pocket change…"
"Done. I'll take it." He cut her off, suddenly.
Tiana's mouth fell open, face frozen in shock.
He—he—he… this man had no shame! He actually wanted her money! Her poor savings!
"Regretting it?" Jason Vance's mouth curved.
Her face flamed; she mumbled, "Who… who's regretting anything…" She dug into her bag, pulled out her wallet, and slid the one bank card inside toward him.
"Here! Take it! Now give me the photos!" It hurt.
Jason Vance studied her, walked over, reached out, and pinched the card between thumb and forefinger—then, unexpectedly, closed his hand around her small, pale one too.
The softness in his palm stirred something in him.
"Wait," he murmured, his thumb brushing the back of her hand, slow, examining. "These knuckles. These calluses." He looked up, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in something closer to recognition. "A hundred forty thousand a month. Be my woman."
Time stopped.
Tiana stood frozen, then a second later flung his hand off. The force sent her stumbling back a whole step.
Shame and fury flooded her face red—and somehow made her glow brighter for it.
"CEO Vance! You sit so high up there—you've probably never even set foot on a city bus, have you?"
"Any little thing you've ever touched is something someone like me will never come near in a lifetime!"
"But let me tell you—don't think everyone loves money. And don't you dare smear your money-grubbing stink on me!"
She finished on a high, breathless note, and her smile bloomed, dazzling enough to hurt the eye.
Her smile was too bright. For a second it dazzled his.
Jason Vance looked down at his own empty hand. Her palm had left a warmth there that lingered, and he turned it over, frowning. These hands, he thought. Small, yes—but the knuckles are shaped by something. A girl who grew up in an orphanage doesn't get calluses like that from holding a pencil. He didn't say it. But the thought settled in, quiet and certain: this one was not from an ordinary family.
Jason Vance's chest gave a strange little hitch, and the flutter died at once. Playing hard to get, was she? He'd seen this act a thousand times.
His handsome face curved into a smile—with a edge of contempt.
He turned to the suit tossed on the bed, dug a stack of gold cards from the pocket, then walked back to her and fanned them out in front of her face.
"Gold cards, unlimited credit. Pick one."
Any woman alive would leap at a deal like this. Including her—she was no exception.
Tiana's stomach turned, but her face lit up greedy. She took one from his hand, choosing with care. "CEO Vance, you sure know how to spend. You're not afraid I'll max it out?"
Jason Vance's sensual mouth curved in satisfaction. He didn't mind the act at all—no woman had ever turned down this bait.
"If you've got the skill to max it out, I don't care," he said, casual as anything.
Tiana dropped her head, and in the instant she broke from his gaze, her eyes went cold and a fire lit in her chest.
This snob of a p*****t—he actually thought she was one of those boy-crazy gold-diggers!
He didn't know that the girl in front of him had spent years teaching herself to survive on nothing, and that the only treasure she guarded was a locket with a dead woman's smile—and a question about who had taken that smile away. The gold card in her hand was a joke. The real prize was the truth, and somehow, impossibly, this man stood between her and it.
She felt the locket press against her chest, a small, familiar heartbeat, and for one strange second she almost pitied him—knowing he'd spent his life collecting things, and had no idea the one thing in reach was a girl who'd already decided he owned nothing she wanted.
"Come here," she said, looking up all shy, and tossed him a coy little look.
Seeing her reaction, his tall frame drifted closer. Close now, he caught a clean, faint scent.
He couldn't help reaching out to catch a strand of her hair, lifting it to his nose for a slow breath.
His signature, mesmerizing smile spread. "Baby, you smell amazing."
That was when Tiana dropped the act. She whipped the gold card across his face as hard as she could, and her foot was already moving—a sharp kick to his thigh.
Three years of karate, finally earning its keep.
"You…" Jason Vance frowned through the pain.
Tiana leapt back a good three feet. The look on his face made her day.
"You disgusting excuse for a CEO—consider this your warning. Stay out of my life."
"Take your gold cards and your revolting face and get out of my world."
She unloaded the whole volley, then smiled, and turned with graceful poise.
Ethan Vale had been waiting in the next office upstairs, watching Tiana's righteous storm through the blinds.
He sipped his coffee, calmly counting down: five, four, three, two…
The direct line rang dead on time. He hit speaker. Jason Vance's roar came through: "I want that woman who just walked out fully researched within the hour!"
Then the line went dead.
Jason Vance stared at the gold cards scattered across the floor. He swore it—he would conquer this woman.
But as the door swung shut behind her, his thoughts drifted, unwilling, to the small birthmark on her shoulder, the Italian word she'd spat without knowing why, and the calluses on hands that had no business belonging to a broke art student. Who are you, he wondered, really?
- Writer
