Shape Of You - Ed Sheeran; Oh Lord - NF
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Chapter Twenty-Four
Jeffrey Black hated himself for how quickly he noticed her.The boardroom was filled with power suits, jewel-toned dresses, and the scent of money. Dalton Industries had partnered with Black Enterprises on a high-profile charity project, which meant Diane Dalton and Jeffrey Black had no choice but to sit across from each other, smile politely, and pretend they weren't trying to destroy one another.
But Diane walked in late, sunlight catching on her dark hair, the curve of her silk blouse impossibly elegant, and Jeffrey's jaw tightened as though the universe had planned her entrance solely to torture him.
He leaned back in his chair, tie loose, eyes narrowing. "Nice of you to finally join us, Dalton. What was it? Traffic, or did Alexander Pierce send you flowers again?"
Diane froze for only a second before her lips curved in a razor-sharp smile. "Oh, you noticed? Don't tell me you're keeping tabs, Jeffrey. That's almost… possessive of you."
The boardroom chuckled, half-amused, half-awkward, and Jeffrey's fingers curled into a fist under the table. Jason, seated two chairs down, smothered a laugh so poorly Diane almost wanted to kick him.
The meeting dragged on, numbers and proposals blurring into background noise while Jeffrey and Diane exchanged veiled jabs disguised as "business discussions." When it finally adjourned, Jason leaned close to his older brother, murmuring, "Smooth, Jeff. Nothing screams 'I'm over her' like glaring every time her phone lights up."
"Shut up, Jason."
Later that evening, the so-called celebratory dinner turned into a stage for everyone's egos. The hotel rooftop glimmered with chandeliers, champagne towers, and polished laughter. Diane looked devastating in emerald satin, and worse, Alexander Pierce was at her side, his hand brushing hers in a way that felt deliberate.
Jeffrey ordered his second glass of scotch, then his third. He told himself it was fine, that it wasn't jealousy, just business strategy. Except every time Diane leaned closer to Alexander, Jeffrey felt the edge of his control fray.
Jason, ever the instigator, leaned against the bar. "Careful, brother. You're staring like a man about to start a duel at dawn."
"I'm not staring," Jeffrey snapped, though he very much was.
Jason smirked, clinking glasses. "Funny. Because if looks could kill, Pierce would've been buried six feet under by now."
Meanwhile, Diane was painfully aware of Jeffrey's gaze burning into her back. Alexander's conversation was charming, practiced, almost too smooth, but he was offering her stability, something safe her parents would approve of. Something predictable.
And wasn't that what she wanted?Something predictable, instead of the hurricane that was Jeffrey Black.
Yet when she laughed at Alexander's joke, she caught herself searching instinctively for Jeffrey's reaction, and hated herself for it.
"Diane," Alexander murmured, catching her hand as the crowd shifted. "You deserve someone who values you. Don't waste your time on someone who doesn't know how."
Her chest tightened, not because of Alexander's words, but because her traitorous heart whispered Jeffrey's name instead.
The night only worsened when the charity auction began.
To Diane, another auction, felt like a disaster waiting to happen.
And predict, or prophesy, she did.
The item was a rare art piece, something Diane genuinely wanted for her foundation's next project. She raised her paddle, confident she could secure it, until she heard a voice from the other side of the room.
"Two hundred thousand."
Jeffrey.
Diane's eyes snapped to him. He was standing casually, one hand in his pocket, his expression infuriatingly smug.
She raised her paddle again. "Two-fifty."
Jeffrey's smirk deepened. "Three hundred."
It went back and forth like a verbal swordfight disguised as numbers. Every bid wasn't just about the painting, it was about control, pride, and the unspoken tension simmering between them.
By the time Jeffrey offered half a million, the room had gone silent.
"Sold to Mr. Black."
Applause broke out, but Diane sat rigid, fury bubbling beneath her composed smile. Jeffrey had humiliated her, again.
Afterward, she cornered him near the balcony, voice low and sharp. "Was that necessary? Do you even care about the piece?"
Jeffrey leaned close, so close she caught the scent of scotch and expensive cologne. "Not really. But I couldn't resist watching you squirm, Dalton. Consider it… payback."
Her pulse quickened, though she refused to show it. "You're impossible."
"And yet," his voice dropped, husky, "you keep letting me under your skin."
Diane swallowed hard, anger and something dangerously like longing colliding inside her. She turned sharply, heels clicking against the marble, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
But Jeffrey's eyes followed her, dark and conflicted.
Because for the first time in years, the game didn't feel like a game anymore.
And it terrified him.
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That night, alone in her suite, Diane stared at the bouquet of Alexander's roses on the nightstand. She should have felt comforted by them, but all she saw was Jeffrey's mocking grin, the flash of raw emotion behind his eyes when he outbid her.
And somewhere deep inside, though she'd never admit it, her heart whispered the truth she wasn't ready to face:She didn't want safe.She wanted dangerous.
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