Page 81 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
Sienna mounts the steps up to the stage. Her pencil-skirt stretches across her flared hips. Slim thighs, a gently curved ankle.
"Sorry I'm late," she says.
Breath coming out in short gasps from her hurried walk to the podium. Her breasts, clad in the white shirt, move up and down, drawing attention to the skin of her throat sweeping up toward her oval face.
Strong jaw line. Stubborn. Distinctive.
It's her.
He'd been thinking of her not a second ago, and here she is.
Familiar eyes blaze a molten-amber as she walks onto the platform.
For a second, Jace is tempted to get up and leave. But he knows that will only call more attention to himself.
Besides, this is his last chance.
After being turned down by close to fifty—fifty—investors, this open pitch is all that lies between him and complete humiliation. If he doesn't get this money today, he'd have no choice but pack up and leave for London.
For good.
He'd have to admit defeat, go back to his father, beg for money. Even the thought of doing so stiffens his spine.
No, he's going to have to stay, and pitch.
To Sienna.
Even as he's thinking it, Jace risks looking up to catch another glimpse of her. Her hair shorter, cut differently so it frames her face, softening her jaw line.
He glances down at his jeans and hoodie. Over the past month of pounding pavement and pitching for investments, he'd realized it was best to play the part of the down-and-out of luck investor. It didn't help if he turned up for a meeting in a tailor-made suit reeking of old money.
Most people had met him more out of personal curiosity. For a chance to gloat over his downturn, to get back at whatever he'd snubbed them for in his better days.
The biggest snub he's sure is yet to come, when he pitches to Sienna.
And the irony of the situation hits him afresh. The change of sides is startling, as if it were all some cosmic joke. Not that he'd ever believed in fate or a higher power.
But sitting there, his ass already smarting from being cramped into the cheap bucket seat, his knees squashed into the tiny space in front, he wonders if someone up there isn't having the last laugh at him.
On stage, Sienna apologizes to the Frenchman, who kisses her on both cheeks before beckoning her to take her place.
He turns to the next team, asks them to pitch their idea.
Jace can't take his eyes off Sienna. She looks so different. Is it the grooming? The clothes? Or something more?
No, it's the confidence.
It's there in the tilt of her head, her spine straight, legs crossed showing those shapely feet in pencil-thin heels.
Seeing the turn of her ankle starts a slow burn inside him, and he clamps down on it.
The man next to him touches his arm, and he jumps.
Leaning in, the younger guy, dressed in a similar uniform of hoodie and jeans says, "Quite something, isn't she? A real hottie. She has guts too. You need to be damn strong to look the crowd in the eye, despite everything that's happened today."
His tone sparks of a feeling of possessiveness inside. A burning desire to punch the guy in the face has Jace curling his fists at his side.
No, he's not over Sienna. Not by a long shot.
