A striking blue denim couture mini dress fitted elegantly around her slender figure. Thin straps supported a sculpted V-neck bodice, while enormous rounded loops of structured blue fabric formed an architectural skirt around her hips.
A massive polished gold cuff encircled one wrist.
Blue pointed high heels completed the look.
She stood with one leg slightly forward, her posture perfectly composed.
She didn't shrink beneath the billionaire's stare.
She didn't apologize for her clothing.
And she didn't move when the papers he'd just thrown landed against her shoes.
The billionaire looked her up and down.
“Whoever sent you here should've explained that this is a private business transaction, not a fashion show.”
The chief financial officer chuckled.
The younger executive smiled uncertainly.
The woman glanced toward the scattered documents.
“Those are the closing conditions you requested.”
The billionaire gave a dismissive laugh.
“I know what they are.”
“Then you should understand why I brought them.”
His expression darkened.
“Don't get clever with me, sweetheart.”
She slowly removed her sunglasses.
Her eyes were calm.
“I'm asking you to review the final conditions.”
The billionaire turned toward his executives.
“Can you believe this?”
The financial officer shook his head.
“Some people don't understand how important today's transaction is.”
The billionaire looked back at her.
“Exactly.”
He gestured toward the private jet.
“Twenty-seven aircraft. Maintenance facilities. Valuable charter contracts. Hundreds of employees. Eight hundred million dollars.”
His voice grew louder with every sentence.
“And somebody thought it was appropriate to send me a woman dressed like a runway model to explain paperwork?”
The young woman watched him.
Then she spoke quietly.
“Are you finished?”
The billionaire blinked.
“What?”
“Are you finished speaking?”
For a moment, he seemed genuinely astonished.
The younger executive looked toward the floor.
The financial officer stopped smiling.
Then the billionaire stepped forward.
“I own this hangar.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“I own the aircraft behind you.”
“Your holding company currently owns it, subject to the transaction documents.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I built Crestline Aviation from nothing.”
“I've read the company's history.”
“Then perhaps you understand why I don't tolerate disrespect.”
The woman glanced toward the documents lying on the polished floor.
“Neither do I.”
Silence.
The billionaire stared at her.
Then he laughed.
It was an ugly, contemptuous sound.
“You want respect? Show up looking like somebody who belongs in an eight-hundred-million-dollar boardroom.”
The woman slowly reached into the small structured pocket concealed within the sculptural folds of her dress.