Monday Morning, New York City.
Lexi Thompson was late. Again.
Not fashionably late. Not even "oops, traffic" late.
No — this was triple-espresso, high-stakes, resume-wrinkled kind of late.
She raced out of the subway like a woman being chased by fate, her curls bouncing with every uneven stride. Phone tucked between her teeth. One heel snapping against the pavement. The other wobbling from an unfortunate encounter with a storm drain.
This was supposed to be her new chapter.
Her big break.
Today was the last day to hand in her application at Blackwood Signature Events, and if she missed it—
No. Not today. Not after everything.
After a string of chaotic freelance gigs, nightmare clients, and far too many bills stacked on her mom's kitchen counter, this job was her one shot out of survival mode.
She yanked open the glass door of her favorite café, praying the line was short.
It wasn't.
Of course it wasn't.
Tapping her foot anxiously, she muttered under her breath, rehearsing her pitch. "Creative. Detailed. A storm in heels, but reliable…"
When her turn finally came, she flashed the barista a tired smile. "One iced hazelnut latte, please. Extra—"
The barista nodded, already halfway through the motion. "Extra espresso. I got you."
She grinned. "You're a lifesaver."
Cup in hand, she spun around—too fast.
Crash.
She slammed straight into a wall of expensive black suit and sharp male muscle.
Her coffee exploded.
Not just a little spill.
The entire drink splashed across the man's chest, dripping down his tailored lapel like a scene from a nightmare she'd never live down.
Lexi gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. "Oh no—oh my God—I'm so, so sorry!"
The man stepped back slowly, like he couldn't believe what had just happened.
Or maybe he just couldn't believe she had happened.
He looked down at the dark liquid staining his suit, then up at her.
And wow.
His face was… brutal.
No, not just handsome. Intimidatingly beautiful.
Chiseled jaw. Sleek black hair. Gray eyes so piercing she felt momentarily seen — and then instantly judged.
He wasn't saying anything.
She panicked. "I—I didn't mean to— You sort of came out of nowhere!"
One dark brow lifted. His voice, when it finally came, was smooth and lethal. "Did I?"
Lexi winced. "Okay, maybe not nowhere. But I didn't see you."
"Clearly," he said flatly. "Basic spatial awareness. Ever heard of it?"
Her jaw dropped a little. "Excuse me?"
He looked down at the coffee again, then slowly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a dripping, ruined watch.
Lexi winced. "Oh."
"This watch was custom-made in Geneva."
She swallowed. "...So, not available on Amazon, then?"
He looked at her, deadpan.
Lexi's spine straightened.
"I said I'm sorry," she added, trying not to let his tone get under her skin. "It's coffee, not sulfuric acid. Dry cleaning exists."
He blinked once. "You're awfully defensive for someone who just ruined a $10,000 suit."
Lexi's breath caught. "Ten—what?!"
He didn't answer. Just took a napkin from the counter and calmly dabbed at his coat.
Something about his calmness was worse than if he'd yelled.
"I'll pay for the cleaning," she blurted. "I mean, I'll try. I have like… twelve dollars in my account, but I have hustle."
He stared at her.
Unmoving. Sharp. Observing.
Lexi shoved a few napkins toward him and backed away. "Anyway, I'm really sorry. I hope your day gets better."
She turned and bolted out of the café, cheeks flaming. She didn't stop walking until she'd put two blocks between them and finally exhaled.
"Just my luck."
Why did she always crash into men who looked like gods and treated her like a mistake?
Still clutching her portfolio, she muttered, "Please don't let that man have anything to do with Blackwood Signature Events."
---
Two Hours Later.
Lexi stood in the glittering marble lobby of Blackwood Signature Events, wondering if the universe hated her.
Everything screamed luxury — crystal chandeliers, polished brass fixtures, and floral arrangements that probably cost more than her rent.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Mom: You'll do amazing. Just be yourself, baby.
Lexi swallowed the lump in her throat.
She had to do this.
She hadn't told her mom about the overdue power bill. Or how she pawned her tablet to print out her portfolio. Or that her last client refused to pay for the event she designed because "the cupcakes weren't moist enough."
This job could change everything.
A polished assistant approached. "You're here for the creative pitch review?"
Lexi nodded, voice tight. "Yes. Lexi Thompson."
"Right this way."
They walked through glass corridors lined with framed event photos — global galas, celebrity weddings, political fundraisers. Lexi's heart beat faster with every step.
The assistant paused at a tall double door. "You'll be presenting to our lead team... and Mr. Blackwood himself."
Lexi blinked. "Mr. Blackwood? As in the CEO?"
"Yes. He likes to review final-stage candidates personally."
Before Lexi could mentally prepare, the door swung open.
The assistant stepped aside. "Good luck."
Lexi stepped in...
And nearly tripped.
Coffee Suit Guy.
Seated at the head of the sleek black table, legs crossed, flipping through a document with an expression that could freeze oceans.
Lexi's stomach dropped to her shoes.
He looked up — slowly, deliberately — and their eyes locked.
Recognition flashed.
Gray. Cold. Controlled.
Him.
Her.
And this was her interview.
The room fell silent.
The other panelists turned to him, then to her.
Lexi forced a polite smile. "Good morning."
The assistant chirped behind her, "Mr. Blackwood, this is Lexi Thompson."
He didn't stand. Didn't offer his hand.
He just stared.
Then said — coolly, calmly —
"Let's see if your ideas are as bold as your entrances."
Lexi's throat tightened.
This was it.
Her nightmare had a name.
And he was sitting at the head of the table with her fate in his hands.