27. Sneak Peek
Sneak Peek
I had one rule: don't fall for the billionaire boss. I broke it. Now I'm pregnant.
Damon Blackwell is all sharp edges and cold control.The kind of man who doesn't do complications.
Until the pregnancy test comes back positive.Until my ex threatens to take my six-year-old son.
He doesn't walk away.He shows up. He fights. He protects us both.
My past says I can't trust this.
My heart says I can't survive without it.And Damon doesn't do halfway.
He wants all of me.
Or nothing.
(Click here to start My Billionaire Chose Us now.)
Chapter 1: The Worst Possible Morning
Damon Blackwell
The moment the notification pops up on my screen, the air punches out of my lungs—instant proof the day’s already ruined.
Investor Withdrawal: Immediate.
A flash of heat sparks behind my eyes—a sharp, instinctive jolt, like my body braces for impact before my mind catches up.
The words glare in aggressive red, pulsing like a warning siren. My jaw tightens until pain radiates into my temples—a familiar, unwelcome pulse I’ve felt in every high-stakes crisis of my career.
Perfect. Exactly what I need before a board review in—
A spike of panic slices through me—electric. I check the clock.
Six minutes.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, shoving back from my desk. My chair rattles into the credenza behind me. A folder slides off and spills across the floor. I don’t pick it up.
The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch into the Manhattan skyline—beautiful, serene, mocking. Nothing about today is serene.
I swipe open the notification. A sharp inhale catches in my chest as I scan the emergency email chain.
Our largest early adopter. Pulling out of the relaunch. No explanation. No warning.
My pulse kicks up—steady, familiar. The rhythm of a crisis I don’t have time for.
I run a hand over my jaw, fingers grazing the old scar there. “Of course. Of course today.”
My phone buzzes again. Another problem? Another fire?
My blood pressure spikes.
HR: We’re sending up your new senior strategist now! :)
A smiley face.
I stare at the message. Once. Twice.
“No. Absolutely not.”
My voice echoes off the glass. A passing intern flinches as they speed-walk down the hall.
I don’t care.
I march to the door and yank it open.
“Carl!” I bark down the corridor, the word cracking across the floor like a whip.
Heads snap up from cubicles. A ripple of startled movement follows.
The HR director appears like a man summoned by dark magic—posture tight, already nervous.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell—”
“Why am I being assigned a strategist I didn’t hire?”
He swallows. Hard. “HR approved the candidate for the brand relaunch team. Her credentials were—”
“I don’t care what they were. I didn’t approve this.”
My voice is low. Controlled. Lethal.
“This campaign is on fire, and you’re throwing strangers at it?”
Carl stammers—staffing demands, bandwidth, committee approvals—none of it matters.
I step closer, voice cold. “Fix it.”
He nods so fast his glasses nearly fall off. “Right away, sir. I’ll—I’ll pause her onboarding until—”
A soft ding floats down the hallway.
The elevator.
Carl’s face shifts. Surprise. Dread.
“That might be her.”
I grit my teeth. “Send her away. I don’t have time for—”
Footsteps. Light. Unhurried. Confident.
And then a voice—bright, warm, completely unaware of the disaster she’s walking into.
“Hi! Sorry—where do deliveries go? These elevators are a maze.”
Carl looks like he might pass out. I’m not far behind.
The woman steps fully into view, and for a moment I’m convinced the universe is mocking me.
She’s smiling—smiling—as if she hasn’t just walked straight into a corporate inferno.
Honey-brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail. A blouse patterned with something soft—flowers? stars? chaos?
I can’t tell, because all I see is brightness.
Brightness where I need silence.
She glances between us, completely at ease.
“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if this was the right floor. No one downstairs knew where to send the—well—me.”
She laughs. Light. Unbothered.
I stare at her. She stares right back.
Carl clears his throat. “Ms. Carter, this is—”
“Let me guess,” she interrupts, squinting at me with an amused smile. “You must be the assistant everyone warns people about.”
A faint, involuntary lift tugs at one brow—just enough to betray that her boldness hits harder than expected.
“The one who scares interns for fun?”
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
Carl chokes. “He’s—he’s not—”
“I’m Damon Blackwell,” I cut in. Voice like ice cracking. “CEO.”
Her smile freezes. Just for a second. Then she recovers with a breathy, embarrassed wince.
“Oh. Well. That’s… unfortunate.”
A surprised, incredulous sound escapes me before I can stop it. “For whom?”
“For me,” she mutters, cheeks flushing pink. “Clearly.”
Carl shoots her a panicked look, like she’s seconds from being escorted out by security.
Maybe she should be. Maybe that would simplify everything.
But Grace—Grace Carter, apparently—steps forward instead.
Back straight. Chin lifted.
Sunshine wrapped in steel.
“I’m here for the senior strategist role,” she says, offering a hand I don’t take.
Her smile falters, but she doesn’t lower it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell.”
I don’t return the gesture.
I let the silence stretch—cold—as I fold my arms and lean back, reasserting control.
Her hand drops. She exhales through her nose—just enough annoyance to crack the polite fa?ade.
“Great first impression,” she mutters under her breath. “Super welcoming.”
My jaw ticks. “I wasn’t informed of your hire. Nor do I have the bandwidth to train someone whose start date was—news to me.”
Her spine straightens. “Funny. HR told me you specifically approved me.”
Carl looks like he wants to evaporate.
“I didn’t,” I say flatly.
A flicker of irritation sparks in her eyes. Not fear. Not submission. Irritation.
“Well,” she says lightly, “I’m already here. So unless you’d like me to take the elevator back down and start over in the lobby, maybe we can figure this out like adults?”
My blood pressure spikes. Her tone. Her ease. Her nerve.
“Carl,” I say, without looking away from her, “I need a moment.”
Carl scurries off like a man fleeing a crime scene.
Grace folds her arms, studying me with a maddening mix of curiosity and defiance.
“Is this how you greet everyone on your team, or am I getting the special CEO welcome package?”
I don’t rise to the bait. But her confidence—her refusal to shrink—lodges under my skin.
Finally, I say, “You’re not on my team.”
Her brows lift. “Yet.”
The word hits harder than it should.
And for the first time all morning, I feel something other than fury.
Annoyance. Disruption.
Intrigue.
Grace doesn’t move. She just stands there—arms crossed, chin tipped up, eyes bright with a challenge she probably doesn’t realize she’s issuing.
Or maybe she does.
Maybe she walked in here knowing she’d be a problem.
Either way, she is.
I inhale slowly, trying to reset my focus, but there’s too much noise inside me—too much pressure, too many fires, too many expectations I can’t afford to drop.
I need control. Order. Silence.
Grace Carter is none of those things.
“Follow me,” I snap.
Her eyebrows lift in a silent, unimpressed arc, but she steps forward. Her heels click a light, steady rhythm behind me as I lead her toward my office.
I hate how aware I am of that sound—bright, confident, steady. Everything in direct contrast to the chaos churning inside my head.
I stop inside the doorway and gesture sharply to the chair opposite my desk.
She takes it without hesitation, smoothing her blouse and offering another polite smile.
It almost feels like mockery.
I stay standing. I need the height advantage. The distance.
“Let me make something clear,” I begin, voice clipped. “This morning’s timing is inconvenient. I’m minutes away from a board meeting that determines the future of this company’s biggest launch in five years.”
Grace nods, attentive. “I read everything publicly available about the campaign. It’s impressive work.”
The compliment catches me off guard. I ignore it.
“I don’t have time to onboard someone. Especially someone I didn’t sign off on.”
She tilts her head. “Then maybe don’t onboard me,” she says, tone dry and steady—confident without crossing into arrogance. “Just let me work.”
I blink at her audacity. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not?” she asks, leaning forward. “You clearly have too much on your plate. I’ve led high-pressure campaigns before. Drop me into the deep end and I’ll swim.”
I stare at her, trying to decide if she’s na?ve or infuriatingly confident.
She meets my stare without flinching.
A tightness coils low inside me.
“What exactly did HR tell you about this role?” I ask.
She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “That the team needed support. That you needed someone who could step in and help stabilize the launch. Someone adaptable. Someone fast.”
Her eyes flick to the mess of documents on my desk, the glowing red alerts still pulsing on my monitor.
“And based on the vibe,” she adds softly, “they weren’t exaggerating.”
My jaw flexes. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
“Then show me,” she says simply.
There’s no arrogance in her tone. No flippant optimism.
Just steady conviction.
It rattles me more than if she’d come in here scared.
I exhale through my nose and finally lower myself into my chair.
“Fine. You want to work? Then work. I’ll let you observe the board review.”
Her breath catches—just barely. A quick, controlled intake instead of the surprise widening her eyes had hinted at before.
“Seriously?”
“It’s not a courtesy,” I warn. “It’s proof. If you don’t understand what we’re dealing with by the end of it, you won’t last a day here.”
Grace straightens, resolve snapping into place.
“Then I won’t waste your time.”
I hold her gaze a beat too long.
She thinks she’s ready.
She has no idea.