The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 258

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Chapter 123: Anticipation and Apprehension-2

“Relax” Harper drawled, fanning herself as if in a mock swoon. “From what I’ve heard, Mrs.

Blackwood is the whole package-elegant, refined, strong as hell, runs everything with an iron fist. She’ll either adore you on the spot… or eat you alive. No pressure.”

Damien’s jaw tightened, his stare slicing across the table like a blade. One look, and Harper shrank back into her chair with both hands raised. “Kidding, kidding,” she muttered, though her grin betrayed her.

Maya forced out a laugh, but inside her stomach twisted tighter.

Damien stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wood floor. His entire presence shifted -harder, colder. “James. How long?”

“An hour, maybe less,” James answered quickly.

The weight of his words dropped like a stone, silencing the cabana. Even the waves outside seemed to hush, the lazy calm from earlier shattered in an instant.

Maya’s pulse spiked, her fingers tightening in her lap. An hour. Less than that until the Madam

arrives.

Damien’s jaw clenched, his gaze cutting toward the horizon as if he could already see the incoming helicopter. He exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering more to himself than anyone, “So soon…”

Harper blinked between them, clearly out of her depth now. “Okay, is anyone else going to explain why this suddenly feels like a royal inspection?”

“Because it is,” Ashcroft drawled, leaning back with an amused curl to his lips, though his eyes flickered with unease. “The Madam doesn’t make casual visits. If she’s coming here personally, it means something’s brewing.”

Maya’s throat tightened. She barely heard the rest of what they were saying-her mind was already spiraling. An hour. Less than an hour until I stand face-to-face with the woman Damien both respects and fears.

Her chest squeezed painfully. What if Madam looked at her and saw only flaws? What if one glance was enough to decide Maya wasn’t the kind of woman worthy of her son?

As if sensing her storm, Damien’s hand found hers under the table, his grip firm, grounding. His eyes locked on hers, the steel in him softening in a way he reserved only for her. “Don’t worry, love,” Damien murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Nothing to

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