The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 479

His eyes stayed on her for a moment longer, then shifted slightly past her, as if she was no longer the focal point of importance.

“What I am curious about is…” he continued smoothly, his calm tone somehow making the insult

worse. “What exactly is someone like you doing here?”

His gaze swept over her once more before the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

“No offense,” he said. A brief pause followed. “But you seem a little… out of place.”

The woman’s expression tightened almost immediately.

The confidence from earlier faded beneath the sting of humiliation, but she refused to lower her

head this time.

Because she remembered him. Far more clearly than he remembered her.

She’d been hustling at the Velvet Room part-time for two years, though it was a far cry from her us

ual circuit.

Most nights were spent in the grit of the city’s basement clubs-places where the air was thick and

the “main job” was much less subtle.

A friend had finally thrown her a bone, pulling strings to get her onto the Velvet Room’s rotation. It was supposed to be a step up-trading the crowded stages of the outskirts for the quiet, high-priced discretion of a VIP lounge.

Most nights were tolerable. Boring. Repetitive. Sometimes disgusting-but tolerable.

Older wealthy men filled places like that almost every night. Men who bragged about their marriages while surrounding themselves with younger women the moment they stepped into a private lounge.

They drank too much. Talked too loudly. Acted like money excused everything.

But they tipped well. And in that line of work, that was usually enough.

During her third week working there-she ended up assigned to Nicholas Ashcroft’s table.

Everyone in the city knew who he was.

Young. Rich. Reckless.

The type of man who spent money without looking at the numbers and carried himself like

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Chapter 209 Bruises and Indifference

consequences simply didn’t apply to him.

+25 Points

At first, she was just another hostess refilling drinks while he and his friends occupied the private lounge like they owned it.

But she noticed him immediately.

And from that moment on, she made it her goal to stay within his attention.

Every shift after that became calculated in subtle ways-lingering a little longer when refilling his

drinks, brushing past his seat with just enough “accidental” contact, timing her movements so she

always ended up within his line of sight.

Nothing obvious. Nothing that could be called out. Just small, repeated moments of proximity she

convinced herself might eventually turn into something more.

But memory didn’t care about effort.

It hit her in sharp, jagged flashes-dragging her back to the night when all of it finally seemed to

pay off.

The moment she was alone in a room with the man she had quietly fixated on for weeks.

From the soft click of the private room door locking shut, to the rough pull of her blouse being

undone, then the feeling of being pressed down on all fours onto that wide leather sofa, her body

bared to him while he claimed her from behind.

She could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on her hips and hear the jagged catch in her

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