The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 8

Maya woke up groggy, but grateful. Four hours of sleep wasn’t a luxury, just a step above survival — but it was still double what she’d gotten the night before. An extra hour made a difference. Her bones still ached, and her eyes burned from the weight of the week, but she felt just alert enough to function.

It was Friday—her last full day before her official three-days-a-week internship schedule began. She just had to survive one more day of juggling the four lives she was barely managing to keep afloat: barista, student, sister, and intern. Her schedule had been impossibly packed all week, stretching her to the brink. Grueling didn’t even begin to cover it. Thankfully, her coffee shop manager had been kind enough to approve a one-week unpaid leave. No income, but at least no extra shifts. If she could just make it through today, she’d be there for Jamie’s doctor appointment tomorrow. That was the deal she’d made with herself. Just one more day.

As she buttoned her blouse and tied her hair back into a low ponytail, her mind circled back to the day before—the impromptu pitch meeting, the cold stares from strangers in sleek suits, and the way Harper had smiled at her like they’d been friends for years. That part hadn’t been bad.

But what still sat heavy on her chest was Trina’s request.

No, correction—Trina’s command.

Maya, hand me the notes from the meeting. The ones you wrote. Yes, now. The original version, please. No need to edit.

No explanation. No chance to polish. No time to second-guess. She’d turned over her raw, unfiltered scrawl like it was nothing.

But it hadn’t been nothing. Those notes were… hers. Her thoughts. Her observations. She hadn’t written them to be read, especially not by someone higher up.

Maya exhaled slowly as she stepped out into the soft morning light. At least today would be easier. No meetings. No surprises. Just keep her head down, finish strong, and get through Jamie’s doctor’s appointment tomorrow. That’s all she had to do.

When the elevator doors opened to the PR floor, Maya immediately sensed… something off.

The air wasn’t buzzing the way it normally did with morning chatter and keyboard clicks. Instead, there was a strange hush. People glanced up from their desks, then looked away quickly. A few whispered something to each other as she passed.

Maya felt the hairs rise on her arms.

She walked faster.

At her desk, Harper was already there—grinning like she knew a secret.

“Finally!” Harper beamed. “Good morning, superstar.”

Maya blinked. “Uh… hi?”

Harper’s eyes sparkled with too much excitement. “You look so calm for someone who just got flowers.”

“What?”

Harper stepped aside with theatrical flair.

And that’s when Maya saw them.

A bouquet. Lush, understated, elegant. Crisp white lilies, delicate baby’s breath, and deep blue hyacinths arranged in a tall glass vase with a simple cream card tucked inside.

Maya froze. “Oh—those aren’t mine. They must be yours.”

Harper gasped. “Mine? Girl, I wish! But nope. They were already here when I arrived. Right on your desk.”

Maya blinked at the arrangement, heart thudding. “There’s no way… someone must’ve made a mistake. Maybe it’s for someone else?”

Harper leaned in conspiratorially. “I checked. Guard said the delivery log says ‘Maya Thompson, PR Division, West Wing.’ That’s you, sweetheart.”

Maya looked around, cheeks warming under the curious glances from across the department. “I don’t understand… who would send me—?”

Harper gave her a playful nudge. “Someone’s got a thing for mysterious interns. You’ve been here five minutes and already have a secret admirer.”

“I don’t have an admirer,” Maya whispered sharply. “This is a mistake. Maybe it’s a client appreciation thing or some office welcome thing—”

Harper raised a brow. “For interns? Who also happen to be brand new transfers and weren’t even scheduled for that meeting? Yeah, sounds super likely.”

Maya ignored the teasing and reached for the envelope tucked into the bouquet. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slid the cream-colored card free.

No name.

Just one sentence.

Maya, I hope you have a beautiful day—as beautiful as you.

The handwriting was clean. Sharp. Masculine.

Her stomach flipped.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered.

Harper’s grin widened. “Because it’s flattering?”

“Because it’s weird,” Maya said, her voice low. “I don’t even know who sent it.”

“It’s romantic,” Harper corrected with a dramatic sigh. “Also, just a heads-up—Trina sent a last-minute memo this morning. Didn’t you see it?”

“I must’ve missed it,” Maya muttered, still staring at the card.

“Basically,” Harper went on, “we’re getting a visit from one of Blackwood’s major overseas clients. The big boss type. Trina said we’re to be on our best behavior — clear desks, proper dress code, all that.”

Maya’s head whipped up. “Today?”

“Yep. Apparently, it’s some long-standing partnership or whatever, and this guy only visits once a year.” Harper leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Though I doubt Trina meant ‘best behavior’ includes mysterious flower deliveries.”

“I told you, it’s not mine!”

But Maya didn’t get a chance to keep arguing.

Because the room went silent.

Again.

Only this time, it wasn’t whispers that followed.

It was reverent, shocked stillness.

Because Damien Blackwood had just walked in.

And he wasn’t alone.

James Horton, his senior personal assistant, followed closely behind. James wasn’t just staff—he was Damien’s shadow. Trusted, discreet, unshakably loyal. While Elle managed operations inside the company, James handled everything beyond it—travel, security, negotiations across continents. He was present for every high-stakes meeting, every critical decision. It was rumored he was one of only two people who knew the passcode to Damien Blackwood’s penthouse.

And now he was here.

Flanking them was an older gentleman—likely the overseas client everyone had been warned about. And Elle trailed just a step behind, tablet in hand, her eyes already sweeping the department, likely mapping the most efficient route for the impromptu tour.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

They weren’t supposed to see Damien Blackwood unless summoned. The CEO walking into the PR wing himself was like spotting a solar eclipse in winter.

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