The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 9

Damien Blackwood wasn’t in a good mood.

Not that anyone would’ve dared to say it to his face. Not even James, who had spent nearly a decade interpreting Damien’s silences like a language only he could read. But even James kept unusually quiet on the way back to the executive wing.

They’d barely stepped into the private elevator before Damien pressed the emergency halt button.

James didn’t flinch.

Elle, however, looked up from her tablet. “Sir?”

“Leave us.”

It wasn’t a request.

Elle nodded and quickly exited, no questions asked. She knew better.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, enclosing Damien Blackwood and James Horton in silence.

James stood slightly behind his employer, hands clasped neatly in front of him, face impassive. Damien said nothing for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the brushed metal panel in front of them, as if the glowing floor numbers were personally offending him.

Then, in a voice that was flat and cool as stone, Damien said, “I want you to find out who’s challenging the company rules.”

He said it like a command. Like it didn’t already taste bitter in his mouth.

James didn’t need to ask which rule. He knew exactly what this was about.

Damien’s expression didn’t change. “Someone’s either ignoring it—or thinks they’re exempt.”

James nodded once. “I’ll look into it.”

No questions. No clarification. No visible reaction.

But behind the stillness of his gaze, James was already piecing things together.

He had seen the pause. The flicker. The tick in Damien’s jaw when they’d walked into the PR department.

He’d seen his boss’s eyes lock on the flowers—too elegant, too deliberate—sitting on that intern’s desk. And he’d seen the way Damien’s expression didn’t change at all.

Which, for Damien Blackwood, meant something had changed.

James knew better than to ask. That was never how their dynamic worked. Damien would never admit—least of all to himself—that something had struck a nerve. That a simple bouquet on an intern’s desk could stir something jagged beneath the surface.

But James knew.

Something had.

Damien didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t need to.

As the elevator continued its smooth descent to the executive floor, Damien remained stoic—one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other resting at his side.

But James noticed it. That slight twitch in his thumb. The tension in his jawline.

There was no room for romance in Damien Blackwood’s world. No time. No tolerance. The rules weren’t just for show—they were law. No gossip, no relationships, no distractions. Blackwood Enterprises was a fortress of focus and control.

So why, James wondered, did one intern with a simple bouquet seem to shatter that control?

Damien gave no reply.

But James already knew.

This wasn’t about policy.

It was personal.

Meanwhile — Back in the PR Department

The office had returned to its usual hum of noise, but she couldn’t shake the way whispers followed her. Eyes slid her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. She tried to disappear into her work, to anchor herself in reports, drafts, tasks—but the tension clung to her like static.

People had definitely noticed.

Maya sat at her desk, her fingers twitching slightly as she fought to keep her nerves under control.

The flowers were still there.

The delicate white lilies and blue hyacinths stood tall in a pristine glass vase beside her laptop, the small card still tucked neatly in the bouquet. She hadn’t dared open it. Just looking at it made her stomach twist.

Harper had finally calmed down but kept sneaking glances toward the executive hallway.

“Do you think they’ll say anything?” Maya whispered.

“About the flowers?” Harper shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. You didn’t do anything wrong. But just in case, just tell them the truth.”

She didn’t get a chance to dwell too long, though. Minutes later, Trina appeared.

“Morning, ladies,” Trina said crisply. Her eyes flicked to the flowers, narrowed slightly, but she said nothing. “Maya, I’d like a word. My office.”

Maya’s stomach dropped.

Harper mouthed: Stay calm.

Maya stood stiffly in front of Trina’s glass-walled office, fingers curled nervously around the edge of her notebook. Her stomach still felt unsettled from earlier. The flowers. The looks. The hush that had fallen over the office like some unspoken cloud of suspicion.

She knocked lightly.

“Come in,” Trina called.

Maya stepped inside.

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