Filed to story: Maya Thompson and Damien Blackwood Book PDF Free
Her again.
Maya, invading the silence. The shape of her mouth. The way she avoided his gaze, like she knew she shouldn’t draw his attention. The way she did anyway.
And his body betrayed him, too.
He did it again.
And again.
Three times in one goddamn night. Like some depraved, hormone-fueled teenager.
By 4:30 AM, he gave up on sleep altogether.
He hated mornings like this. Head pounding. Skin hot. Even ice water and another pour of scotch did nothing to cool the fire in his blood. He yanked the towel tighter around his waist, collapsed onto the edge of the bed, and sat there, breathing like he’d just run ten miles.
His body wanted something it had no right to crave.
Her.
It was pathetic. He didn’t give a damn about interns. Certainly not about romance. He’d carved that part of his life out years ago-cut it clean. If he needed release, he found someone willing, fucked, and moved on. No strings. No emotion. Women were poison. Commitment, a death sentence.
That was the rule.
Until her.
And now? She was stuck in his head like a goddamn virus.
“Pathetic,” Damien muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.
Now he was awake, overstimulated, and violently unsatisfied. His body felt like it had been dragged through fire, and his mind? That was worse. Buzzing. Humming with a noise he couldn’t mute.
He poured black coffee with one hand and checked his s**s with the other, scanning briefs and updates he didn’t care about. Everything felt dull. Distant.
Pointless.
He should have been focused on the groundbreaking ceremony scheduled for later that morning.
It was for a new tech campus-Blackwood East, a billion-dollar expansion that would house emerging Al research, luxury co-living towers, and state-of-the-art corporate suites.
Investors would be there. Photographers. Board members.
He should have cared.
He didn’t.
He downed the rest of the coffee and glanced at the time – 5:32 AM. The event started at seven.
He had thirty minutes to suit up and pretend he gave a damn.
And then, finally, he could bury himself in something else.
Something that wasn’t her.
The groundbreaking event was already underway by 7:00 AM. Good PR. Great headlines. Not worth his time.
He stood on the platform in a tailored suit, shovel in hand, camera flashes going off like it was war. All choreographed. All for show. And all bullshit.
He smiled for the photos. Nodded at the mayor. Gave a brief speech someone else wrote.
The usual.
By 8:25, it was over. Damien slipped into the backseat of the car without a word, tugging his tie loose and resting his head against the leather.
“I’ll be heading to the office,” he told James, who climbed in beside him.
James didn’t press. He never did. It was why Damien kept him closer than anyone else.
He needed a distraction. Documents. Numbers. Anything but her.
They were halfway to Blackwood Enterprises when Damien heard James speak.
“Isn’t that Ms. Thompson?” he said, his voice casual, eyes fixed on something outside the window.
Damien didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. He kept his gaze forward, willing himself to ignore it.
James went on, a shade more deliberate now. “She keeps checking her phone. Looks anxious. I’m guessing they’re headed to the hospital.”
A beat.
“That boy with her… probably her brother.”
Something in that last sentence pulled Damien’s attention. His head turned, almost involuntarily.
There they were – Maya and the kid -standing at a quiet bus stop off the main road. Maya had her hand on the boy’s shoulder, brows drawn, lips pressed thin. Her phone was in her hand, the screen lighting up every few seconds.
Worry. It was written all over her.
The driver, old but sharp, spoke up from the front. “Poor timing to be waiting on this route. Weekend buses here are always late. Damn transit cuts.”
A pulse of irritation slid through Damien’s jaw. He clenched it. Ignored it.
James turned slightly. “Should we offer them a ride? They look like they’re running late.”
Damien glanced again, and saw it. The way Maya’s shoulders were tensed. The way she kept checking the time. The boy looked pale under the morning sun.
Damien closed his eyes for half a beat.
“You know what to do,” he said gruffly.
James nodded, the faintest glint of satisfaction in his expression.
“Pull over,” he instructed the driver smoothly.
The sleek black Bentley slowed to the curb, the engine purring as it came to a stop.
At first, Maya didn’t notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.
Until James rolled down the window.
“Good morning, Ms. Thompson!”
Maya blinked, her head jerking toward the voice. “Mr. Horton?! I… what… I mean… I’m sorry-good morning, sir!”
The boy beside her narrowed his eyes slightly, not rudely, but with a guarded sharpness. He didn’t speak, just observed.
James smiled. “How are you feeling today? Feeling better?”
That got the boy’s attention.
“Feeling better? Why?” His eyes shot to Maya. “What happened? May… are you sick?”
Maya flushed, cheeks turning bright pink. “Ah, no, I’m fine,” she said quickly. Then to James, “I’m fine, sir. Thank you.”
James gave a patient nod, then looked to the boy. “You must be Jamie?”
Maya nodded, but Jamie stepped forward with a small bow. “Good morning, sir. I’m Jamie, Maya’s brother. And you are…?”
“Jamie!” Maya elbowed him gently, embarrassed.
But James just chuckled. “Nice to meet you Jaime. I’m James Horton. Mr. Blackwood’s personal assistant.”
Jamie beamed slightly. “Nice to meet you, sir!”
