Claimed by the billionaire

Chapter3

Blair’s POV

I grabbed my other shoe with trembling hands, every second pounding against my chest like a ticking bomb.

He didn’t say another word.

Not I’ll call you.

Not Thanks for the night.

Not even my name.

Because he didn’t know it.

And I didn’t know his.

What we’d shared, if I could even call it that was now buried under the weight of his indifference.

I forced myself to walk to the door, spine stiff, heels clicking like shame against the marble floor.

Don’t cry.

Not in front of him.

I made it out of the suite with my pride barely intact and bolted into the nearest cab, clutching my purse to my chest like it could hold me together.

The makeup I hadn’t wiped off was smudged. My hair was a disaster. And my body still remembered his touch in ways I hated, because he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

The cab driver kept looking at me through the rearview mirror like he was debating asking if I was okay.

I wasn’t.

But I had bigger problems now.

Like the interview.

It was supposed to be at 8 a.m. One of the few places still hiring fresh graduates. A position as an executive assistant at some elite company I couldn’t even pronounce.

The job description had been vague, but the salary? It could pull Lucy and me out of ramen dinners for a year.

By the time I got to my apartment, changed clothes, threw on a fresh layer of concealer, and pinned my hair into something passable, it was 7:56 a.m.

And I was running on broken heels, broken pride, and sheer caffeine.

I reached the glass building with seconds to spare.

The receptionist glanced up, all polished perfection and a thin smile. “Good morning. You must be Miss Sinclair.”

I nodded, still breathless. “Yes. Blair. I'm sorry. I’m here for the 8 a.m. interview.”

She typed something into her monitor. “The executive team is already waiting. Top floor. Take the private elevator.”

Private. Elevator.

Fancier than anywhere I’d ever applied to.

I stepped inside the sleek steel capsule, nerves kicking up in full force. The moment the doors closed, I leaned against the mirrored wall and exhaled for the first time since dawn.

You can do this.

I rehearsed what I’d say. Smiled at my reflection. Willed myself to look like someone capable, someone who hadn’t spent the night being carelessly discarded by a man she’d just met.

The elevator dinged.

I stepped out into a lobby so pristine it made my throat tighten.

A woman with a clipboard motioned me forward. “Right this way. The CEO insisted on meeting candidates personally.”

CEO?

Since when did CEOs interview assistants?

My heels clicked behind her down a long hallway, toward tall glass doors.

She opened them. “He’s waiting inside.”

I stepped through.

And froze.

Because sitting behind the desk, in a perfectly tailored navy suit, flipping through a file like he hadn’t seen me naked just hours ago…

Was him.

My one-night stand.

The cold-eyed stranger.

The man whose name I didn’t even know.

Until now.

Because stamped in silver letters on the glass wall behind him were the words:

Jason Westwood

Chief Executive Officer

My heart dropped so fast I could’ve sworn it took my lungs with it.

He looked up.

And for the briefest moment, his eyes widened. Just a flicker. Almost imperceptible.

Then… nothing.

His face smoothed into polite detachment.

Like we were strangers.

Like he hadn’t kissed me.

Touched me.

Ruined me.

“Miss Sinclair,” he said, voice calm, unreadable. “Have a seat.”