Page 168 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

His face fills the screen. He’s in his office downtown, the familiar backdrop of glass and steel behind him. He looks… tired. Still handsome, annoyingly so, but the lines around his eyes are deeper.

“Sabrina,” he says. No warmth. No hint of the man who held me, kissed me, fucked me like his life depended on it. Just the billionaire client.

Easier this way. Right?

“Mr. Maxwell,” I reply, matching his tone. I won’t let myself say his first name. Too familiar. “How can I help you?”

Did you need sign-off on another near-death experience?

Just checking.

“I wanted to follow up on the Briggs statement,” he says, all business. “Any pushback?”

“There was, but minimal,” I report coolly. “The ‘exhaustion’ narrative seems to be holding, for now. Key investors are cautiously optimistic, pending further updates on his recovery and return timeline. I’m also working in your return to the Red Bull competition in Chamonix, as you requested.”

Which I hate to my core. But it’s what you want.

Keeping the client happy.

God, sometimes I hate my job.

“Good. Good work.” He pauses, his gaze lingering on my face a fraction too long. My cheeks feel warm.

Stop it.

“It’s… uh… good to see you, Sabrina,” he says.

The unexpected personal comment throws me off balance.

Good to see me?

After I walked out?

After that fight?

“Likewise, Mr. Maxwell,” I manage, keeping my voice clipped.

He leans forward slightly, the mask slipping just a tiny bit. “Look, about the other day… things got… intense.”

Intense? That’s one word for it. ‘Relationship-imploding dumpster fire’ is another.

“It was a stressful situation, Mr. Maxwell. Understandable.” I keep my gaze fixed on a point just past his shoulder.

“Right.” He leans back. “So. Dinner?”

The question hangs there, unexpected.

Dinner? Is he serious?

My internal warning system flashes red.

“Thank you, Mr. Maxwell, but I don’t think that would be appropriate right now,” I say, my voice colder than I intend. “We agreed we needed space.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t handle rejection well, does he?

Of course not. He’s a billionaire. Used to getting precisely what he wants,whenhe wants it.

But there’s some things money can’t buy. I’m sure he’s figured that out by now.

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