Seducing the billionaire CEO

Emma's POV

It was already 5:45 p.m. when I finished my shift at the eatery. My feet were sore from running around all day, but there was still one more task ahead. I stopped a cab and slid inside, telling the driver my destination as I settled into the seat, resting my head against the headrest. I shut my eyes, letting out a deep breath to calm myself. I had to prepare for what was coming next-how I'd face Mr. Preston with my request for extra hours, for the money I so desperately needed.

As the cab sped through the bustling streets, my mind wandered back to the hospital, to my mother's diagnosis. Type 1 stage 2 diabetes. It hit me hard, the weight of it all. And still, there was no end in sight. I needed to work harder, earn more-anything to keep her comfortable and get her the care she deserved. It was the only thing that mattered.

The cab stopped, pulling me out of my thoughts. I paid the driver and stepped out, the cool evening air hitting my skin. I walked briskly toward the entrance of the lounge, took a deep breath, and entered, putting on my most professional demeanor.

I hadn't been there long before I got my first order for the night-a cocktail for table seven. I grabbed the tray, balancing it carefully, and made my way over. But as I approached the table, I froze. My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth went dry.

There, sitting at the table, were none other than Mr. Blackwood and his personal assistant, Harper. Of all the people I could've run into tonight, it had to be him.

I blinked, stunned. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the drink to set it down. But just as I did, the glass slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor in a shattering mess.

"Oh my God," I muttered, mortified, trying to bend down to clean it up, but Mr. Blackwood's voice stopped me.

"How many jobs are you juggling?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost amused.

I froze for a moment, unable to look him in the eye. What could I say? That I was barely making ends meet and working every shift I could? Instead, I gave a nervous laugh, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "Nothing," I said, forcing a casual tone. "Just this one."

He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I'm amazed by how hardworking you are," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "What's your motivation?"

I straightened up, giving a small shrug. "I'm taking care of my sick mom. She needs me," I explained, my voice a little quieter than I intended. The words slipped out before I could stop them, the truth too raw, too close to the surface.

Harper, sitting beside Mr. Blackwood, watched the exchange silently, a faint, curious glint in his eyes. I could feel his gaze on me, but I did my best to remain professional.

"I'm sure you're doing a great job with that," Mr. Blackwood said, his voice filled with unexpected sincerity. "Take care of yourself too. You can't help anyone if you burn out."

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile, then carefully set the new drink down on the table. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Blackwood, Harper."

Just as I was about to turn to leave, the door swung open, and in walked none other than Mr. Preston. He caught sight of Mr. Blackwood immediately, and a broad smile spread across his face.

"Well, well," Mr. Preston said, striding toward the table. "Mr. Blackwood! It's been too long. How are you?"

The two men exchanged a quick handshake, and I could feel the tension shift in the room. I gave the gentlemen a polite nod and, with a tight smile, said, "Enjoy your drink, gentlemen."

As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a little shaken. I hadn't expected to run into Mr. Blackwood again, let alone so soon after our strange encounter in his office. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. My focus had to stay on what mattered-my mom's treatment, the bills I had to pay, and the endless work that lay ahead.

Still, there was something about the way Mr. Blackwood had looked at me that stayed with me, lingering like an unanswered question. Why couldn't I shake the feeling that this wasn't the last time our paths would cross?

Damon's POV

I watched as Emma quickly left the table the moment Mr. Preston arrived. The atmosphere shifted instantly when he joined us, his usual warm smile on his face. I returned a tight smile, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness of Emma's sudden departure.

"A little mess here, huh?" Preston remarked, his eyes lingering on the spilled drink before looking up at me. "Oh, I'm sorry. The little girl's going through a lot."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Like what?"

Preston let out a deep breath, his expression darkening slightly. "She's trying to make ends meet. Doing several jobs to take care of her mom. She's been hospitalized for so long now. Sad story. I don't like sharing it."

My brow furrowed in confusion. Emma? She was so quiet, so composed-it was hard to imagine her in such a difficult situation. Harper, who'd been standing silently at Preston's side, gave me a look of sympathy. I glanced at him, feeling a weight press down on me as I processed what Preston had just said.

Before Harper could say anything, I dipped my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. I slid it across the table, pushing it toward Preston.

"For what?" he asked immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

I gave a brief shrug, trying to hide the irritation creeping up. "In case she asks for help. Don't tell her it's from me."

Preston looked at the cash for a moment, then nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Got it."

I caught the corner of Harper's mouth twitching into a faint smile, and something about the look in his eyes told me he wasn't going to let this go easily. As if on cue, Harper raised his glass, taking a sip of his cocktail with a grin.

"This cocktail is nice, by the way," he said, clearly trying to change the subject. He raised the glass in a mock toast that felt more forced than celebratory.

I didn't respond, my mind elsewhere, trying to figure out how I felt about the situation. All I knew was that there was something about Emma's struggle that made me uneasy. I didn't know her, not really, but something about the way she'd looked at me before-the way she had seemed so lost in her thoughts earlier-pulled at me.

"Thanks, Harper. Enjoy the drink."

Preston stood up, extending a hand. "Enjoy your night, Damon. You too, Harper."

As Preston walked off toward the exit, I could feel Harper's eyes still on me. He shot me a look that was more curious than anything else, and I knew he was already preparing to ask a hundred questions.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to dismiss the strange tension I was feeling. Emma's situation-whatever it was-wasn't my problem. She was just a delivery girl. Yet, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I hadn't seen the last of her.