His Billion-Dollar Mistake

CHAPTER 1

“Don’t panic.”

That’s literally the first thing I told myself as I pushed through the glass doors of Cole & Reign Global, even though my heart was doing full gymnastics in my chest.

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I knew it.

Everyone here knew it.

But when you accidentally send your résumé to the wrong email–specifically to the private inbox of a billionaire CEO–what else do you do? You show up, apparently.

The lobby swallowed me.

Tall ceilings.

Colder than my landlord’s heart.

Workers in sleek suits moving like they were late for a royal coronation.

I clutched my bag tighter. “Okay, Maya. Smile. Pretend you belong.”

I smiled.

A guard gave me a look that said, 'No, you don’t.'

Great.

I reached the marble counter. The receptionist didn’t even look up.

Her nails were long and red and expensive.

Her voice was flat. “Name? ”

“Maya Brooks. I–uh–I have a meeting with Mr Reign.”

That made her look up.

“Mr. Reign doesn’t have meetings with applicants.”

“I’m…not exactly an applicant.”

Why did my voice shake like that? I hated that.

She raised one brow. A slow, perfect arch. “Then what are you? ”

“A mistake,” I muttered. “I mean....I sent something by accident. And he replied. So I came.”

Her brows pulled together. “He replied? ”

“Yep.” I pulled up the email on my cracked phone.

She leaned in, read it, then blinked. Twice.

“Oh.” She straightened. “You need the top floor.”

“The… top… floor? ”

“No one goes there without direct permission.”

She paused and studied me again. “You must’ve impressed him.”

I definitely did not.

I sent him a résumé meant for a small café job, plus a cover letter I typed half-asleep at 2 AM.

It even opened with, 'Hey, I really need this job.'

Impressed? No.

It's more like entertained.

But I wasn’t about to run after coming this far.

Or after borrowing transport money from my neighbour again.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.

I stepped in

My stomach dropped as we shot upward–too fast, too smooth, too expensive.

Everything about this place screamed money.

The doors opened to silence.

The entire floor looked like a magazine spread.

Black glass.

Clean lines.

A city view so wide it made me dizzy.

I took two steps–and froze.

A man stood with his back to me, looking out the window.

Tall. Broad shoulders.

The suit is so sharp it probably cost more than my yearly rent.

“Mr. Reign? ” I said.

He didn’t turn immediately.

When he did, I almost forgot how breathing worked.

Sharp jaw.

Dark hair, a little messy, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times.

Eyes so cold and focused they looked like they’d cut through walls.

He studied me in silence.

“You’re late,” he finally said. His voice was deep. Annoyed. Smooth.

“I–sorry–the elevator–”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Ouch.

Right to the point.

I swallowed. “Your email said you wanted to see me."

“I said ‘come by’. I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

He moved closer. Each step slowly. Controlled.

“People don’t usually walk into my office when they think they sent a résumé by mistake.”

“Do most people have more self-control? ” I offered weakly.

His lips twitched. Not a smile. it's more like a warning.

“Let’s start with why you’re here, Miss Brooks.”

“Because”, I said, lifting my chin, “you responded.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered.

“Do you know how many emails I receive? ”

“No.”

“Hundreds. Daily. I read yours by accident.”

“I figured.”

“But”, he continued, “I don’t respond to most people. Especially not to… what did you call it? A desperate application for a café job? ”

Heat exploded across my face. “I can explain that.”

“I’m listening.”

“It was late. I was tired. And yes, desperate. My last job ended badly, and rent is rent.”

He didn’t nod. Didn’t blink.

Just watched.

Like he could see the whole story in my posture.

“And yet,” he said slowly, “you walked into one of the biggest companies in the country. With confidence.”

“That wasn’t confidence. That was panic mixed with caffeine.”

For a heartbeat and silence.

Then–here.

The softest shift at the corner of his mouth.

Almost a smile.

Almost.

He turned and walked toward his desk. “Sit.”

I did.

The chair swallowed me like a luxury cloud.

He tapped his fingers once on the desk. “You sent a résumé meant for a barista job.”

“Yes.”

“And you thought I’d give you… what? A job here? ”

“No.” I sucked in a breath. “I didn’t expect anything. I only came because you answered. And maybe because… I just needed a win. Even a small one.”

Another quiet moment.

Then he leaned back, studying me with that unreadable billionaire expression.

“You’re not ordinary,” he said.

My heart flipped. “Um…" thanks? ”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh.”

“You’re unpredictable. Honest. A little chaotic.”

“Definitely not a compliment.”

This time–definitely a smile. Quick but real.

“I need someone,” he said, “who can tell me the truth without fear. Someone who’s not polished.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Someone like you.”

My stomach dipped. “For what? ”

“A temporary position.”

He stood.

Walked towards me again.

Closer.

When he stopped, he was inches away.

“Be my personal assistant for thirty days.”

My breath caught. “Thirty… days? ”

“Yes.”

“Why me? ”

“That”, he said, lowering his voice, “is what I’m trying to figure out.”

The room felt too warm. Or maybe that was just me melting.

He extended his hand.

“So, Miss Brooks. Do you accept the offer? ”

I stared at his hand. His eyes.

The city is behind him.

My mind was just about my empty wallet.

Thirty days with a billionaire.

What could possibly go wrong?

“I…”

My voice wobbled.

“I accept.”

His expression didn’t change, but the air did.

Like something important had just shifted.

Like a mistake had just become fate.