My Billionaire Enemy Wants Me.

Luna Alex met Jack Black for the first time, her best blouse was stained with someone else's coffee.

This wasn't the kind of morning that promised good things. The sky over Paris was grey, the wind was very cold, and Luna's alarm had not rung. She had slept for only four hours, because the bakery below her room had already started baking, and the smell of bread had mixed with her worry and kept her awake.

Luna Alex's mother was in hospital. The doctors had said the same thing for four days now, in the same soft voice that made her worried. Surgery. Approaching soon. Fifty thousand euros. Without the money, her mother would not get better.

Luna pocket can't afford that, not even fifty thousand euros. She did not have five thousand. She had two hundred euros in her account, a bag of old clothes, and a degree in petroleum engineering that she had worked so hard for that had almost broken her into pieces. 

But today, she had a chance. An interview at Black Energy, one of the biggest energy companies in France. A junior engineer job. If she got it, everything in her life could change. She could pay the hospital bills. She could keep the small room in Montmartre. She could breathe again.

She stood in front of the small mirror in her room, trying to look like someone who's wealthy. She was twenty-four, thin from skipping meals, with dark hair she had tied back quickly and eyes that looked tired and stressed. Her white blouse was old but clean. She had ironed it the night before. Her black trousers were the only good ones she owned. Her shoes were worn, but she had polished them.

"Just stay calm," she told herself. "Answer well. Do not be late."

She left her room and walked down the tight stairs. The bakery was already warm and very busy. Maya was behind the counter, smiling and shouting at the same time. Aisha was putting trays of croissants into the oven.

"You look pretty," Maya said when she saw Luna. "You look like a boss."

Luna tried to smile. "I feel like I am going to faint."

"You will not," Aisha said. "You are one of the smartest people I know. Go and show them what you got."

Luna thanked them, took a small bag with her folder inside, and ran to the metro.

The train to La Défense was already filled up. People stood close together, looking at their phones, holding coffee, holding bags, and so many other things. Luna held her folder tight to her chest so it would not get crushed. Inside the folder was her CV, her university results, and a short summary of her final project about oil pressure. She had written that many times. She knew it by heart.

When she came out of the station, the wind hit her face so hard. La Défense was not like Montmartre. In Montmartre, the streets were small and old, and the bakery smelled like butter. In La Défense, everything was made of glass and steel and tall. The buildings were so high Luna had to tilt her head back to see the tops. People walked very fast, wearing dark suits, holding leather bags, and heading to their various destinations.

Black Energy stood in the middle of it all, shining and cold. Luna took a deep breath and walked straight in.

Inside, the floor was white marble. It was so quiet that Luna could hear her own shoes. The air smelled of flowers and cleaning spray. A young woman sat behind a big desk. She did not smile at all. 

"Name?" she asked, without looking up.

"Luna Alex," Luna said. "I have an interview at ten. For a junior engineer."

The woman typed something. "Conference 21B. Take the lift on the right hand side. Do not go to the top floor."

"Thank you," Luna said.

Luna walked towards the lift. She was early. She was proud of that. She was going over her answers in her mind. What is your strength? I am working very hard. What is your project? It is about pressure in deep wells. Why do you want this job? Because I love engineering.

She was so busy thinking that she did not see the man walking towards her from the coffee shop inside the building.

She did not see him until it was too late.

He turned, she stepped forward, and the cup in his hands spilled. 

Hot coffee went everywhere. It went on Luna's blouse. It went on her folder. It went on her hands. It burned.

"Oh!" Luna cried out and stepped back.

The man did not say sorry. He looked at his empty cup, then at Luna, as if Luna had done something wrong. He was tall, with dark hair and grey eyes that looked like snow. His suit was black and perfectly ok, his tie straight. He looked like he had never made a mistake in his entire life.

"Watch where you are going," he said rudely. "That was a seven euro coffee."

Luna looked down. Her white blouse was now brown and messy.  Her folder was wet. Her CV was wet. She could feel her eyes filling with tears, but she pushed them back.

"That was my interview," she said, her voice shaking. "That was my only good blouse."

"If you cannot walk in a lobby," he said, "how will you walk on an oil rig?"

Luna wanted to leave, but she tried to stay polite. She was tired and scared, and her mother was in the hospital. His words were too much.

"I can walk on an oil rig," she said. "Can you walk past a person without being rude? A sorry is free. It cost nothing."

Something changed in his eyes for one second. Surprise, maybe. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it out.

"Clean yourself up," he said. "We do not hire people who look like a baker."

He turned and walked away, his shoes making no sound. Luna stood alone, wet and furious, with people staring at her.

She wiped her blouse with the handkerchief, but it did not help. The stain was there. She opened her folder. The papers were moist, but she could still read them. She took a deep breath.

"I have to go," she whispered to herself. "For Mama."

She went to the lift and pressed the button for floor twenty-one.

The meeting room was all glass. A long table, five chairs, four people waiting. Three men in suits and one woman with a tablet. And at the head of the table was the same man from the lobby. He was sitting like he owned the room and every other thing around him. He was looking at her.

Luna stopped at the door. She was panting.

"You," she said.

"You," he said, and he did not smile. "Miss Alex. Please have a seat."

The name plate on the table said it clearly: Jack Poker Black, CEO, Black Energy.

Luna sat down. Her hands were cold. She put her folder on the table, trying to hide the stain.

The woman asked her questions first. About her studies. Luna answered well. She spoke about pressure, about wells, about her project. Her voice became stronger again. The men nodded.

Then Jack leaned forward. He looked at her file, then at her blouse.

"You were first in your class at university, yes?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Luna said.

"And now you work in a bakery?"

Luna felt her face go hot. "I have to pay my bills, sir. My mother is sick. I work to help her."

"Then your degree is useless," Jack said, his voice flat. "If you were truly good, you would not be selling bread at all. We need engineers who solve problems, not people who collect problems."

The room was silent. The woman looked down. One of the men coughed.

Luna heard her father's voice in her head. He had left when she was eleven. He had said her mother was too much trouble. She had promised herself she would never let a man speak to her like that again.

She stood up. Her chair made a very loud sound.

"You do not know what pressure is, Mr. Black," she said, and her voice was clear even though it shook. "Pressure is not in your office. Pressure is watching your mother in a hospital bed and being told you need fifty thousand euros you do not have. Pressure is having two jobs and still being first in your class. Pressure is coming here with a stain on your blouse because it is the only blouse you have, and still knowing you are better than half the people in this room."

She picked up her folder.

"I did not come here for you to save me. I came here because I am good at my job. But you cannot see that if it is not wearing a rich suit.”

She put his handkerchief on the table. "Thanks  for the coffee."

Then she stepped out. She did not run. She walked to the lift, pressed the button, and when the doors closed, she let out a long breath. Her hands were shaking.

Downstairs, the wind was still cold. Her phone rang in her pocket.

It was the hospital. Her mother's condition was getting worse. She needed to call them now.

Then here comes another message. The bakery. They were cutting her shift for tonight. No work, no pay.

Luna stood in the middle of La Défense, with a stained blouse, a wet folder, no job, and a mother who needed help. People walked past her, fast and busy, as if she never existed.

She thought of Jack's words. We need engineers who solve problems.

"Fine," she said quietly, to herself. "I will solve this myself."

She did not know that on the top floor, in the big office with the view of Paris, Jack Black was still sitting at the table. He was looking at the empty chair where she had been sitting. The handkerchief was still there, wet with coffee stains.

The HR woman was speaking to him about the next candidate, but he was thinking of something else.

On his desk was a letter from the board. It was urgent. The company had a big deal with Saudi Arabia, worth two billion dollars. But the board said he was too upset, too unstable since his break-up with Camille DuPont. They said he needed to look fit, calm, and happy. If he did not, he would lose the deal. He had seven days.

Jack had spent his life trusting no one. His father had taught him, on his death bed, that women who needed a man could not be trusted. His father had said, Never trust a woman who needs you.

But Luna Ray had not asked him for money. She had not asked him for help. She had asked him for an apology, and she had asked him to respect her work. And then she walked away from him as if he meant nothing.

Jack did not know why he was thinking of Luna. He did not chase women. He did not need anyone.

But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to know the name of a woman who had told him the truth to his face.

And Luna, walking to the metro with coffee on her blouse and tears she would not let fall, had no idea that the man who had ruined her morning was about to change her whole life.