The Billionaire's S*bmissive

Emma Stone clutched her notebook tightly against her chest, the crisp autumn air biting at her cheeks as she walked down the bustling New York City street. The Blackwood Enterprises headquarters loomed ahead, a towering monolith of steel and glass that seemed to pierce the heavens. Her stomach churned with nerves. This is it, she thought, the interview of a lifetime. Don’t mess it up.

She had spent the entire morning rehearsing her questions, smoothing her brown hair into what she hoped was a professional cascade over her shoulders, and adjusting her blazer to look polished yet approachable. But no amount of preparation could quell the jitters. Nathan Blackwood wasn’t just any interviewee—he was a legend. At only 28, he had revolutionized the financial world, turning his family’s modest fortune into an empire. And now, here she was, a lowly literature student at NYU, about to step into his world.

Emma pushed through the revolving doors and into the lobby, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The air smelled like money—crisp, sterile, and slightly intimidating. She approached the reception desk, where a woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a polished smile greeted her.

“Emma Stone, here for an interview with Mr. Blackwood,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

The woman nodded, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. “Of course. Take the elevator to the 42nd floor. Someone will escort you to his office.”

Emma thanked her and headed for the elevator, her heart pounding in her chest. When the doors slid open on the 42nd floor, she was greeted by a man in a tailored suit who gave her a curt nod. “This way, Ms. Stone.”

He led her down a corridor lined with abstract art and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Finally, they stopped in front of a pair of imposing double doors. The man opened one and gestured for her to enter.

The office was unlike anything Emma had ever seen. It was vast, with sleek, modern furniture and walls adorned with sleek, minimalist art. But what caught her attention was the man standing by the window, his back to her. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit, his posture radiating power and confidence. Emma’s breath caught in her throat.

“Mr. Blackwood,” the man announced, “Ms. Emma Stone is here for her interview.”

Nathan Blackwood turned slowly, his piercing gray eyes locking onto hers. Emma felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. God, he’s even more striking in person. His features were sharp, his jawline chiseled, and his gaze intense, almost unnervingly so. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

“Thank you, James,” Nathan said, his voice deep and smooth. “You can leave us.”

The man nodded and exited, closing the door behind him. Nathan gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat, Ms. Stone.”

Emma nodded, her legs feeling like jelly as she walked over and sat down. She fumbled with her notebook, her hands trembling slightly. “Thank you for agreeing to this interview, Mr. Blackwood. I know your time is valuable.”

He smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he took his seat across from her. “I’m always interested in speaking with ambitious young people. Especially those who dare to knock on my door.”

Emma flushed, feeling both flattered and exposed under his scrutiny. She cleared her throat and opened her notebook, flipping to the page where she had written her questions. “So, your rise in the financial world has been nothing short of meteoric. What do you attribute your success to?”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving hers. “A combination of luck, timing, and a relentless drive to win,” he said, his tone casual yet confident. “But I’ve always believed that true success comes from taking risks. Playing it safe never gets you anywhere.”

Emma nodded, scribbling down his response. Keep it professional, she reminded herself. “And what about innovation? How do you stay ahead in such a competitive industry?”

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “By surrounding myself with people who challenge me. People who aren’t afraid to speak their minds, even when it’s uncomfortable.” He paused, his gaze intensifying. “People like you, Ms. Stone.”

Emma blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You walked into this office, nervous but determined. That’s the kind of energy I respect. It’s rare.”

Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked down at her notebook, trying to regain her composure. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Nathan,” he corrected, his voice softening. “You can call me Nathan.”

She glanced up, her heart racing. “Nathan,” she repeated, the name feeling foreign yet strangely intimate on her tongue.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur. Emma asked her questions, and Nathan answered them, but there was an undercurrent of tension between them that she couldn’t quite place. His responses were thoughtful, but his gaze lingered on her in a way that made her feel both flustered and exhilarated. Every now and then, he would say something that bordered on flirtatious, his tone teasing yet ambiguous. It threw her off balance, making it hard to focus.

Finally, she closed her notebook and stood, extending her hand. “Thank you so much for your time, Nathan. This has been… enlightening.”

He stood as well, his hand enveloping hers in a firm grip. “The pleasure was mine, Ms. Stone. I look forward to seeing what you do with this.”

As she turned to leave, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card, handing it to her. “If you ever want to continue our conversation, don’t hesitate to call.”

Emma took the card, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. A shiver ran down her spine. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She walked out of the office, her mind racing. The encounter had been overwhelming, exhilarating, and utterly confusing. Nathan Blackwood was unlike anyone she had ever met—charismatic, magnetic, and just a little dangerous. As she stepped into the elevator, she glanced down at the card in her hand. His name was embossed in bold letters, along with his personal number.

I’ll see you again, Ms. Stone. His words echoed in her mind, sending a thrill through her.

The elevator doors closed, and Emma leaned against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. What just happened? she wondered, her heart still pounding. Whatever it was, she had a feeling her life was about to get a lot more complicated.

Emma sat on the edge of her bed, the sleek black business card twirling between her fingers. Nathan’s name gleamed under the soft light of her desk lamp, and she couldn’t help but replay their encounter in her mind. His piercing gray eyes, the way he leaned in just slightly when he spoke, the way his voice dropped to a low, almost conspiratorial tone when he said, “I’ll see you again, Ms. Stone.” It was intoxicating. Confusing. What does he even want from me? she wondered, her heart racing at the thought.

She glanced at her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. Should she text him? Call him? Or was this just some game he was playing, a way to keep her off balance? Emma wasn’t sure, but the pull she felt was undeniable. She typed his number into her contacts, her fingers trembling slightly as she saved it under Nathan Blackwood. Just seeing his name there sent a shiver down her spine.

The next morning, Emma woke to the sound of her alarm blaring. She groaned, slapping at the snooze button. Her dreams had been a swirl of Nathan’s voice, his gaze, his hands—warm and firm—on her skin. She stretched, her body still tingling with the remnants of the dream. Get a grip, Emma, she scolded herself as she climbed out of bed. He’s just a man. A powerful, ridiculously attractive man, but still just a man.

She dressed carefully: a tailored blouse, a knee-length skirt, and heels that clicked confidently as she walked. She had a class to attend, but her mind was elsewhere. Nathan’s words still echoed in her head, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen—something that would change everything.

After class, Emma found herself wandering aimlessly through the streets of Manhattan. The city buzzed around her, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Nathan, to the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. She felt a pull, like a magnet drawing her closer, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of the Blackwood Enterprises building again.

Her heart raced as she stepped inside, the cool air of the lobby washing over her. She approached the receptionist, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m here to see Nathan Blackwood,” she said, her tone firm. The receptionist raised an eyebrow but nodded, picking up the phone.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and James stepped out. He was tall, with a sleek, athletic build that his tailored suit accentuated perfectly. His dark eyes met hers, and he gave her a polite smile. “Ms. Stone,” he said, his voice smooth. “Mr. Blackwood is expecting you.”

Emma’s breath hitched. Expecting me? She hadn’t even called or texted. How did he know she would come? She followed James into the elevator, her nerves on high alert. As the doors closed, she glanced at him. “So, James,” she said, trying to sound casual. “What exactly does Mr. Blackwood do?”

James smirked, a hint of something—amusement? intrigue?—in his eyes. “Whatever he wants,” he replied simply. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal Nathan’s office. James gestured for her to step out, and Emma hesitated for a moment before walking in.

Nathan was standing by the window, his back to her. He turned slowly, his gray eyes locking onto hers. “Emma,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I knew you’d come.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made her knees weak. “Because I felt it too,” he said, stepping closer. “That pull. That spark. You felt it, didn’t you?”

Emma swallowed hard, her mind racing. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, but her body betrayed her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the faint scent of his cologne—earthy, masculine, intoxicating.