His Ring Her Rules

To begin with, no one appears laid-back wearing a blazer with the price tag still inside the sleeve.

Standing outside Blackwood Enterprises, dressed as though I were in a montage of a romantic comedy job interview, I tried to breathe normally. The bathroom across the street had my hair slicked back in a bun that I'd redo three times. Lipstick smudged a little. I clutched a folder to my chest as if it contained the results of a prenatal appointment rather than a real resume.

"All right, Grace," I whispered to myself. "You are an adult with maturity. You're not here to stir up trouble. You're here to warn a responsible billionaire about the tiny human being you're developing. That's all."

I entered the lobby as if I were the owner.

got sidetracked by the sheer volume of marble right away. And the odor. like clean money and cedarwood.

I got a quick once-over from the receptionist, a woman in her late 20s with cheekbones sharper than my ex's apologies.

"Are you scheduled to do anything?"

"Yes," I lied with ease. "Alongside Mr. Blackwood."

"Are you, too?"

"Grace." After a moment of hesitation, I said, "Grace Carter." It's intimate.

"Oh, one of those," she said with a slight lift of her eyebrows, but she nodded and took up the phone. Anxiety was the only thing accompanying me as I was led up in a private elevator two minutes later, with mirrored walls.

The doors opened into an office suite with glass walls that resembled a "Modern Power" Pinterest board.

And there he was.

Ethan Blackwood.

Wearing a gray suit that most likely cost more than my rent for a year, he was sitting behind a desk, reading something on his laptop. His hair was tangled as if he had just raked a hand through it in exasperation, and his tie was a little loose.

The assistant cleared her throat, and he looked up.

" Miss Grace Carter. claims that it is a private matter.

His gaze locked with mine.

Then—

Nothing at all.

Not even a glimmer of recognition.

Not a single twitch.

With the same courteous stoicism he might save for a door-to-door salesman of solar panels, he got to his feet.

He said calmly, "Miss Carter." "How may I assist you?"

I blinked. Hold on—what?

It was all I could do not to scream. Are you serious now? like a scandalous scene from a soap opera in that slick office.

"I... I said, my voice trembling a little, "I just thought we should talk." "A few weeks ago, we met."

He cocked his head. "Miss Carter, I meet a lot of people."

Aww.

Was he pretending not to know me?

Was this a power move by the CEO?

Or did he really forget the woman he had taken to bed, the one who was now expecting his child?

Rule #6: A man who asks, "Have we met?" while staring you in the eyes is actually saying, "This is going to be complicated."

I tightened my hold on the folder and forced a smile.

"All right," I replied. "Obviously. I made a mistake.

"Should you be escorted out by security?"

Something snapped in me at that.

"No," I said, my voice cold. "Don't be concerned. I'll take care of myself.

I turned on my heel and walked back toward the elevator, my dignity trailing behind me in designer heels that were starting to pinch.

expecting a child.

dismissed.

And completely incensed.

I wasn't finished with Mr. Blackwood, though.

By no means.