His Ring Her Rules

Grace Carter

Ethan Blackwood was having a different kind of morning, one that I imagine involved more yelling and less herbal infusion, while I was drinking lukewarm peppermint tea and watching my life become a meme on the internet.

I won't be aware of all the specifics until later, but when corporate gossip vultures begin to circle, word gets around quickly. Additionally, it seemed that Ethan's impeccable Blackwood reputation had suffered. A hit that is pregnant. A scandal-flavored hit driven by tabloids.

What about his board of directors? Not pleased.

Ethan

I should have realized that the paparazzi wouldn't miss a woman who looked scorned and suspiciously round in the middle as she stormed out of my building. The Internet believes I fathered an heir between stockholder meetings based on one fucking picture.

What about the board? At precisely 7:00 a.m., they convened an emergency meeting. Because nothing says crisis like a group of men in Italian suits who are worried about dividends and their reputation.

My jaw was clenched and my fists were clenched behind my back as I stood at the head of the Blackwood Enterprises conference table.

I was stared at by a dozen hard eyes.

Mr. Barron, the gray-haired chairman who was more patient with statistics than gibberish, boomed, "Ethan, is there any truth to this tabloid?"

"No." I spoke in a sharp tone. managed. A falsehood.

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "The woman isn't pregnant, then?"

"She is," I said in a flat voice.

The room was filled with murmurs.

"But you don't own it?"

I paused.

The first rule of corporate damage control is to remain silent until your legal team gives the all-clear.

At last, I revealed, "It's... complicated."

Leaning forward was another board member. Overnight, Blackwood's stock fell three points. This is no longer a private matter. It's a business issue.

Fantastic. Now my whole life was a liability.

"Take care of it," Barron said. "Today, we must make a statement. Additionally, we must address any potential paternity claim risks before they spread.

I could feel their judgment and the weight of their looks. Not because they were concerned about the infant—no, infants were human and messy. However, headlines? Markets were influenced by headlines.

I said calmly, "I'll take care of it."

I meant it, too.

Back to me—Grace Carter.

A very courteous but extremely anxious woman named Olivia, who reportedly handled PR for Blackwood Enterprises, called me while I was halfway through a cookie.

She started by saying, "Miss Carter, Mr. Blackwood wants to talk to you. in private. Ideally, today.

"Is he still acting as though I don't exist?"

A long silence.

"No, ma'am. He is now acutely aware of your presence.

I gave a snort. The next time, tell him to come by himself. Billionaire middlemen are not what I do.

She paused. "He's ready to provide—"

I interrupted her. "Avoid using the word'settlement.'" There is no scandal here. It's a pregnancy. Furthermore, I'm not a walking PR disaster.

"Obviously not," she uttered hastily. However, a photo op could be useful. reduce rumors in the public domain.

A chance to take pictures.

Oh, I see. I was supposed to smile for the cameras now?

Without saying another word, I hung up.

Ethan Blackwood could begin by expressing regret if he wanted to repair the harm. To me. similar to a man.

Because there was life in this "scandal." A small one. And a press release wasn't enough for it.

Rule #8: If a man only shows up when his stock drops, he's not a partner,he's a brand manager in disguise.

I wasn't selling, either.