Fake Dating The Billionaire Boss

Ice king

Liam’s POV

The morning air in the city was crisp, sharp enough to wake the senses, but it did nothing to temper the storm brewing inside me. My office, perched high above the streets, was supposed to be a sanctuary — a place of control, precision, and order. Yet even here, in my glass tower, I felt the ripple of panic spreading like a virus.

“Morning, Mr. Blackwell,” Greg said, falling into step behind me as I strode into the office. His expression carried that familiar mix of hesitation and urgency. “We have… a problem.”

I didn’t slow my stride. “Define problem.”

He swallowed. “Page Six. Half the financial press is already running with it. They’re calling you…” He glanced at the tablet in his hand. “…the Ice King again. Emotionless. Cold. Incapable of connecting with anyone — professionally or personally.”

I slowed, irritation flaring. “They think I’m cold. Big deal. I don’t need the press to understand me. I need them to invest.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Which is exactly the problem. Whitestone Capital is reconsidering the merger. They said your ‘personal warmth’ doesn’t exactly match their corporate values. Their CEO… she’s big on family and philanthropy, and apparently thinks you’re not the type to understand relationships.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, heart rate accelerating despite my efforts to remain calm. “So the headline is that a billionaire CEO who built his empire on discipline and strategy is… too ruthless to love?”

“Exactly,” Greg said. “And they’ve got a photo to prove it — you at the gala last night, apparently brushing someone off. Tabloid quality, of course. But the damage is done.”

I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the empire pressing down. Precision, control, discipline — the three things that had carried me to the top — suddenly felt like weaknesses in a world obsessed with optics.

Greg shifted uncomfortably. “Look, it’s been suggested — I mean, it’s a radical approach — but some sort of ‘humanizing’ PR. A girlfriend, perhaps. Someone public, discreet, believable. It would show you’re capable of… more than business acumen.”

I froze mid-thought. A girlfriend? Public? Me? The idea was absurd, manipulative, but… effective. In business, perception is everything. Control it, and you control outcomes. Lose it, and the empire trembles.

“List potential candidates,” I said, voice steady despite the churn in my stomach. “Discreet. Reliable. No one with a thirst for headlines.”

Greg hesitated. “There is someone — actually. She’s already in your orbit.” He nodded subtly toward the direction of the assistant’s desks. “Sadie. Your executive assistant. Quiet. Brilliant. Doesn’t seek attention. Keeps herself invisible. She’s perfect if she’s willing.”

I didn’t respond immediately, eyes narrowing at the thought. Sadie Reed. Always there, diligent, silent, competent. She handled every chaos I threw her way without complaint, without wavering. She had a quiet strength that I’d begun noticing in small, inconvenient ways — the way she held herself even under pressure, the sharp intelligence behind her careful words, the fire that sometimes sparked when she disagreed with me.

And she had her own struggle, I knew. I’d noticed the subtle signs: hospital appointments she didn’t take time off for, late nights she didn’t log overtime for, her carefully guarded tension. She had someone relying on her — a sister, if the rumors were correct — and it wasn’t hard to imagine the stakes.

I leaned back, steepling my fingers, the cogs in my mind turning. It was perfect. She needed something I could offer — financial security, stability, and the ability to save her sister’s treatments. In exchange, she could play the role I needed her to.

The thought made me uneasy. Not because of the business arrangement, but because she was… undeniably magnetic. Disarming. And the very idea of controlling that proximity — of orchestrating a partnership with her — sparked something that had nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with desire.

I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling, then opened them to the city skyline. Cold, ruthless, unfeeling. That was who I was — and yet, for the first time in a long time, I felt the thrill of a risk that wasn’t strictly financial.

Greg cleared his throat. “Should I… draft a proposal?”

“Yes,” I said. “But don’t call it that. Make it sound like a professional opportunity. She can’t feel trapped — she must believe it’s mutually beneficial. You understand?”

Greg nodded. “Of course. And the timing?”

I thought of the calendar — the gala, the board meetings, the press events. “Immediately. The sooner she agrees, the sooner we can control the narrative. Every day that passes without a solution makes the risk worse.”

I walked toward the window, hands behind my back, feeling the city stretch endlessly below. The sun was rising, golden light spilling across the skyscrapers, reflecting my own carefully constructed empire. Yet the idea of letting someone so young, so human, into this world — even for appearances — was dangerous.

But risk is opportunity. I lived by that creed.

“And one more thing,” I said, turning sharply. “She must keep this professional. Nothing else. Understand?”

Greg didn’t need to ask what I meant. He’d worked with me long enough to know the rules. No attachments. No distractions. No complications. That was the deal.

As he left, I stayed at the window, thoughts wandering back to Sadie. I remembered the way she had looked at me yesterday — tired, yet defiant. The faint spark in her eyes that I’d caught, fleeting but impossible to ignore.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss it. Professionalism. Control. Boundaries. That was all that mattered.

And yet, even as I forced my mind back to spreadsheets, mergers, and press statements, I knew one thing: she was perfect for the role. And the idea of seeing her in my world, of orchestrating a partnership where we both needed each other… made the sharp edge of my pulse tick faster than I liked.

Because this wasn’t just about PR. Or business. Or controlling perception.

It was about her.

And though I wouldn’t admit it — not to Greg, not to anyone — I already felt the pull of a line I didn’t intend to cross.

The line between control and chaos. Between professional and… personal.

And the longer I watched her from my office — quiet, capable, unassuming — the more impossible it seemed to maintain that line.

The idea of speaking to her directly, of presenting her with this plan, was both thrilling and dangerous. I would offer her something she couldn’t refuse — security for her sister, stability for herself. And in exchange, I would get the illusion I needed to protect my empire.

But I didn’t anticipate the effect it would have on me.

Already, the thought of seeing her hesitate, of hearing her voice, of feeling her presence in my office — it made the calculated, cold version of me shiver in ways I wasn’t prepared to admit.

The office phone buzzed, breaking my reverie. Another reminder that the world outside my tower didn’t stop for my thoughts, my plans, or my distractions. I answered, handled the call with practiced precision, and hung up, masking any trace of the storm inside.

Discipline. Control. Ruthlessness. That’s who I was.

And yet, as I looked toward her desk through the frosted glass, I knew one truth: this arrangement would change everything. For her. For me. And perhaps, dangerously, for both of us.

Because some lines — once crossed — couldn’t be uncrossed.

And some desires — once ignited — couldn’t be controlled.