Swipe Right On The Cold Billionaire

1 Before I was summoned into the lion's den—otherwise known as the new CEO's office—I sent a quick text to the guy I'd been seeing online for the last three months. Sutton: Ash, pray for me. I'm heading into the Reaper's office. If I don't make it out, tell my cat I love her. I took a sharp breath, clutched my folder to my chest, and knocked. "Come in," a voice called out. It was a clipped, cool baritone that sounded like it had been pulled straight from a deep-freeze. I pushed the door open. Ethan Blackwood was sitting behind a slab of polished mahogany, looking every bit the man who had earned his nickname. In the four weeks since he'd taken over, he'd sent three departments into mandatory overtime and reduced two senior managers to visible tremors. To the rest of the office, he was "The Reaper." To me, he was the man who had rejected my marketing proposal four times in seven days. Every night, I'd go home to my apartment, pour a glass of wine, and vent to Ash. Ash: You're the best at what you do, Sutton. He's just blind. I'll talk some sense into him for you (in spirit). Thinking of Ash's digital warmth gave me the courage to stand my ground. Ethan didn't even look up as he flipped to the final page of my latest draft. His brow furrowed, a sharp V appearing between his eyes. "Sutton, do you operate under the delusion that our clients have infinite budgets to waste on 'vibes'?" I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice level. "Mr. Blackwood, I've run the cost-benefit analysis. The engagement metrics—" He slid the file back across the desk with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Numbers aren't just decorations. Do it again. I want a viable version on my desk by three." Just then, his phone chimed on the desk. He glanced down, and for a split second, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The icy mask didn't just crack; it melted. A ghost of a smile touched his lips—a look so soft it felt like I was trespassing on something private. His fingers tapped out a quick response. A second later, the phone in my pocket buzzed against my thigh. My heart did a slow, agonizing roll in my chest. No way. I pulled my phone out with mechanical slowness. Ash had replied. Ash: Don't be scared. Ash: Just pretend he's a giant head of cabbage. A very expensive, very grumpy cabbage. Ash: If he's mean to you, I'm putting him on my list. I stared at those three lines, my palms beginning to sweat. The silence in the office was deafening. "Sutton," Ethan's voice snapped me back to reality. I jumped. "Yes?" He was looking at my hand, his expression back to its usual state of glacial indifference. "Is there a reason your phone isn't on silent during a briefing?" My throat felt like it was full of cotton. "Sorry. My mistake." He closed his laptop. "Go. Fix the proposal. Three o'clock." I grabbed the folder and practically floated out of the office. The moment the door clicked shut, I leaned against the hallway wall, trying to remember how to breathe. My phone buzzed again. Ash: You out yet? Did the bastard give you a hard time? I stared at the words "the bastard," then thought of the way Ethan's face had transformed when he looked at his screen. The world felt suddenly, violently absurd. The man I was falling for—the sweet, supportive guy who sent me "good morning" texts—was the same man who made my professional life a living hell. At lunch, I couldn't even manage to swallow my soup. My best friend, Riley, tapped her spoon against my tray. "Earth to Sutton. What did the Reaper do now? Did he make you cry? Because I have a cousin who's a lawyer, and we can definitely look into a hostile work environment suit." I shook my head, then nodded, then stopped. "What is that supposed to mean?" Riley asked, frowning. "I think I've discovered something terrifying," I whispered. I couldn't bring myself to tell her. Not yet. If I was wrong, I was crazy. If I was right... I was in a Greek tragedy. I needed proof. Before lunch ended, I messaged Ash. Sutton: Ash, let's meet. Today. He replied almost instantly. Ash: Really? You're not teasing me again, are you? I checked the time. Sutton: 3:00 PM. North End Books, the coffee nook on the third floor. The bookstore was across the city. On a Friday afternoon, it was at least a forty-minute drive through Seattle traffic. Ash was silent for ten seconds. Then: Ash: I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world. My heart hammered against my ribs. At 1:40 PM, a notification popped up on the company Slack. Internal Admin: The 3:00 PM project review has been postponed. New time TBD. The office erupted into hushed gossip. "Ethan canceling a meeting?" Riley whispered, leaning over her cubicle. "Is the world ending? He hates last-minute changes." I didn't say a word. I just watched the executive suite. At 1:55 PM, the glass doors swung open. Ethan stepped out, his charcoal blazer over his arm, moving with a hurried grace I'd never seen before. His assistant trailed after him, frantic. "Sir, you have a 4:00 PM Zoom with the London office." "Cancel it," Ethan said without looking back. I stood by the breakroom door, watching the elevator doors seal him away. "Unbelievable," Riley muttered. "The Reaper actually has somewhere to be." "Emergency, probably," I lied, my voice thin. At 2:20 PM, I sent the bait. Sutton: I'm so sorry. I can't make it. He replied before I could even lock my screen. Ash: What happened? Is everything okay? I closed my eyes, leaning into the role. Sutton: The Reaper. He's making me stay late to finish the proposal. He said it has to be done today or else. I'm stuck here. The silence from his end lasted longer this time. Then, a string of messages lit up my phone. Ash: Is he serious? Ash: What kind of sociopath does that on a Friday? Ash: Karma is going to find that man, Sutton. I promise you. I stared at the screen, my emotions a tangled mess of hysteria and heartbreak. The elevator pinged at 2:50 PM. Ethan was back. He looked darker than when he'd left. His tie was loosened, his hair slightly mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it, and he was gripping his car keys so hard his knuckles were white. The entire office went silent. As he walked past my desk, he paused. I kept my head down, typing gibberish into my spreadsheet. He lingered for two beats—I could feel the heat radiating off him—and then he went into his office. He didn't slam the door, but the way it clicked shut felt like a muffled explosion. My phone vibrated. Ash: I'm back home. I'm so angry for you I can't even sit still. Ash: Your boss isn't a human being. He's a machine designed to ruin joy. I looked at the screen, then at the frosted glass of his office door. Fine, I thought. Game on. The 3:00 PM meeting was rescheduled for 4:30 PM. Ethan sat at the head of the conference table, his face a mask of stone as I went through the deck. When I reached the third slide, he interrupted. "Why is this structure still the same? We discussed this." I took a breath. "I felt the logic held up, Mr. Blackwood." He looked up, his eyes piercing. "You 'felt'?" The air in the room curdled. My manager looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. "I'll make the adjustments," I said, biting back the urge to scream. He flipped through the rest of the pages. "The budget needs a total rework. The branding is too loud. The core message is buried." Every critique was a needle. In any other world, I would have been cursing him in my head. But today, I just watched his cold, handsome face and thought of his text: *Your boss isn't a human being.* I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat. I couldn't help it; a small smile quirked at the corner of my mouth. Ethan noticed. His brow darkened. "Is something about this budget funny to you, Sutton?" I looked down. "No, sir. Not at all." "I want the revised direction on my desk before you leave tonight," he said, his voice dropping an octave. After the meeting, I went back to my desk and sent Ash a message. Sutton: Ash, I just noticed something. My boss is wearing this charcoal suit today... he actually looks really good in it. The reply was instantaneous. Ash: Good? It's a suit, Sutton. They all look the same. Ash: Don't let a tailored jacket distract you from the fact that he's a corporate vampire. I suppressed a grin. Sutton: I don't know. He's got great shoulders. And his eyes are actually pretty when he's not trying to fire everyone. Ash went nuclear. Ash: Pretty? Sutton, wake up. Ash: A guy like that? He's clearly miserable. He's probably the kind of guy who's terrible in a relationship. No empathy. Avoid him. I looked through the glass. Ethan was sitting at his desk, staring at his phone, his face looking like he was presiding over a funeral. I felt a strange, twisted sense of power. At 7:00 PM, I emailed him the revisions. Ten minutes later, he replied. Ethan Blackwood: Still issues. I'll send you a marked-up version tomorrow morning. I sighed. At the same time, Ash messaged me. Ash: Still at work? Sutton: Yeah. The bastard is making me rewrite the whole thing. He was quiet for a long time. Ash: I'm sorry, Sutton. You deserve better. Get home safe. Text me when you're through the door. That didn't sound like Ash, the trash-talker. That sounded like Ethan. The next morning, the marked-up file was in my inbox. I opened it, ready to be annoyed, but as I scrolled, the annoyance died. He hadn't just pointed out flaws. He'd left detailed notes. Why the costs needed to stay low, what the client was actually afraid of, how to lead with the narrative rather than the data. He'd even restructured two of the slides for me, and they were brilliant—far better than my original. I stared at the screen. Riley leaned over. "Is he tearing you a new one again?" "No," I said softly. "He actually... he fixed it." "He what? Is he sick?" I didn't answer. At 10:00 AM, I took the final version into his office. Ethan was leaning back in his chair, a half-empty cup of cold coffee next to him. He looked like he hadn't slept. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and his tie was looser than usual. I set the file down. "The final version, Mr. Blackwood." He flipped through a few pages. He didn't find a single mistake. I turned to leave, but he spoke. "Sutton." I stopped. "Yes?" He toyed with the edge of the folder, appearing to choose his words carefully. "If a woman... if she keeps avoiding a first meeting, does that usually mean she's losing interest?" My heart stopped. The office went silent. Who was he asking about? Me? Had I been made? Ethan looked at me when I didn't answer. "Too personal of a question?" "No," I said, my voice sounding far away. "Not necessarily. Maybe she's just... nervous. Or maybe she's afraid that the reality won't live up to the fantasy." Ethan looked down. "I see." He looked like he wanted to ask more, but then the mask snapped back into place. "That's all. Go." From that day on, I became an observer of the dual life of Ethan Blackwood. By day, he was the Reaper. He'd catch a typo from across the room. He'd ask a junior analyst a question about a data set, and when they stammered, he'd say, "Are you here to contribute, or are you just taking up space?" The room would drop ten degrees. By night, he was Ash. Ash: Did you eat today, Sutton? Ash: Is your boss still being a prick? Ash: If it gets too much, just quit. I'll help you find something else. Don't let him break you. It was a total disconnect. Especially when he was systematically insulting himself. Ash: He sounds like a classic workaholic. Probably doesn't have a girlfriend. If he did, she'd leave him in a week. I'd stare through the glass at Ethan—calm, controlled, solitary—and reply with a single word. Sutton: Yeah. But the more I knew, the more I was afraid to meet him. If he found out I was Sutton, the girl who called him a "dog-brained tyrant" in our chats, I was dead. Ash was getting restless, though. Ash: Sutton, when? Ash: I promise, no pressure. You can even stand fifty feet away and just look at me first if you want. I kept stalling. Sutton: Busy with the project. After the launch. He sent a sticker of a sad puppy. My heart melted. Then, a few days later, a woman showed up at the executive suite. "Ethan!" she chirped. I froze. Half the office looked up. She was young, beautiful, wearing a designer sundress, and carrying a boutique gift bag. Ethan stepped out of his office. He didn't just smile; he looked genuinely happy to see her. "You didn't have to come all the way down here," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "Mom insisted I bring you lunch," she said, leaning in close. "And you know I can't say no to her." I sat at my desk, my chest tightening. Riley whispered, "Who's that? The girlfriend?" I didn't answer. I felt like I was choking. My phone buzzed. Ash: Did you get a lunch break, Sutton? I looked at the message, then at the girl laughing with Ethan at his door. I felt like the punchline of a very long, very cruel joke. I didn't reply. Thirty minutes later: Ash: Hey? You okay? I stared at his avatar for a long moment. Then, with a shaking thumb, I hit Block. Silence. Finally. The afternoon meeting was a disaster, but not for the usual reasons. It was the final presentation for our biggest client. The room was packed. Ethan was at the head of the table. He was a professional, as always. But right before we started, I saw that girl again. She was coming out of his office, holding his blazer. She looked like she belonged there. Something in me just... snapped. Halfway through my presentation, Ethan opened his mouth. "Sutton, on this slide—" "You know what, Mr. Blackwood?" I cut him off, closing my laptop with a definitive thud. "If you're unhappy with my work, just say it. You don't have to undermine me in every single meeting. I clearly don't meet your 'exacting' standards, so maybe I shouldn't be on this project at all." The silence was absolute. My manager turned ghost-white. Ethan looked stunned. "Sutton, I—" "I'm done," I said. I grabbed my laptop and walked out. I went straight to my desk, my hands shaking. Ten minutes later, Riley came running over. "Sutton! What was that? Ethan wasn't going to criticize you. He told the director this morning that your proposal was the gold standard. He was going to use you as the example for the whole firm!" I froze. The blood drained from my face. "What?" "He was going to give you a public commendation," Riley whispered. "And now... oh god, Sutton, you really did it this time." I sat in my chair, unable to speak. Before the day ended, I pulled up the HR portal and typed out my resignation. Personal reasons. Effective immediately. Ten minutes after I hit submit, HR called. "Sutton, are you sure about this? The CEO's office already flagged it." "I'm sure," I said. "It's already been processed," she said, her voice sounding awkward. "Given the... incident in the meeting, they didn't push back." I hung up and started packing my things. The office was quiet. Riley walked me to the elevator, her eyes watery. "This is so stupid, Sutton." "It's fine," I said, though it wasn't. The elevator doors opened on the ground floor. I stepped out, clutching my box of belongings, only to walk straight into a wall of charcoal wool. Ethan was standing there, his face like a thundercloud. "Where do you think you're going?" "I resigned, Mr. Blackwood." "I didn't accept it." "HR said it went through." "HR doesn't have the final word on my lead strategists," he snapped. He stepped into the elevator, forcing me back inside, and hit the 'Close Door' button. "Sutton, you can't just walk out in the middle of a project. It's unprofessional." "You can sue me for breach of contract if you want," I said, my voice trembling. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "I don't want to sue you. I want to know why you've been acting like you hate me for forty-eight hours." "Because you're impossible!" I yelled. "And because I'm tired of the games!" Ethan's brow furrowed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. My heart climbed into my throat. A second later, a ringtone echoed in the small space of the elevator. Not a text notification. A call. The caller ID on my phone, sitting right on top of my box, lit up. **ASH** The world stopped spinning. Ethan looked at my phone, then slowly, he looked at me. His jaw tightened. He didn't say a word. He just hung up the phone.