TAMED BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Ding, ding, ding!

The annoying sound of my alarm clock pierced through the peaceful quiet of my room. Ugh. I slammed my hand down on it, groaning into my pillow. Why, oh why, did I agree to this job? Oh, right. Because I'm Sophie Reeds, the best PR strategist in the game, and I don't back down from a challenge even when the challenge is an egotistical, ice-cold billionaire.

I shot up from the bed, rubbing my eyes. "Crap!" The meeting! My heart raced as I scrambled to the bathroom, practically jumping into the shower. The water was freezing at first, but it didn't matter—I had about ten minutes to transform from a half-asleep mess into a polished, professional woman. No big deal, right?

By the time I was out, dried, and halfway dressed, my phone buzzed. It was a reminder for my 9 AM meeting with him. Damien Steele. Mr. "I think I'm better than everyone else." Ugh. Just thinking about him made me want to scream.

I threw on a chic but practical pantsuit, grabbed my notes, and rushed out the door.

When I arrived at Steele Enterprises, the receptionist greeted me with her usual overly perky smile. "Good morning, Miss Reeds!"

"Morning, Claire," I mumbled, already heading toward the elevator. I didn't have time for small talk. Not today.

As I stepped into the elevator, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls. My hair was still a little damp, but it looked fine. I straightened my blazer, took a deep breath, and whispered to myself, "You've got this, Sophie. He's just a man. A very rich, very intimidating man. No big deal."

The elevator doors dinged open, and I stepped into Damien Steele's world.

"Good morning, Miss Reeds," Damien greeted me as I walked into his office. His voice was calm, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," I replied, forcing a polite smile.

He didn't even bother to stand up. Instead, he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."

Oh, how I wanted to tell him where to shove his chair. But I didn't. I couldn't. I needed this job, and besides, I was determined to crack his stupid armor.

I sat down, pulling out my notes. "I've revised the plan based on your feedback," I began, sliding the documents across the desk.

He picked them up, flipping through the pages with the same enthusiasm one might have for watching paint dry. "Hmm," he said after a long, awkward silence.

"What does 'hmm' mean?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"It means it's marginally better than the last one," he said, setting the papers down.

I blinked. "Marginally? Do you have any idea how much work I put into this?"

He leaned back in his chair, his grey eyes locking onto mine. "If you're fishing for compliments, Miss Reeds, you won't find them here."

"Oh, trust me," I shot back, "I wasn't expecting any from you."

For a split second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Was that... a smile? No. It couldn't be.

"Is there a point to this meeting," he said, cutting through my thoughts, "or are you just here to argue with me?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "The point is to help you, Mr. Steele. You know, fix your reputation so people don't think you're a heartless robot."

He raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were supposed to be professional."

"Oh, I am," I said with a sweet but fake smile. "But professionalism doesn't mean I have to agree with everything you say, especially when you're wrong."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought I'd gone too far. But instead of yelling or throwing me out, he just leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You've got guts, Miss Reeds. I'll give you that."

"Thanks," I replied, "but I don't need your approval."

"Clearly," he said, leaning back again. "So, what's your grand plan this time?"

I launched into my presentation, explaining every detail with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you're right. But as I spoke, I could feel his eyes on me, cold and calculating.

When I finished, he nodded slowly. "It's decent."

"Decent?" I repeated, my voice rising. "It's brilliant!"

"Decent," he said again, standing up and walking around the desk. "But brilliance doesn't matter if it doesn't work. So, here's what we'll do. I'll give you one week to show me results. If you fail, you're out."

I stared at him, my mouth open. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," he replied, his tone as icy as ever.

I stood up, grabbing my notes. "Fine. But don't blame me when you're wrong."

He smirked, and it was the most infuriating thing I'd ever seen. "We'll see."

Back in my office, I slammed the door and flopped into my chair. "Who does he think he is?" I muttered, tossing my notes onto the desk.

My assistant, Lily, poked her head in. "Tough meeting?"

"The toughest," I replied, rubbing my temples.

"Well, if anyone can handle him, it's you," she said with a smile.

I managed a small smile back. "Thanks, Lily. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a week to prove that I'm not as useless as Mr. Steele seems to think I am."

As she left, I pulled out my planner and started brainstorming. I wasn't going to let Damien Steele win. Not this time.

****

The next morning, after a restless night filled with scribbled notes and furious brainstorming, I walked into my office with a determined stride. If Damien Steele wanted results, then results he'd get. But I wasn't doing this for him not entirely, anyway. This was for me. To prove to him, and maybe even myself, that I could handle his impossible standards.

I took a deep breath and called in my media team.

Within minutes, the conference room was buzzing with my small but capable crew: Alex, our graphics wizard; Priya, the social media genius; and Ethan, my right-hand man when it came to PR strategy.

"Alright, team," I said, standing at the head of the table. "We've got a situation. As you all know, Mr. Steele is in the middle of a PR nightmare, and it's our job to fix it. But this isn't just about cleaning up a mess. We need to replace the scandal with something so big, so positive, that people forget the bad stuff ever existed."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is the 'bad stuff' this time?"

I sighed, tapping the screen of the projector to bring up the latest headlines: 'Damien Steele: Billionaire With a Cold Heart', 'Steele Empire Scandal: The Price of Ruthlessness', and my personal favorite, 'Is Damien Steele Even Human?'

"Wow," Priya muttered, her eyes wide. "They really went in on him."

"He deserves it," I muttered under my breath before clearing my throat. "But that's not the point. The point is, we need to change the narrative. So, let's brainstorm. What can we do to make Damien Steele look... well, human?"

"Charity work?" Ethan suggested.

"Too predictable," I replied, shaking my head.

"A surprise press conference where he addresses the rumors head-on?" Alex offered.

"Too risky," I said, crossing my arms. "The last thing we need is for him to say something that makes things worse."

Priya tapped her chin thoughtfully. "What about a partnership with a popular influencer? Someone who can vouch for him and help soften his image?"

I considered it for a moment. "Not bad, but we'd need to find the right person someone credible, not just another pretty face."

As we debated back and forth, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of urgency. The clock was ticking, and I had less than a week to prove myself.

Finally, an idea struck me. "What if we organize a community event?" I said, my voice rising with excitement. "Something that shows he cares about people. We could tie it to a cause he supports education, healthcare, whatever and make him the face of it."

Ethan nodded slowly. "That could work. But will he actually go along with it?"

I smirked. "Oh, he'll go along with it. He doesn't have a choice."

After the meeting, I spent the rest of the day coordinating with my team. Calls were made, emails were sent, and plans started to take shape. But as much as I tried to focus on the work, I couldn't shake the nagging thought in the back of my mind: What if this wasn't enough?

What if Damien Steele's armor was just too thick to crack?

I sat alone in my office, staring at the mountain of paperwork on my desk. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. It was a message from Hannah:

Hannah: "How's the battle with Mr. Steele going?"

Me: "Let's just say he's living up to his reputation. But don't worry, I've got a plan."

Hannah: "You always do. Just don't let him get under your skin, okay?"

I sighed, setting the phone down. Easier said than done.