The CEO's Ultimatum

Chapter Two: A Waitress

The silence in Nathaniel Blackwood's office was only ever broken by the soft hum of the city beyond his skyscraper windows and the subtle tick of the antique clock above the fireplace. Usually, it was his sanctuary. But today, it felt more like a cage.

He stared at the empty chair across from his desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, and allowed his mind to wander back to that night. The one night he couldn’t shake from his head, no matter how hard he tried. The night a waitress at that overly pretentious restaurant downtown was rude to him despite his status.

He hadn't even been rude. Not by his standards. But she’d clearly taken offense at his comment about the restaurant's poor service, and within minutes, their words were flying like daggers across the room.

He should've been furious. Should’ve demanded she be fired. Instead, he walked out of there... amused. Annoyed, but amused. No one ever talked back to Nathaniel Blackwood. Not employees. Not partners. But she, she'd look him in the eye, with fire and disgust, and called him an arrogant, entitled control freak.

It had been oddly refreshing.

Now, as he rubbed a hand across his jaw, the ridiculous thought wouldn’t leave his mind. “Her.”

What if she was the solution to this twisted dilemma?

She hated his guts. He wasn’t too fond of her either. They had zero romantic chemistry, which made her perfect. No risk of real feelings. No pretense of emotional connection. Just two people agreeing to play house long enough to fool his father and secure his legacy.

It was genius. Mad, but genius.

With a groan, he grabbed his phone and pressed the intercom button. "Ethan. Get in here."

Less than a minute later, Ethan stepped into the office, impeccably dressed, tablet in hand. He looked like a man who had just left a high-stakes meeting at the UN, not the assistant to a man currently plotting the weirdest faux-marriage in New York City.

"Yes, Nate?"

Nate turned his chair to face him. "I need you to run a background check. On a waitress."

Ethan blinked. "A... waitress?"

"Yes. Brunette, early-to-mid twenties, smart mouth, works at that French place, the one we went to last Friday night."

Ethan smirked slowly. "The one who called you a megalomaniac with a God complex?"

Nathan shot him a dry look. "That would be the one."

Ethan's brows rose. "You're serious? You want “her”? For what, exactly?"

Nathan sighed, leaning back. "I need someone. A woman. My father wants me to be married by next month. And if I don’t..."

He trailed off, the weight of Harold Blackwood’s ultimatum sinking in like lead.

"He'll hand everything over to Anthony," Ethan finished grimly.

Nathan nodded once.

Ethan frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, sure, but... her? That girl looked like she'd rather set you on fire than sit next to you, let alone marry you. Are you sure she won't try to stab you with a steak knife in your sleep?"

Nathan let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Exactly why she’s perfect. There’s no risk of this getting complicated. No fake sparks, no awkward moments of forced affection. Just a deal. Plain and simple."

Ethan gave him a long look. "You keep telling yourself that. But you're forgetting one important thing."

"What?"

"You're used to being in control. She's not the type to follow your rules."

Nathan's expression darkened, but he didn't argue. That was part of the gamble, wasn't it? The woman had fire. She wouldn’t be intimidated. And she wouldn’t swoon under pressure.

Which meant she wouldn’t expect anything from him, either.

"Just find out who she is," Nathan muttered. "Full background. Family. Work history. Everything. I want it on my desk by tomorrow."

Ethan nodded, but not before throwing one last jab. "Sure. Just don’t be surprised when she slaps you before saying yes."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Nathan stood, pacing slowly toward the window, scotch in hand. He took a long sip, the bitter burn mirroring the weight in his chest.

He hated this. Every part of it. The desperation, the manipulation, the performance.

He hadn’t asked to be his father’s heir. But Harold’s threat was real. If Nate didn’t marry within the month, the old man would sign everything, every share, every power seat over to his younger half-brother, Anthony.

Anthony, with his slick smile and hollow ambition. The man would burn the company to the ground and sell the ashes for clout.

Nate clenched his jaw. He couldn’t let that happen.

And if that meant marrying a woman who despised him? Then so be it.

This was about control. About protecting the legacy he never wanted but had to safeguard anyway.

Still, his mind betrayed him.

He remembered the look in her eyes. The sharp disdain. The way she didn’t back down, not even when he’d leaned in, dropped his voice, and tried to intimidate her with the full weight of his presence.

She’d called his bluff. Smirked like she was bored. Then walked away like he didn’t matter.

No one did that to Nathaniel Blackwood.

Which made her dangerous.

And also... useful.

He finished his drink and stared into the glass.

"You’d better be worth the trouble, sweetheart," he muttered.

Because one way or another, she was about to get the offer of a lifetime. And he was about to step into a war zone disguised as a marriage.

No romance. No feelings. No strings.

Just business.

Or at least, that was the plan.