Fake Dating the Billionaire Who Hired Me

Chapter Three

Ashton’s Pov

"If this merger falls apart because of a pregnancy rumor, I will personally fire every single one of you."

I slammed my hand down on the polished mahogany boardroom table, the loud c***k echoing off the glass walls of the Sterling Hotels skyscraper. The twenty board members sitting around the long table flinched, but my father, sitting right at the head, just leaned back with a slow, hateful smirk on his face.

The morning sun was shining brightly over the city, but my world felt like it was burning to the ground. Up on the big projector screen behind me was that wretched photograph—the one of Athlea Morgan and me walking out of the fertility clinic in the rain. The bold internet headlines flashing underneath it made my blood boil.

"Control your temper, Ashton," my father said, his voice dripping with fake pity. "The board has every right to worry. Investors don't want a CEO whose personal life is chaotic and scandalous. You look reckless. Your grandfather built this hotel chain on stability. Maybe it is time you stepped down as CEO and let someone with a clearer head take over."

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might c***k. Step down? Hand over my life's work, the empire I had spent ten years building, to my scheming father and his greedy partners? Never. They wanted blood, but I wasn't going to give it to them.

"I am not stepping down," I said through gritted teeth, my voice cold as ice. "The merger with the European hotels is happening. Give me twenty-four hours, and I will clean up this mess."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the boardroom before anyone else could speak, my lawyer, Marcus, hurrying to keep up with my long strides.

"Ashton, wait," Marcus whispered, catching my arm as we stepped into my private office. "What are your options? If we tell the truth—that she is just a surrogate—the media will tear you apart for using a secret carrier, and the conservative investors will still panic. But if we deny her completely, she might get angry and leak medical records. We are trapped."

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the busy city streets far below. My mind raced at a million miles an hour. I hated feeling trapped. I hated not being in control. But as I stared down at the traffic, the only logical, crazy solution formed in my head.

We didn't hide the truth. We changed the story.

"We don't deny her, and we don't call her a surrogate," I said slowly, turning to look at Marcus.

Marcus stared at me like I had lost my mind. "Then what do you propose we do?"

"We tell the world she is my girlfriend," I said, my voice firm. "A billionaire expecting a baby with his partner is a love story. The public loves romance. It shows stability. It saves the merger, and it shuts my father up permanently."

Marcus blinked in sheer shock. "Do you honestly think Miss Morgan is just going to go along with playing your pretend girlfriend after the way you treated her last night?"

"She won't have a choice," I muttered. But deep down, a heavy knot formed in my stomach. I knew exactly how stubborn Athlea Morgan was.

An hour later, Marcus and I were standing inside Athlea’s tiny, cramped apartment. The air smelled like old paper and cheap lemon cleaner. Athlea stood by her worn-out kitchen counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, glaring at me like I was a monster who had just broken into her house.

"You want me to do what?" she asked, her voice shaking with disbelief.

"You heard me," I said, taking a step forward, keeping my voice calm even though my nerves were stretched thin. "Move into my penthouse tonight. Play the role of my devoted girlfriend for a few weeks until the hotel merger goes through and the press loses interest. In exchange, I will clear every single debt your father left behind, pay off your house, and give you an extra hundred thousand dollars for the trouble."

Athlea stared at me, her big eyes wide with shock. For a second, I thought she was going to accept. I thought the money and the safety would be enough to tempt her.

Instead, a bitter, angry laugh escaped her lips.

"Are you out of your mind, Ashton?" she snapped, stepping right up to me. She didn't care that I was taller or that I was a billionaire. She poked a finger right against my chest. "You think you can just buy me like a piece of furniture? You think because my dad left debts, I'll jump whenever you snap your fingers and pretend to play house with you?"

"It’s a business arrangement, Athlea," I argued, my own temper flaring up. "It protects you from the media storm, and it saves my company. It benefits both of us."

"No, it benefits you!" she shouted back, her cheeks burning red with rage. "You want a shield so your rich friends don't look down on you! Well, I won't do it. I won't let you boss me around in my own life. If you want me to live in your fancy penthouse and pretend to love you, you are going to play by my rules."

My eyebrows shot up in pure shock. Nobody talked to me this way. Nobody made rules for Ashton Sterling.

"Your rules?" I repeated, my voice dropping dangerously low.

"That's right," she said, lifting her chin high, her dark eyes flashing with pure fire. "First, you treat me with actual respect—no barking orders. Second, I get my own space in that big penthouse of yours, away from you as much as possible. And third, you drop the arrogant billionaire attitude."

I stared at her in total silence. She was fierce, stubborn, and completely unafraid of me. It drove me crazy, but God help me, it also fascinated me in a way I had never felt before. I needed her help more than I wanted to admit, and she knew it.

"Fine," I gritted out through clenched teeth. "Those are the terms."

That very evening, the cameras caught us stepping out of a black town car in front of a high-end charity gala downtown. I kept my hand firmly, protectively at the small of her back, guiding her past a wall of blinding camera flashes and screaming reporters.

"Mr. Sterling! Is it true she's just an ordinary girl who trapped you for a payout?" a loud, rude reporter shouted from the front row, holding a microphone right in our faces.

Athlea flinched beside me, her face turning pale. The insult hung in the cold air, sharp and ugly.

Something inside me broke. All the careful control I had maintained my entire life vanished in a single second. I didn't care about the cameras anymore. I didn't care about the reporters.

I pulled Athlea closer against my side, wrapping my arm securely around her waist, and turned my cold, furious gaze directly onto the reporter who had spoken.

"Watch your mouth," I growled, my voice echoing so loudly over the street that every camera froze. "She is not a trap. She is the most important person in my life, and anyone who disrespects her answers to me."

Athlea gasped softly, turning her head to stare up at me in absolute shock. The reporters went dead silent, their mouths dropping open.