Chapter 1: The Ice Prince Returns

The famous CEO everyone talks about was once my high school class president—a guy so cold he made math class feel like the Arctic.

Back then, he was the sort of guy who’d stroll the halls with that unreadable face, always alone. No one ever walked with him. The kind of presence that made you double-check before even thinking about saying hi. It’s wild to think the same Carter Lane who barely cracked a smile in AP Chem is now the man with his name on half the skyscrapers in the city.

To land this project, my boss told me to win him over.

No pressure, right? Yeah, sure. As if it’s just a handshake and a smile—not the guy who could buy and sell our company before his morning coffee. Honestly, what are the odds?

But all I could think about was the image of Carter Lane in high school, beating up a bunch of bullies, stepping on some jerk’s hand right in front of the gym coach, and then looking at me with that blank expression, asking, “Which hand did he hit you with?”

That day is burned into my memory—Carter, standing over those guys in the old gym parking lot, his tie crooked, shirt untucked, not a hair out of place. His voice was so calm it was almost scary. My heart pounded, not just from the adrenaline, but from the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in focus.

I gritted my teeth and said yes, even though my stomach was doing flips. But I didn’t dare tell my boss that I was the girl who’d blushed and confessed to Carter Lane in high school—only to turn around and firmly reject him. Yeah. I did that.

I mean, who does that? I still cringe thinking about it. The memory alone is enough to make me want to crawl under my desk.

Mr. Walker sat at the head of the conference table, and it was so quiet you could hear the air conditioner humming.

You could hear the clock ticking, and even the usual clatter of keyboards had faded out. The whole team was watching him, waiting for his next move.

He crossed his legs, acting like this was just another Monday: “I heard the head of Lane Industries is going to personally participate in this bid. If our company can become their partner, this project is as good as ours.”

He spoke like it was a done deal, but his eyes were sharp, measuring each of us. The kind of look that says, 'I'm not just making conversation.'

“But the other firms are thinking the same thing. Savannah Reed, do you have the guts to win this project?”

“Huh?” Suddenly called out, I stood up, totally caught off guard. Why me?

My chair scraped the floor, echoing in the silence. Of course. Perfect timing. I felt every pair of eyes on me, and my cheeks burned. I tried to remember if I’d done something to stand out—or screw up—lately.

Even though my coworkers were shocked, nobody dared make a sound. Mr. Walker is known for being easygoing and usually doesn’t care much about the company, but now he’s actually bold enough to want to work with Lane Industries? And he’s sending me?

You could feel the whole vibe change—people started sneaking glances at each other, like they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Someone coughed, but nobody spoke up.

Never mind how bad I am at this—just the fact that Carter Lane himself is personally involved in the bidding made everyone else immediately give up on trying to win the project on their own.

It was like hearing LeBron James was showing up to your neighborhood pickup game. The whole playing field changed in an instant.

The companies left in the running are all strong enough to compete with Lane Industries, while the rest are probably just trying to get on Lane’s good side for future deals.

It’s a classic power move—show up, shake hands, hope Carter remembers your name when the next big contract rolls around. Nobody really expects to win, but everyone wants to be seen.

But me? Since joining the company, I haven’t closed a single deal—how am I supposed to compete? What, with my life on the line?

I could barely close a Girl Scout cookie sale, let alone go toe-to-toe with the most ruthless CEO in the country.

But looking at Mr. Walker’s serious face, I figured if I refused, I’d probably have to pack my things and go.

I could already picture myself boxing up my coffee mug, my goodbye cactus—nope, not happening. Walking out to the parking lot in defeat. Not happening.

I gritted my teeth and said, “Mr. Walker, sir! I… will definitely win this project and become Lane Industries’ partner!”

My voice cracked at the end. Still, I held my chin up, hoping nobody noticed.

Mr. Walker lounged back lazily in his chair. “Oh, I don’t believe you. Not determined enough.”

He gave me that half-smile, as if daring me to prove him wrong. Classic Walker. Always with the tests.

I stood up and slapped the table hard. To keep my job, I swore an outrageous oath: “If I don’t win this project, I, Savannah Reed, will eat every single piece of junk in this office—won’t leave a crumb!”

A couple people snorted, and someone tried to stifle a laugh. Yeah, I was really selling it.

Facing the shocked stares from Mr. Walker and everyone else, I silently added in my head: Seriously, trash is disgusting and money doesn’t come easy.

I shot a side-eye at the overflowing bin of takeout containers by the copier. No way was I going down like that.

Even though Lane Industries’ headquarters is overseas, their reputation in the States is sky-high. Over the years, every company that tried to go up against them got stomped. Carter Lane doesn’t do mercy.

The business pages love to talk about his "cold-blooded" style. I mean, the man once shut down a rival firm in a single quarter—just because they tried to undercut his price.

And this Carter Lane is my high school classmate—the one who always sat in the corner and barely spoke, the class president.

If only my old yearbook knew what he'd become. I bet half our class would faint if they saw him now. Hell, even the teachers would lose it.

So many companies want to get close to Lane Industries, so to win this project, my boss said my only shortcut was to get to Carter Lane.

Which, in corporate-speak, means: get personal. Find a way to stand out, make him notice you. But how do you do that with someone who’s built walls ten feet high?

Translation: Use any connection you have. Even if it means digging up old memories you’d rather forget.

My coworkers laughed at me for dreaming, because everyone in the industry knows Carter Lane is all about business and ruthless—he’s been a total ice king for years, with zero scandals.

Not even a hint of a tabloid rumor, no late-night bar photos, nothing. The man is a machine.

Hearing all this just made me feel worse.

Honestly, it was like being told to charm a robot. Or a particularly handsome glacier.

If we were just ordinary high school classmates, maybe I could shamelessly try to cozy up to him.

But the history between us is messy, tangled up in teenage pride and embarrassment.

If there’s a list of people Carter Lane would rather never see again, I’m probably at the top—right above his old math teacher.

Because I’m the girl who rejected his confession in high school!

Yep, that’s me. Savannah Reed: breaker of hearts, destroyer of ice princes.

I’m probably the last person Carter Lane wants to see—the only blemish on his otherwise perfect life.

I mean, the guy’s record is spotless—except for me. Lucky him.

Back in high school, he was the most famous “ice prince” around. But when he blushed and confessed to me, I shot him down without hesitation.

I can still see the way his cheeks turned pink, his eyes darting away. For a second, he looked almost human.

I waved my hand at him, flustered: “But Carter, you never really talked to me before. It’s always been me bothering you—how could you like me? I just don’t buy it.”

I sounded so defensive, like I was the one being accused. My voice was shaky, my hands sweating. It was pure panic.

It happened so suddenly. Ignoring everyone’s shocked faces, I just blurted out “No way” and ran off.

The hallway felt endless as I sprinted away, my heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t look back.

Later, my best friend told me Carter stood there alone for a long time. She said it was the first time she’d ever seen him show any emotion.

She said he looked like someone had pulled the rug out from under him. For a guy who never showed anything, that was huge.

I was the one who pestered him in the first place, and then I was the one who rejected him. He probably still thinks I’m nuts.

Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. It’s not every day someone chases you for months, then turns you down flat.

So I’m certain—I’m the last person Carter Lane wants to see. How am I supposed to “win him over”?

The whole idea was ridiculous. I could barely look at his LinkedIn profile without cringing.

With my utterly average looks? Please. Carter knows all my tricks.

He’s seen me at my worst—braces, bad bangs, and all. There’s no hiding from that kind of history.

I buried my head in my pillow, annoyed. Me, seduce Carter Lane? What a joke.

I groaned, muffled by the pillow, and let out a laugh at the absurdity. Honestly, it was like something out of a bad sitcom. Cue laugh track.