The Ice King of Paris

The glass walls of Moreau International’s headquarters stretched high above the Paris skyline, reflecting the pale morning light that rolled across the city. From Bella Carter’s desk on the twentieth floor, she had the perfect view of the Seine weaving like a silver ribbon below, the Eiffel Tower glinting in the distance. She should have felt inspired. Instead, she felt the weight of the day pressing down on her like the stack of color-coded folders balanced precariously on her lap.

Alexander Moreau’s schedule was full again. The man never slowed down. Meetings, calls, site visits, investor luncheons. It was as if he were determined to conquer the entire city by sheer force of will. Bella sometimes wondered if he even slept. Or if the whispers in the office were true that he was part machine.

She straightened the folders, smoothed her navy skirt, and checked the clock. 8:29. Exactly one minute before he walked through those glass doors, as he did every day, without fail.

And right on cue, the elevator dinged.

Conversations died down instantly. Phones were cradled tighter to ears. Coffee cups lowered. The entire office shifted from relaxed to rigid. It was always the same when he arrived.

Alexander Moreau stepped into the office like a storm in a tailored charcoal suit. He was tall, at least six foot two with shoulders broad enough to fill the doorway. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his tie immaculately knotted, his expression unreadable. Those piercing blue-gray eyes scanned the room once, sharp as a blade, before landing on Bella.

“Good morning, Mr. Moreau,” she greeted smoothly, standing and handing him the day’s folder. “Your nine o’clock was moved to 8:45. I confirmed with Mr. Lambert’s office. The board documents are color-tabbed, and the client call from New York has been shifted to tonight due to the time difference.”

His eyes flicked over her briefly. Not long enough to register as anything more than acknowledgment but long enough to make her pulse quicken.

“Efficient, as always, Miss Carter.”

His voice was deep and clipped, carrying the faintest trace of Parisian French beneath his flawless English. He didn’t smile. He never smiled. And yet, coming from him, the words felt dangerously close to praise.

“Thank you, sir.”

With a curt nod, he swept past her into his glass-walled office. The door clicked behind him. The office collectively exhaled.

Bella sank into her chair, heart hammering. She hated that he affected her this way. The Ice King, as everyone called him the man who ruled with precision, intellect, and an unapproachable aura. And yet… she’d caught him watching her sometimes. At company dinners, when her laughter slipped out too easily. Late nights in the office, when she slid a coffee mug into his hand before he could protest. His gaze would linger sharp, conflicted, hungry then retreat behind that mask of ice.

She shook the thought away. Daydreaming about Alexander Moreau was a fast track to heartbreak or unemployment.

By mid-morning, the office buzzed with tension. The quarterly board meeting was imminent, and everyone knew how demanding Moreau could be. Bella hurried into the sleek conference room, arms loaded with folders, setting each at its place.

She sensed him before she saw him. Alexander entered silently, standing at the head of the mahogany table, scanning the room like a general preparing for battle.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice filling the room, “we’ll begin.”

The meeting dragged on numbers, projections, discussions of a new luxury hotel project along the Seine. Bella sat quietly at the edge, taking notes, her gaze flickering between the board members and her boss.

He was ice incarnate, dismantling weak arguments with surgical precision, his tone calm but merciless.

When one director suggested cutting costs by lowering material quality, Alexander’s eyes narrowed.

“This firm,” he said coldly, “was not built on mediocrity. If you want cheap, you can look elsewhere. Moreau International designs legacies.”

The director shifted uncomfortably under his stare. Bella stifled a small smile, jotting the words down.

As the meeting adjourned, Alexander gathered his papers.

“Miss Carter, walk with me.”

Her stomach tightened. She followed him down the corridor, keeping pace with his long, decisive strides.

“You handled the Lambert reschedule well,” he said abruptly. “Most assistants would have panicked.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, blinking at the unexpected compliment.

He stopped suddenly, turning to face her. His eyes stormy and unreadable locked onto hers. For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to crackle.

“Do not let the others rattle you,” he said quietly. “This company survives because of efficiency. You are efficient.”

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t warm. And yet, coming from him, it felt dangerously close to intimacy.

Before she could respond, he turned and strode away, leaving her staring after him, pulse racing.

At lunch, Bella confided in her friend Sophie from accounting.

“You should have seen him,” Bella whispered, stirring her salad absently. “One second he’s cold as ice, and the next…”

“And the next what?” Sophie grinned.

She hesitated. And the next, he looked at me like I was the only one in the world.

But she couldn’t say it aloud.

“Nothing,” she muttered. “He just… noticed me. That’s all.”

Sophie laughed. “Careful. They say the Ice King doesn’t melt. Not for anyone.”

Bella forced a smile, but her thoughts betrayed her. That morning, she had seen the flicker in his eyes. Just for a second. Enough to make her wonder what secrets Alexander Moreau was hiding behind that icy façade. Enough to make her wonder if she could be the one woman to thaw him.