Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 169: What’s Your Type?

Arianne sat behind her desk reviewing a stack of reports that had gradually accumulated during the morning. The documents were arranged neatly across the polished surface in several organized piles, each marked with a small tab indicating the department responsible for its contents.

Finance. Logistics. Operations.

She turned the page of the report she had been reading and made a brief note along the margin before setting it aside. The next file waited beside it, its contents already summarized in the briefing memo Gio had prepared earlier.

The office door remained open.

From the hallway beyond the glass walls came the muted sounds of the afternoon schedule moving forward—staff conversations, occasional footsteps passing by the executive corridor.

Arianne had been reading for several minutes when Gio appeared at the doorway again. He stepped inside with a thin folder tucked under one arm, pausing near the desk while she finished scanning the last paragraph of the report.

"This one needs your signature before the finance department closes today," he said, placing the folder beside the others.

Arianne opened it immediately. "Did legal review the revision?"

"They cleared it this morning," Gio replied. "There were two minor changes in the distribution schedule."

She scanned the updated section quickly before signing the final page. Gio waited while she handed the folder back.

"The talk show aired earlier," he added casually.

Arianne looked up. "Did it go well?"

"The communications team said the segment looked good. No surprises."

"That was expected."

Gio nodded. He lingered a moment as though considering whether to say something else before deciding against it. "I’ll have the next set of reports ready in about an hour."

"Thank you."

He left the office quietly. The door remained open behind him.

Arianne returned her attention to the documents waiting on her desk. The next report covered a supply contract that required an adjustment following a minor delay on one of the shipping routes. She read through the summary and made a note for the operations department before moving to the next page.

Her phone vibrated softly against the desk.

The sound was subtle but noticeable in the quiet office. She glanced toward the screen.

Franz.

The message had arrived only a few minutes after the scheduled broadcast ended.

Arianne opened the message while leaning back slightly in her chair.

Franz: The host attempted to interrogate me about the mysterious model again.

She read the line once before replying.

Arianne: Did you survive?

The answer came quickly.

Franz: Barely. She wanted names. I gave her poetry instead.

Arianne allowed a faint smile to appear.

Arianne: Poetry?

Franz: "A love that belongs to someone else." It’s become my default answer.

Arianne: That’s not poetry. That’s marketing.

Franz: To you, perhaps. To the audience, it was devastatingly romantic.

She set the phone down and picked up her pen. The next paragraph required attention. She made it through three sentences before the vibration returned.

Franz: The interviewer looked disappointed.

Arianne picked up the phone again.

Arianne: She’ll recover.

Franz: She asked if the mystery woman was real.

Arianne: And you said?

Franz: I smiled.

Arianne tilted her head slightly at the screen.

Arianne: That’s not an answer.

Franz: It’s the only answer that works. If I say yes, they hunt you. If I say no, they stop believing in the campaign.

She considered that.

Arianne: So you smiled.

Franz: I smiled. Enigmatically. Apparently that’s a word they used afterward.

Arianne: The reviews mentioned your smile?

Franz: Three separate outlets. One called it "deliberately unreadable." Another said "frustratingly composed."

Arianne’s thumb paused over the keyboard.

Arianne: They’re not wrong.

The typing indicator appeared immediately.

Franz: You think I’m unreadable?

Arianne: I think you know exactly what you’re doing.

A pause.

Franz: I do. I’m protecting what’s mine.

The words sat on the screen for a moment longer than necessary.

The screen remained dark.

After a moment she picked it up again and scrolled slightly upward through the conversation.

The thread stretched across several days.

Most of the messages were short.

Practical.

Focused entirely on the small details of daily coordination.

Leo refused breakfast again.

Meeting moved to Thursday afternoon.

Lily insists on wearing the red boots today.

I will pick them up at four.

Further up the conversation the same pattern continued.

Schedule adjustments.

Work updates.

Brief notes about the twins.

The entire thread read like a shared calendar more than a private conversation.

If someone unfamiliar with them looked at the messages, they would assume the two people speaking were coordinating responsibilities between work and family matters.

Perhaps two colleagues sharing information.

Perhaps relatives discussing children.

Nothing about the conversation suggested romance.

Nothing suggested marriage.

The thought lingered briefly before the phone vibrated again.

Franz: I have a question.

Arianne lifted an eyebrow slightly.

Arianne: That sounds suspicious.

Franz: It’s not. It’s research.

Arianne: Research.

Franz: For a role. I need to understand something.

Arianne waited.

Franz: What’s your type?

The question sat oddly among the practical exchanges filling the rest of the thread. Schedules. Deadlines. Leo’s breakfast refusal. Lily’s boots.

Arianne: My type.

Franz: Yes. For the role.

Arianne: You’re asking me to help you act.

Franz: I’m asking you to help me understand a character. There’s a difference.

Arianne considered the screen for a moment before replying. Her answer appeared one line at a time.

Arianne: Observant.

She paused.

Arianne: Patient.

Another line followed.

Arianne: Calm under pressure.

Her thumb hovered briefly.

Arianne: Not overly talkative.

She waited another second.

Arianne: Have a beautiful face.

She almost deleted the last line. Her thumb hovered over the backspace key for a full second before she let it stand. Too honest, maybe. Too much like admitting something. But it was true, and he’d asked, and somewhere beneath the efficiency she still wanted him to know.

The phone returned to the desk while she reached for the next report.

She had barely begun reading when the vibration returned.

Franz: I think I’m your type.

Arianne leaned back again.

Arianne: You think.

Franz: I know. Let me demonstrate.

Arianne: By all means.

Franz: Observant?

Arianne: Prove it.

Franz: You’re rereading the same paragraph. You’ve been staring at it for ninety seconds. You’re thinking about whether to respond to me or finish the report first. You’ll choose the report because it’s efficient, but you’ll keep the phone close because you don’t want the conversation to end.

Arianne looked at the screen.

Then, in the report.

Then at the phone again.

Arianne: That’s lucky.

Franz: It’s observation. Next: Patient?

Arianne: I’m waiting.

Franz: I survived Lily choosing my clothes twice this week. She picked a striped sweater with polka-dot socks. I wore it. To a coffee shop. In public. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Arianne’s mouth curved despite herself.

Arianne: You did not.

Franz: I have photographic evidence. Leo documented the entire event.

Arianne: That explains why he was smiling at dinner.

Franz: He’s still smiling. I think he’s planning to submit the photos to a fashion blog.

Calm under pressure?

I sat through three hours of board briefings last month without interrupting once.

Arianne: You fell asleep.

Franz: I was resting my eyes. That’s different.

Not overly talkative?

You once told me I speak exactly the right amount. I’ve held onto that compliment for months.

Arianne exhaled quietly.

Arianne: That was a compliment.

Franz: I know. I catalog them.

Arianne: You catalog compliments?

Franz: From you? Yes. They’re rare. They matter.

She looked at the screen for a long moment.

Another message appeared.

Franz: As for the beautiful face...

The typing indicator paused.

Franz: Several magazines have already confirmed that requirement. But I’d rather hear it from you.

Arianne rested her chin against her hand.

Arianne: You’re fishing.

Franz: I’m married. Fishing is no longer necessary. This is marital data collection.

Arianne: Marital data collection.

Franz: It’s a new concept. Very romantic.

She shook her head slightly.

Arianne: You’re impossible.

Franz: And yet. Here we are.

Another pause. Then:

Franz: Noah Hart could be anyone you want him to be.

She read the line once before the next message appeared.

Franz: He could develop a deep appreciation for piano recitals.

Another arrived.

Franz: He could also learn to sit quietly during Rochefort board briefings.

Then a final one.

Franz: He might even survive Lily’s fashion advice.

Arianne typed her response.

Arianne: Noah Hart’s public reputation might disagree with that assessment.

Franz: My public reputation has never been particularly accurate.

She placed the phone down again and turned back to the report.

The vibration returned almost immediately.

Franz: Since I appear to meet your criteria, I would like to request another date, Mrs. Rochefort.

Another message followed.

A. Dinner.

B. Movie.

C. Night drive.

Arianne studied the screen. The options clearly favored his schedule.

She typed her response.

Arianne: D.

The reply arrived instantly.

Franz: That was not one of the choices.

Arianne: Weekend.

She added another line.

Arianne: It is the only day we are both free.

The typing indicator appeared.

Franz: You rejected all three of my carefully prepared options.

Arianne: You may recover.

A pause. Then:

Franz: Can I at least choose the restaurant?

Arianne: You may try.

Franz: I know exactly which one.

Arianne: Then why are you still texting me?

Franz: Because I like hearing from you. Even like this. Even through a screen.

Arianne’s fingers rested lightly against the keyboard.

She typed slowly.

Arianne: I like it too.

The words sat there. Simple. True.

Franz’s response came a moment later.

Franz: I’ll see you this weekend.

Arianne: You will.

Franz: And Aria?

She waited.

Franz: Thank you for the data collection. Very helpful for the role.

She almost laughed.

Arianne: You’re welcome.

Franz: Also for the record—

Arianne: Yes?

Franz: You’re my type too.

Arianne placed the phone beside the keyboard and returned her attention to the report waiting on her desk.

She read three paragraphs before realizing she was still smiling.

She read them again. The numbers didn’t change. The supply contract didn’t become more interesting. But she couldn’t stop the curve of her mouth, and somewhere in the middle of the fourth paragraph she gave up trying.

Outside the tall windows behind her, snow continued drifting slowly across the pale winter skyline while the quiet rhythm of the afternoon carried on inside the office.

She picked up her pen. Made a note on the contract. Set the pen down.

Picked up her phone again. Read the thread one more time. The practical messages at the top. The question that cut through them. The list she’d sent. His demonstration. The catalog of compliments she didn’t know he kept. The confession at the end.

You’re my type too.

She set the phone down.

She was still smiling.