Hired As His Fake Girlfriend

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled my nostrils as I wiped down the counter of the campus café. The morning rush had just subsided, leaving me a moment to catch my breath. I glanced at the clock—only fifteen minutes left in my shift. Then I could focus on my real priority: my studies and that all-important scholarship application.

The café door swung open, and I looked up, plastering on my best customer service smile. It faltered as I took in the man who entered. Tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my tuition, with steel-grey eyes that seemed to cut right through me. There was something about him that commanded attention, a presence that filled the room.

"Welcome to Campus Grind," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "What can I get for you today?"

The man approached the counter, his gaze sweeping over me with a dismissive air that made my cheeks burn. "Double espresso," he said, his tone clipped and impatient. "And make it quick."

I bit back a retort. *Just another entitled jerk*, I thought. *Deep breaths, Lila. You need this job.*

I turned to the espresso machine, grateful for the chance to compose myself. As I prepared the drink, I could feel the weight of the man's stare on my back. It made my skin prickle uncomfortably.

"Here you go, sir," I said, turning back with the espresso in hand. "That'll be—"

"I know how much it costs," the man interrupted, already holding out a crisp bill. As I reached for it, his fingers brushed against mine. A jolt of... something... passed between us. I jerked my hand back, nearly spilling the coffee.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Careful," he said, his voice low and cold. "You might want to pay more attention to what you're doing."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, this time from anger rather than embarrassment. "I'm sorry, sir," I said, fighting to keep my tone polite. "It won't happen again."

He took a sip of the espresso and grimaced. "I should hope not. Tell me, do you know the difference between a ristretto and a regular espresso?"

I blinked, thrown by the sudden question. "I... well, a ristretto is a shorter shot, isn't it? More concentrated?"

The man's lip curled in disdain. "A simplistic answer. If you're going to work in a café, you should at least understand the basics of coffee preparation."

Something in me snapped. "With all due respect, sir, I'm a student working part-time to pay for my education. I'm not aiming for a career as a barista."

The man's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of something—surprise? interest?—passing over his face before it settled back into its default scowl. "And that excuses subpar performance? Tell me, do you believe that just because a task is temporary or beneath your aspirations, it doesn't deserve your full effort and attention?"

I opened my mouth to retort, but the sound of the door opening caught my attention. A group of students spilled in, laughing and chatting. The man glanced at his watch and frowned.

"We'll continue this discussion another time," he said, his tone making it sound more like a threat than a promise. With that, he turned and strode out of the café, leaving me staring after him in confused frustration.

"Earth to Lila!" A hand waved in front of my face, snapping me out of my daze. Maya, my best friend and favourite regular, grinned at me from across the counter. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shook my head, trying to clear it. "Sorry, just... had a weird encounter with a customer."

Maya's eyes lit up with interest. "Ooh, spill! Was he cute?"

"Maya!" I laughed despite myself. "He was... I don't know. Older. Arrogant. Completely full of himself."

"So... hot, then," Maya teased.

I rolled my eyes. "You're impossible. Anyway, what can I get you? The usual?"

As I prepared Maya's complicated order (half-caf soy latte with a pump of vanilla and a sprinkle of cinnamon), I found my mind drifting back to the encounter. There was something about that man... something familiar, though I was sure I'd never seen him before.

"Hey," Maya said softly, drawing my attention back. "You sure you're okay? You seem distracted."

I sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess. I was up late working on my application for the Sterling Scholarship."

Maya's eyes widened. "Oh my god, I forgot that was due soon! How's it coming?"

"Almost done," I said, handing over the latte. "Just need to polish my essay. This scholarship... Maya, it could change everything. No more juggling three jobs just to make tuition. I could focus on my studies, maybe even take that internship Professor Jameson recommended."

Maya reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. "You've got this. If anyone deserves that scholarship, it's you."

I smiled gratefully. "Thanks. I just hope the selection committee agrees."

The rest of my shift passed in a blur of customers and coffee. By the time I hung up my apron and gathered my things, the encounter with the rude customer had faded to the back of my mind.

As I hurried across the sun-dappled quad, my encounter with the rude customer faded to the back of my mind. Instead, my thoughts turned to Professor Jameson's class. Financial Markets was my favourite, a stepping stone towards my dreams of a career in finance. Little did I know, those two worlds were about to collide in the most unexpected way

I slipped into the lecture hall just as Professor Jameson was beginning his introduction. I settled into my seat, pulling out my notebook.

"Before we dive into today's topic," Jameson said, his voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation, "I have an exciting announcement. We have a special guest lecturer joining us today to discuss the real-world applications of what we've been studying."

I leaned forward, intrigued. Jameson was known for bringing in impressive guest speakers.

"Please join me in welcoming Mr. Evan Sterling."

The room erupted in excited whispers. My heart stopped. *Sterling?* As in, the scholarship I'd been killing myself to apply for? As in, the reclusive billionaire whose name was plastered across half the buildings on campus?

And then he walked in, and my world tilted on its axis.

It was him. The rude customer from the café. Only now, instead of looking annoyed and impatient, he exuded an air of confidence and authority that commanded the room's attention.

Evan Sterling's gaze swept over the lecture hall. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought his eyes lingered on me, a flicker of recognition passing over his face. But then he was looking away, addressing the class as a whole.

"Thank you, Professor Jameson," Evan said, his voice carrying easily through the hall. "I'm looking forward to sharing some insights with you all today. But first, I'd like to start with a question."

His eyes scanned the room, and I found myself shrinking in my seat, praying he wouldn't call on me.

"You there," he said, pointing to a student a few rows ahead of me. "What would you say is the most important skill in the world of finance?"

As the student stumbled through an answer about mathematical aptitude, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. But I couldn't relax. Every time Evan's gaze swept over the room, I felt a jolt of nervous energy.

Did he recognize me? And if he did, what did that mean for my chances at the Sterling Scholarship?

As Evan launched into his lecture, my mind whirled with possibilities. How had my life suddenly become so entangled with Evan Sterling's? And more importantly, what did this mean for my future?

I tried to focus on his words, scribbling notes furiously, but my hand shook slightly. Every time his gaze swept over the room, I felt my heart rate spike.

"Now," Evan said, his voice cutting through my spiralling thoughts, "let's discuss the importance of attention to detail in financial analysis. Can anyone give me an example of how a small oversight might lead to significant consequences?"

My hand shot up before I could stop myself. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—I knew I should keep quiet, stay unnoticed, but some rebellious part of me wanted to prove myself to this arrogant man.

Evan's eyes locked onto mine, and I saw a flicker of recognition, followed by something that might have been amusement. "Yes," he said, pointing at me. "The young lady in the back. Please, enlighten us."

I stood up, willing my voice not to shake. "In 2012, a simple copy-paste error in Excel led to JPMorgan Chase underestimating the risk of their synthetic credit portfolio by billions of dollars. This oversight contributed to trading losses of around $6 billion."

For a moment, the lecture hall was silent. Then Evan's lips curved into a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine.

"An impressive example," he said, his tone making it clear he thought it was anything but. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Lila," I said, my throat suddenly dry. "Lila Weston."

Evan's eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, Miss Weston, since you seem so... informed about financial mishaps, perhaps you can tell us how such errors might be prevented in the future?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My mind had gone blank under the intensity of his stare and the weight of the entire class's attention.

Evan's smirk widened. "No answer? Come now, Miss Weston. Surely someone who can recite facts so glibly must have some insight to offer. Or is your knowledge as superficial as your understanding of coffee?"

The room erupted in confused murmurs. I felt my cheeks burn as I sank back into my seat, mortified. How did he remember that encounter? And why was he going out of his way to humiliate me?

As the lecture continued, I barely heard a word. Every time Sterling's gaze swept over me, I felt a jolt of... something. Anger? Intimidation? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, it left me unsettled and hyper-aware of his presence.

When the class finally ended, I gathered my things quickly, desperate to escape. But as I reached the door, a hand on my arm stopped me. I turned to find Evan standing there, his expression unreadable.

"Miss Weston," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "A word, if you please."

I swallowed hard, following him to a quiet corner of the now-empty lecture hall. He towered over me, his presence overwhelming in the confined space.

"I must say, I'm impressed," Evan said, though his tone suggested anything but admiration. "It's not often I encounter someone so... consistently mediocre in multiple areas of their life."

I bristled at the insult. "Excuse me?"

His eyes glinted with something dangerous. "First coffee, now finance. Tell me, Miss Weston, is there anything you actually excel at? Or should I expect the same level of... performance in all your endeavors?"

The implication in his words made my cheeks burn hotter. I opened my mouth to retort, but hesitated. Part of me wanted to stand up to him, to prove him wrong. But another part—a part I wasn't proud of—craved his approval. I settled for a neutral response: “I appreciate your... feedback, Mr. Sterling. I'll take it under advisement.”

"I look forward to seeing how you... measure up in the future," Evan said, his voice a low purr that sent an involuntary shiver through me. "After all, I'll be keeping a very close eye on you from now on."

With that, he turned and strode away, leaving me staring after him in a mix of fury and confusion. As the door swung shut behind him, one thought echoed in my mind:

What the hell just happened?