Hired As His Fake Girlfriend

I scrubbed the café counter harder than necessary, willing the lingering smell of espresso and pastries to calm my nerves. Another shift at the campus café meant more customers, more noise—and more chances to mess up. But as long as I held this job, I’d get one step closer to paying off next semester’s tuition. Every dollar counted. The door chimed, and I looked up, pasting on a practiced smile that usually masked my exhaustion. The smile faltered as a man entered—a man who didn’t look like he belonged anywhere near campus. Tall, with piercing grey eyes that held an unnerving intensity, he was the type to make you forget to breathe for a second. “Welcome to Campus Grind,” I managed, my voice wavering only slightly. “What can I get for you?” He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he scanned the menu, though his narrowed eyes suggested he was only half-interested in the choices. He looked… annoyed to be here. “Double espresso,” he said, his voice low but authoritative. “And make it quick. I’m on a schedule.” I tried not to roll my eyes. Another impatient customer who thought the world revolved around his calendar. Resisting the urge to snap back, I turned to the machine and prepared his espresso, sensing his gaze on me the entire time. “Here you go,” I said, sliding the cup toward him with as much politeness as I could muster. “That’ll be three dollars.” He held out a crisp bill, and as I reached to take it, his hand brushed mine. An unexpected jolt went up my arm. I pulled my hand back, but not before I caught his raised eyebrow, a hint of irritation dancing in those steely eyes. “You should pay more attention,” he said, his tone laced with impatience. “If this is how you handle small tasks, I’d hate to see what you’d do with actual responsibility.” My face burned. “Excuse me?” His mouth quirked up in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Did I stutter?” I bit my lip, grappling with the urge to fire back. But I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not today. “I’m sorry if my service didn’t meet your standards, sir,” I said, the words tasting like poison. He took a long, deliberate sip of the espresso, his face expressionless. “Let’s just say I’m… disappointed,” he muttered, setting the cup down. “But I suppose that’s typical for a place like this.” Typical? I bristled, but before I could respond, the door swung open, and a group of students filled the café, their laughter cutting through the tension. The man glanced at his watch and sighed, a long-suffering look crossing his face as though this whole encounter was beneath him. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said dismissively, turning toward the door. “Hopefully, your other talents are more… promising.” I blinked, taken aback. Before I could muster a comeback, he was gone, his presence lingering like a cloud over the room. “Lila! Earth to Lila!” A hand waved in front of my face, snapping me out of my daze. Maya, my best friend, grinned at me from across the counter. “What’s with the intense look? Did someone spill coffee on your shoes again?” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Worse. Just had the strangest run-in with a customer. Totally full of himself.” “Ooh, do tell!” she said, leaning in with a gleam in her eye. “Was he hot?” “Maya!” I laughed despite myself. “He was… older. Arrogant. The ‘too rich for his own good’ type. And he definitely didn’t appreciate my coffee-making skills.” “Well, that’s his loss. Speaking of which,” she said with a wink, “can I get my usual? I’m running late for class.” While I prepared her drink, my mind drifted back to that infuriating man. There was something oddly familiar about him, though I was sure I’d never met him before. As I handed Maya her latte, I shook off the thought. There was no time to dwell on random customers. The rest of my shift passed in a blur, and by the time I hung up my apron, I was more than ready to dive into something productive. Professor Jameson’s Financial Markets lecture was my lifeline—the one part of my schedule that wasn’t a total drain. Besides, I had my Sterling Scholarship application to finish, and every minute counted. As I slipped into the lecture hall, the usual chatter of students settled into a low murmur. I took my seat near the back, pulling out my notebook and bracing for another intense hour. “Good morning, everyone,” Professor Jameson began, glancing at the door. “Today, we’re in for a treat. We have a guest lecturer who’ll share real-world insights on financial markets.” The murmur grew louder. Guest lectures were rare here, especially by anyone notable. Jameson smiled. “Please join me in welcoming Mr. Evan Sterling.” My heart dropped. As if on cue, the man from the café strolled into the room. My stomach twisted as his gaze swept the lecture hall, then settled directly on me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a hint of something that made my palms sweat. I sank lower in my seat, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me. “Thank you, Professor Jameson,” Evan said smoothly. His voice was a familiar, unsettling drawl that I’d hoped never to hear again. “I look forward to discussing how minor mistakes in finance can lead to catastrophic consequences.” His gaze flickered in my direction, a subtle but pointed look that sent a chill through me. Did he know? And, if he did, what did that mean for my Sterling Scholarship—the one I’d worked so hard for? I took a steadying breath, forcing myself to focus on his lecture, but my mind raced with possibilities. I had never felt so on edge in a classroom, every word he spoke feeling like a personal jab. Then his voice cut through my thoughts, addressing the room. “Let me ask you this,” he said, pausing for effect. “What’s the one thing you think you can’t afford to get wrong in finance?” A few hands went up. I kept mine firmly in my lap, not wanting to risk his attention. “Yes, you in the back.” His eyes found me, and my stomach plummeted. “Miss Weston, I believe? Why don’t you share your thoughts?” I froze, feeling every set of eyes in the room turn toward me. “I... well, I’d say... maybe missing a risk factor? Misjudging volatility?” He tilted his head, that familiar, mocking smirk appearing. “Interesting. And how do you propose we avoid such costly miscalculations? Or is this answer as uncertain as your coffee?” A stunned silence fell over the room. My cheeks burned, and anger flared in my chest. He remembered. And he was playing with me, pushing me into a corner with a cruel, calculating smile. I opened my mouth to retort, but the words tangled on my tongue, held back by the stark realization of who he was. Evan Sterling. The man who controlled my chances at the scholarship I desperately needed. “Perhaps we can revisit this later,” he said smoothly, dismissing me without a second glance. “After all, a proper answer requires careful thought—something every aspiring professional should master.” I gritted my teeth, my fists clenching under the desk. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. And as he turned back to the class, I swore he caught my glare and returned it with a spark of amused challenge, as if daring me to make my next move. I gritted my teeth, my fists clenching under the desk. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Class ended, and students began to file out, their chatter filling the air as I gathered my things. I kept my gaze down, hoping I could slip away unnoticed. But as I reached the door, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. "Miss Weston," his voice was low, laced with that dangerous calm I'd learned to hate. I turned, and there he stood, blocking my way, his eyes glinting with something dark. "I didn’t get a chance to thank you for that coffee earlier,” he said, his words icy. "It's a pity you lack basic skills, considering..." He paused, letting the silence grow, leaving me hanging on his next words. "Considering what?" I forced out, feeling the frustration and anger bubble inside me. A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned in, lowering his voice until only I could hear. "Considering I'm the one deciding your scholarship. One misstep, one mistake... and it all disappears." My stomach dropped. This couldn’t be real—one encounter in a café, and now he held my future like a loaded weapon? “Do you understand, Miss Weston?” he asked, and before I could react, he turned and walked away, his words lingering like a threat, like a promise.