2

(THIRD PERSON’S POV)

Her face went pale at first and then red with anger. Then she took off her apron and stormed away to the inner room so she could pack up her things.

Mrs. Humphrey offered a nervous chuckle. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Loft. What can I–“

But Damian Loft, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, cut her off mid-sentence. He tossed a few carelessly crumpled dollar bills onto the counter before turning and striding out of the coffee shop, his expensive shoes clicking sharply on the floor.

A faint ripple of unease disturbed his usual composure.

Of course, he immediately pinned the blame on the insolent waitress!

Sinking into the plush leather of his shiny black Cadillac’s backseat, he couldn’t help the brief replay of the encounter. A fleeting, unfamiliar twinge of guilt flickered within him at the memory of her wide, startled eyes.

He never felt guilty. So why the hell did he feel guilty now? He wondered to himself. He was getting flashes of that beautiful face, the stunning eyes and the way her chin was set firmly at him.

With a mental shrug, he forced himself to dismiss it. He had far more pressing matters than some rude, cute, waitress with fiery red hair and striking green eyes.

And the current situation that was weighing down on him suddenly hit him harder again. He was on the search of finding himself a fake girlfriend which he never knew would be hard!

Arriving at his towering company building, he moved with an air of entitlement straight to the top floor, the location of his expansive office. He didn’t pay attention to the polite greetings offered by his employees which was a customary disregard that was simply expected of Damian Loft.

“Good morning, Mr. Loft,” his personal assistant, Tracy, greeted him, holding a file as he entered his opulent office.

“Do you have what we need, Tracy?” Damian responded ignoring her greetings and shrugging off his tailored jacket before sinking into his plush leather chair.

“I have a very good number of potential ladies who will be perfect for this job,” Tracy offered with a bright, hopeful smile that her smart boss immediately saw through.

“But…” he drawled looking at her as he expected what else she was going to say. He knew her quite well.

Tracy felt her carefully constructed confidence waver, but she pressed on. “They are not entirely off the grid, sir. Most of them have some public presence, whether they are popular or influential in some way.”

Damian tapped his fingers, his expression remaining coolly unimpressed. “So, in essence, you have nothing.” His voice held a sharp edge of irritation and disappointment.

“Yes, sir,” Tracy admitted, swallowing a sigh before attempting another hopeful smile. “But I do have a list of ladies who are not publicly known. I’m just unsure how they’ll feel about…”

Damian crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, a subtle air of boredom emanating from him despite the underlying displeasure in his eyes.

“Someone untraceable, someone the press, the media, and my family can’t dig up dirt on. Someone who can withstand media scrutiny precisely because there’s nothing to scrutinize! Someone beautiful and intelligent! Is that so damn difficult?” His voice rose with a sudden burst of anger, his fist slamming onto the polished desk, making Tracy flinch.

The past week had felt like an eternity for her under this relentless pressure.

“Tracy?” Damian’s voice was dangerously calm now.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice betraying a tremor of fear.

“Do I have to remind you what’s at stake? Do I have to reiterate the importance of this?” Even as she shook her head, he continued, his tone laced with impatient disdain. “My grandfather is breathing down my neck because apparently my colorful relationship history is somehow hindering my ability to run a multinational corporation. Apparently, it’s giving me a ‘bad image’ that could jeopardize potential billion-dollar deals. And if that wasn’t enough,” he continued with a sneer, “my esteemed grandfather has decided to dangle my CEO position and a significant chunk of my inheritance on the condition that I produce a suitable, well-behaved, and utterly boring girlfriend before his birthday and to take to the winter dance!”

He finished by casually sweeping a pencil case off his desk, sending it clattering to the floor. Tracy jumped again, silently wishing for the stress ball she’d left in her bag.

She’d heard this rant countless times. Her sole, seemingly impossible task was to find a convincing fake girlfriend who ticked all his boxes for a substantial payout. Finding someone beautiful, intelligent, and completely absent from the internet, however, felt like an exercise, even for someone accustomed to the daily trials of working for Damian Loft.

“I’m sorry, sir. I will do my best,” Tracy said quickly, desperate to appease him.

“Yeah, you damn well will do your best, because if you don’t, you’re fired.” His tone was flat, the threat delivered with cold certainty.

A chill ran down Tracy’s spine at the stark ultimatum.

“Now, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” he suggested, the generosity dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps tomorrow you can present me with someone… suitable. Otherwise, consider your tenure here concluded.”

“Yes, sir,” Tracy mumbled, turning to leave.

“Tracy?” Damian’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door. “Have them send up a bottle of wine. It’s been an exceptionally tedious day.”

“Yes, sir,” Tracy replied politely, but as the door clicked shut behind her, a silent growl of frustration rumbled in her chest.

Damian Loft wasn’t just arrogant; he was a thoroughly unpleasant and entitled jerk!