Hired to Love Him: A Billionaire Fake Love Story

"Five thousand dollars." Amara almost choked on her coffee. She set the cup down slowly, making sure she'd heard right. Across the sleek glass desk sat Ethan Cole, watching her with the kind of calm that only came from never being told no. "I'm sorry?" she said. "Five thousand dollars. Per month." He leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning his suit jacket like this was the most casual conversation of his life. "To pretend to be my girlfriend." Amara stared at him. She'd walked into Cole Enterprises twenty minutes ago for a waitressing job at his company's annual gala. One gig. One night. Enough to cover her rent and maybe half her tuition. Now this man was sitting here offering her five thousand dollars a month like it was pocket change. "You're serious," she said. "I don't joke about money." She studied his face. Sharp jaw, cold eyes, the kind of handsome that made you forget to be nervous, until he opened his mouth. "Why me?" she asked. "You could have anyone." "I don't want anyone." He slid a document across the desk toward her. "I want someone who has no connections to my world. No agenda. No feelings." Amara looked at the paper without touching it. "My mother," he continued, "has decided that I need a wife by the end of the year or she hands the company to my cousin." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I need a girlfriend first. Someone convincing. Someone she can't buy or scare away." "And you think that's me." "You told my assistant off when she tried to redirect you to the service entrance." The corner of his mouth twitched. "You didn't even flinch." Amara remembered that. The woman had been rude and Amara had very calmly, very clearly, told her exactly where to redirect herself. "That's not a qualification," Amara said. "It is in my family." He nodded at the document. "Read it." She pulled it toward her and skimmed. Six months. Public appearances, family dinners, events. A list of rules, no falling in love, no kissing without prior agreement, no discussing the arrangement with anyone. She almost laughed at the no falling in love clause. "And if I say no?" she asked. "Then you go back to the waitress job." He shrugged. "But your tuition is due in three weeks. Your landlord sent a notice last month. And your sister's school fees..." Amara's head snapped up. "How do you know that?" "I run a company, Miss Amara. I do background checks on everyone who walks through that door." Her jaw tightened. "That's an invasion of..." "Privacy?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or just inconvenient truth?" She hated him immediately. Fully, completely, with every bone in her body. She also looked down at the number on the contract again. Five thousand dollars. Per month. Six months. She did the math fast. Tuition, rent, her sister Lily's school fees, and still money left over. Real money. The kind she hadn't seen since her father died and left them with nothing but debt and a leaking roof. "There will be rules on my side too," she said. Ethan blinked. Just once. Like he hadn't expected that. "Such as?" he said. "You don't speak to me like I'm staff. Not in public, not in private." She met his eyes. "You treat me like an equal or this doesn't work. Your mother will see through it immediately if you talk down to me." He was quiet for a moment. "Fine," he said. "I have classes on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. Non-negotiable." "Noted." "And I'm not moving in with you." "I have a guest house on the property. Separate entrance, separate everything. You'd have more space than your current apartment." She hated that he already knew what her apartment looked like. "One more thing," she said. "Go on." "The kissing clause." She tapped the paper. "I want that defined. Clearly." Something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile. Something more dangerous than that. "It means," he said slowly, "that if I need to kiss you — at an event, for appearances — I ask first. You have the right to say no." "And if I say no at the moment?" "Then we find another way to be convincing." Amara held his gaze for a long moment. He didn't look away. Neither did she. She picked up the pen. "I have one condition of my own," he said quietly. She paused. "What?" "Don't catch feelings." His voice was flat, certain, like he'd seen it happen before. "I'm not built for that. And I won't pretend to be." Amara almost smiled. "Mr. Cole," she said, "I came here to waitress at a party. The last thing I'm going to do is fall for my employer." She signed the paper. He took it, reviewed her signature, and tucked it into a folder like they'd just agreed on a catering order. "My driver will pick you up Saturday at seven," he said. "Family dinner. Dress appropriately." "Define appropriately." "Like someone I'd actually choose." He stood, signaling the meeting was over. "My stylist will contact you." Amara stood too, gathered her bag, and turned toward the door. "Miss Amara." She looked back. For just a second — the briefest flash — something moved behind his eyes. Something almost human. "Thank you," he said. She nodded once and walked out. It was only in the elevator, alone, doors closed, that she let out the breath she'd been holding since the moment he said five thousand dollars. Her phone buzzed. A transfer notification. An advance. Already in her account. She stared at it, heart hammering. What did I just agree to? The elevator doors opened to the lobby. She straightened her back and walked out into the afternoon sun. Six months. That was all. She'd done harder things than pretend. She just had to keep reminding herself — Ethan Cole was a job. Not a man. Just a job.