1
Ava POV
So, I’m posted up in my office, grindin’ through spreadsheets so my boss doesn’t hit me with that “stay late” nonsense. My desk’s basically glued to Mr. Brooks’—sorry, Ethan Brooks—‘cause he’s gotta have me on speed dial for his every whim. Door’s gotta stay open unless he’s on a call or, like, entertaining one of his lady friends. Thank the universe these walls are soundproof, ‘cause I’m not tryna hear what goes down in there. Dude’s a total control freak, no cap.
Outta nowhere, the door swings open. I roll my eyes, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to demand. Ethan’s a lot arrogant, rude, and a straight-up jerk. I only stick around ‘cause the job’s dope and the bag is fat.
“Ava, get in here,” he barks, voice colder than my iced latte.
I nod, keepin’ it profesh. “Yes, sir.”
He dips back into his office, and I drag myself through, plantin’ myself in front of his desk. I know the drill: don’t speak ‘til he does. He leans back in his chair, sizing’ me up with those stupidly gorgeous brown eyes. Yeah, I said it—Ethan’s a tool, but he’s fine. Like, tall, jacked, with deep brown eyes and black hair that’s given’ GQ cover. His jaw chiseled like he was carved by angels, and when he does smile—which is rare—it’s a panty-dropper. I’m not simpin’, okay? That’s too basic. But I got eyes, and he’s the kinda guy you double-take on the street, forgettin’ how to breathe for a hot sec. Total Greek God energy.
He’s staring’ at me hard, and it’s lowkey freakin’ me out. In the whole year I’ve been here, he’s never looked at me like this—like I’m the main character in his Netflix special. My nerves are shook. I drop my gaze to the floor, ‘cause that eye contact too intense.
“Eyes on me, Ava,” he orders, voice like a whip.
I let out a tiny “eek” and snap my head up, locking eyes again.
“What you doin’ this weekend?” he asks, all casual.
Ugh, bet he’s tryna make me work. I don’t have plans—weekends are for Netflix and vibes—but I hate clockin’ in on Saturday. Still, double pay’s nice. He’s a jerk, but he pays his people right.
“Nothin’, sir. You need me for something’?” I say, keepin’ it chill.
He stands, strolls around his desk, and leans against it, lookin’ like he’s about to drop a TED Talk. “Yeah, I need you to be my date.”
I choke on air. “Your what now?”
Is this man pranking me? I’m not falling for it.
“My date,” he says, smooth as his tailored suit, steppin’ closer. “Got a family wedding this weekend. I’m over my fam grillin’ me about settling’ down. So, you’re comin’ as my fake girlfriend. One weekend, done.”
“Nope. You got a whole roster of women, Ethan. Pick one of them,” I snap, hands on my hips.
He steps closer, inches away, his breath warm on my face. My heart’s doing’ backflips, but I’m not shown’ it.
“Those girls? Nah, they won’t sell it. Nobody’s buying them as my girlfriend. You, though? You’re lowkey, reserved—my family will eat it up,” he says, all smug.
I shake my head, tryna stay firm. “I’m not playin’ your fake date, Ethan. I don’t do lies, period.”
He’s towering’ over me—dude’s like six-foot-something, and I’m feelin’ *smol*. I swallow hard, tryna hold my ground.
“Oh, you *will*,” he says, voice like velvet but sharp.
“You can’t boss me around outside work!” I fire back, poppin’ off. “This ain’t your office, Ethan!”
He laughs, dark and low, like I just amused the king. “Who knew you had this spicy side, Miss Carter? But you’re comin’ with me, or you’re not coming’ on Monday.”
My jaw drops. He’s not serious.
I plant a hand on my hip, glarin’ up at him. “You can’t threaten my job just ‘cause I’m not your Barbie doll to play with!”
He smirks, closing’ the gap ‘til our bodies are basically touchin’. I gasp—Ethan’s never been this close. He smells like money and trouble, and it’s too much.
“I just did, Ava. You got ‘til end of day to decide,” he says, then struts back to his desk, actin’ like he didn’t just flip my world.
I’m froze, my brain is buffering.
“Dismissed, Miss Carter. Keep the door open,” he says, not even looking up.
I huff, stormin’ back to my desk, hearing’ his smug chuckle behind me. I wanna slam that door so bad, but I’m not tryna make this worse. Is he for real? Can he fire me over this? I plop into my chair, groanin’ louder than a t****k sound effect.
Like, why me? I’ve seen his office parade of supermodels—they’re straight-up baddies. Any of ‘em could play girlfriend for a day. Me? I’m just Ava, your average coffee-shop-ordering’, rent-payin’ girl. Not some Insta influencer with a glow-up. I’m not his toy to flex at a wedding.
I try focusing’ on work, ‘cause I’m not tryna stay late. This job’s my ticket to big plans—buying’ a place, traveling’ to Santorini, livin’ my Pinterest board. But is dealin’ with Ethan’s power trip worth it?
I got two hours ‘til my shift’s done to figure this out. It’s Wednesday, so this man’s givin’ me *zero* notice. Bet his original date bailed, and I’m just the closest warm body. So shady! I’m used to him being’ a bossy jerk for work stuff, but this? This is the next-level extra.
What if my coworkers find out? I’m not tryna be the office tea, labeled as the girl who’s “with” the boss. That’s a hard pass. Nobody wants that rep. Ethan’s got women lining up to simp for him—half the office would jump at this. He’s hot, sure, but he keeps it strictly business, which is the one good thing about him.
I drop my head on my desk, groanin’ like I’m in a rom-com’s low point. If it
wasn’t for my trash luck, I’d have no luck at all. Somebody send help.
