Hate, actually

Chapter 3

"Lord please make this day bearable," I mumble as I leave my bedroom for the lounge.

I woke up at eight in the morning, showered and slipped a bed robe over my undergarments.

On a normal day, I would have already started heading to work after my usual Starbucks coffee; but it isn't a normal day.

I have the meeting at Romano & Co at 10 AM, so I have nothing to do with the spare time I have left on my hands.

I'm planning to see my mom after the meeting, so I can't do that now.

I become very fidgety in anticipation of what is to come.

I grab my phone and scroll through it for a bit before deciding to Google Mr Romano - the attractive man who was talking to Pablo when I was spying the other day. The man I have to ask for at reception today.

Needless to say, I feel like a stalker but that won't stop me.

I type Romano & Co in first and a lot of results pop up.

I'm not really sure what exactly I'm looking for.

I click on a random link.

It reads: Romano & Co is a successful family business that has been around for a few years, and has grown rapidly over time. The CEO and owner alike is Leonardo Romano, who is the heir apparent to the business. His father - who is now paralyzed from the neck down - left the business in his hands-

I stop reading, go back to the search engine and I type in: pictures of Leonardo Romano.

Thousand of results pop up yet again. Some of the pictures are taken professionally in photoshoots, some are taken by the press and paparazzi, some are from his i********: and so on.

Yep, this is definitely the guy I spied on the other day. His seafoam eyes are pretty unmistakable along with his perfect bone structure.

The one thing I love about his features is that they aren't 'perfect' in an annoying way like the men you'd usually find in vogue magazines (the key word being usually, because I won't be surprised to find him in one anyway).

He sort of has that boyish-charm look fused together with a model's face and body - which is my personal definition of perfect, really.

I shake away my random train of thought and decide to go and put some clothes on.

I throw on a white tank top, a pair of skinny jeans, an old gray and black woolly cardigan that my mom gave to me a while back, and I slip on a pair of white Converse.

My mom always complains about my 'dreadful' sense of fashion but most of what I wear comes from her, anyway.

A normal person would think that I'm under-dressed but in my defence, I don't exactly know what the job description is; so how on earth can I dress for it accordingly?

I step into the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. My wide, dark green eyes look tired from sleepless nights of overthinking and my lips are set in a thin line.

I try to smile but quickly get annoyed at my pretentiousness. I sigh, reminding myself that it's okay not to be okay.

I eye my hair and grimace. I look like I've been attacked by a wild cat. I'm naturally a dirty blonde but I dyed it a chestnut color for some change and the color desperately needs some renewal.

Maybe I'll just go back to blonde.

I spray some hair mousse into my hands and work it through my waves to give them a bit of volume and life, before I tie my hair up into a high ponytail.

This is as far as I go when it comes to trying to look decent. I've never had a job that required me to look classy or anything so I never bothered - besides, I was always too busy with trying to get through school with straight A's or looking after my mother to find the time to even learn how to do makeup or concentrate on the latest fashion.

I only ever care for mascara to give my eyes a bit of life, but that's it. My best friend Lauren - heaven bless her - took care of my Junior and Senior prom hair and makeup.

I smile thinking about just how much I don't deserve that girl.

Once I finish with my hair, I grab my phone and head out.

I decide to walk to the building to kill some time because I'm a little early.

I grab some coffee and a bagel on the way. It's a rare, mildly sunny day in the middle of January; which I highly appreciate.

When I reach my destination, I throw my trash into a nearby bin, go past the sliding doors, through the scanners and into the high and mighty, prestigious building that I'd mentally sworn I'd never return to.

An attractive, professionally tanned lady - who looks about twenty four - with a slicked back lengthy ponytail is manning the front desk. She's dressed in a white body-hugging dress from what I can see.

I smile politely at her.

Before I can even say anything, she speaks up. "We're not hiring any more ground staff at the moment as the board of directors are under some sort of investigation. You can come back next week and we might have a spot open for restroom cleaners," she says with a tight, forced looking smiled.

I should feel offended at her assumption, but I can't bring myself to blame her considering I look like a sixth toe next to everyone who mills around the company. It's pretty evident in my dressing that I don't know the first thing about working a white-collared job.

I clear my throat. "Uhm I'm not here for that, actually. I'm here to see Mr Romano."

The receptionist's eyebrows furrow and she eyes me sceptically. "Oh. My bad," she says unapologetically, "do you have an appointment?"

"Yup. 10 AM," I reply, growing impatient. I'm curious about this so-called job.

She asks for my name before typing something into her laptop. I gave it to her and she finally hands me a pass.

"How to do I get to Mr Romano's office?" I ask, not knowing my way around.

"Top floor, second door to your left. His name will be on the door," she replies, totally uninterested in the conversation we're having (if even a conversation).

I mumble a 'thanks' before heading into an elevator.

Soft, classical music fills my ears as I step next to a blond guy in a crisp suit. He doesn't even spare me a glance and the duration of the lift is awkward to say the least.

I walk out, ready to get the meeting over and done with so I can exit the one building I've grown to dread over the past couple of days.

I find the office I was looking for pretty quickly, since it's near the elevator; and I knock lightly.

"Enter," a male's voice booms through the mahogany door.

I twist the door knob and I step into a large airy office. The A/C is on full blast and my teeth nearly chatter from the cold.

The amazing view of the city through the large wrap-around window is the first thing I notice before my eyes land on Mr Romano himself.

The fact that he is aware of my presence and he is looking at me makes me sweat, despite how cold I'm feeling - that and the fact that I still have a fever.

"How may I help you?" He questions me with a robotic expression, slowly taking in my appearance.

He is intimidating to say the least.

I am about to speak up when Pablo - who suddenly emerges from what looks like a pantry - greets me warmly.

"Oh, it's good to see you Misss Torres! We've been expecting you. Here have a seat," he says, gesturing to a plush, black chair opposite Mr Romano's.

My feet awkwardly make their way there and I sit down without managing to break anything as I usually clumsily do in a nervous trance.

Pablo sits across from me.

"This is Miss Torres?" Mr Romano asks Pablo almost incredulously.

No formalities? Oh, okay.

Pablo nods. "That is she, sir."

Mr Romano turns to me. "What do you do for a living?"

I fidget under his gaze. "I'm a waitress at Bo's Bistro."

He then turns to Pablo again. "A waitress. You brought in a waitress?"

Pablo sighs. "There's nothing wrong with coming from humble beginnings, sir. Let's not be haughty, now. Miss Torres is an educated, unmaterialistic, respectful individual who was top of all her classes in highschool. She's the kind of girl we need for this job."

He's surely looked me up.

"You did research on me?" I can't help but ask in disbelief.

Pablo nods. "I hired a couple of people to find some things out about you and some other young ladies. You were the only one who matched Mr Romano himself's description of the perfect person for the job."

I nod slowly, wordlessly.

Mr Romano sighs in distaste. "She needs a makeover and a stylist, at least. I can't risk to be embarrassed at the many events she'll be accompanying me to."

Did he really just-

I hold up a hand to stop him from speaking. "First of all, I haven't agreed to anything yet, as I haven't got a cooking clue about what this job entails. Second of all, I don't think insulting someone is the best way to handle a business proposal - you of all people should be aware of that."

All the nervousness I had been feeling jumps out of the window and is now replaced by anger and annoyance.

Mr Romano lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Do you know how many people would kill to even speak or sit near me, Miss Torres? Consider yourself lucky. Oh, and do me a favor and speak only when it is required of you. Understood?" He speaks in a low, authoritive voice. I'm almost shaken. But not quite.

Instead, annoyance bubbles in my very core.

"If your high position in this company and your good looks are all you have to offer then I'd like to inform you that I am not impressed enough to keep my mouth shut.

"Before you offer me this so-called job, I'd like to make it clear that for me to behave like most of the girls you're probably used to talking to - I'd have to switch off a couple of braincells and discard my self respect in a nearby trash can, and if that's what this job requires then you can count me right out. You seriously need a reality check if this is how you treat other human beings just because they have less money than you. I doubt you're even what you make yourself out to be, considering I've never heard of you before. Who even are you? Arrogance personified?" I ramble.

Silence.

I really went off this time, didn't I? Oh boy. And when did I become such a pathological liar? Of course I've heard of him before at least a couple hundred times.

Pablo's mouth is twitching as he miserably tries to hide an amused smile.

Mr Romano's jaw is taut, and he looks like he is ready to castrate me right then and there.

He stands up and starts making his way to the pantry. "Pablo, a word."

Pablo stands up and follows his boss.

Even though the door is shut behind them, I can still hear snippets of their muffled conversation. 

"I don't think I can be in the same room as her without wanting to strangle her."

"I don't suppose you want to lose your job, so I suggest you cooperate, sir."

"She looks fifteen."

"She's nineteen."

"One year and six months, Pablo? I absolutely cannot stand being around her for that long."

"Well it's either that or I go looking for someone else who will possibly use your surname to steal everything you've got and make you go more bankrupt than Phillip Sultana ever could've."

"How do you know she won't do that?"

"I just know," is Pablo's simple reply.

There are a couple more inaudible exchanges but I can tell that Mr Romano is coming round.

Anyone can tell that even though Pablo works for Mr Romano, they sort of have a father-and-son dynamic in their relationship.

I'm considering just getting up and exiting the premises when they emerge from the pantry. I am tired, confused and riled up all at once.

The two men sit back down.

Pablo looks at me. "Mr Romano and I talked things over and he decided to keep his snide remarks to himself." He gives Mr Romano a pointed look, who in turn diverts his gaze to the ceiling in visible frustration.

"We have a proposal for you. It's going to sound crazy at first, but try to take heed of the benefits," Pablo continues.

I nod for him to carry on, arms crossed and my no-nonsense face still intact.

He hands me a newspaper to which I furrow my eyesbrows in confusion.

"Take a look at the first page and skim over the words."

I do as I'm asked.

It reads: Mr Romano is a trending topic, not only with the women, but with many top businesses across the world as well. He is undeniably a force to be reckoned with and has shown for his claim to fame. There are a couple of questions many of us have been wondering though: is a 23 year old mature enough to handle such a big responsibility? At his young age, won't he develop a greed for money that might get to his head and potentially lead him to steal from his clients?

I stop reading and hand the newspaper back to Pablo. I get the gist of what Phillip Sultana is trying to imply.

I remembr the conversation that Mr Romano and Pablo were having when I was spying on them and now, they are discussing it with me.

Irony smirks.

"So what exactly is my job here?" I ask as nicely as I can - for Pablo's sake at least.

I'm also a little subdued, with the knowledge that Mr Romano is probably going through trying times.

"Your job is to get married to Mr Romano, so he can feign stability. You also have to prove to be a noble young woman - who is not money hungry - to the public so they'll know that you won't advise your husband to steal from clients or entertain the idea from him."

"You want me to get married? To him?" I ask, bewildered.

"It'll be a fake marriage," Mr Romano pipes up.

"It'll only be for a year and six months," Pablo says.

I can't believe any of what I'm hearing. "Why the additional six months?"

"Because you two being married for only one year would prove the entire scheme to be a publicity stunt."

"Then make it a year and two months," I say, still stupefied.

"Three. Three will be the compromise. You will be paid 2 million dollars in total and you'll enjoy the full benefits of being Mrs Romano. The first million will be deposited into your account in two days. The other million will be deposited when your job is done.

You will be moving in with him after the wedding which we'll hire a wedding planner for. We've already arranged the proposal and how it will go."

Me? Mrs Romano?

I nearly laugh out loud at how ridiculously unreal all of it sounds.

"Wow...I don't know about this. Are there any rules? Terms and conditions?" I ask.

"There will be a contract I'll give to you to read over, and you can make your decision tonight. You can rest assured we'll stay out of each other's way unless we're in a public setting, if that's what you're worried about," Mr Romano finally speaks up instead of being a moody six year old.

"Sounds fair enough," is all I can say.

Pablo smiles in satisfaction. "We're making progress. You're dismissed, Miss Torres. Please make sure to be back here by tomorrow at the same time and same place so we can revise the contract and maybe add in your terms if you come up with any."

I stand up from my chair. "Sure thing. I guess I'll see you both tomorrow morning."

Mr Romano sips on his coffee, his attention already diverted back to his work, while Pablo hands me the contract before he bids me a warm farewell.

I wonder how he manages to work for someone like Mr Romano without attempting to wring his neck at least once.

I better start taking notes because this a job offer I can't pass up; the Lord only knows I need the money.

I make my way out of the building with my mind made up. Being married can't be that horrible. My love life has been pretty much non existent since high school by choice, so that doesn't take much freedom away from me. It's only a year and three months.

To me, as long as Mr Romano keeps to himself and I do the same, this business proposal could quite possibly be one of the best things that has happened to me in a while.

I walk over to a couple of taxi cabs parked outside and I clamber into a random one.

I make a pit stop by a florist and I pick up some of my mom's favorite flowers before making my way to the hospice to see her.

I decide that I won't tell her about the business proposal.

I feel bad for the idea that pops up in my mind but I'm going to go with it anyway.

I want my mom to pass on with the idea that she's leaving her daughter happily married and finally living a fulfilling life - which is not completely a lie - the two million dollars will give me a head start in life and I won't be homeless for the next one year and three months.

Plus, according to the contract which I skimmed through in the taxi, the marriage certificate will have our real signatures on it, so it won't be a complete lie.

I owe it to my mom.

Her one wish is to attend my wedding or at least see me happily married - and I'm going to make it happen for her. Real marriage or not.