CHAPTER FOUR: Be My Fake Girlfriend
1135 Words
He left me.
Just left me on the damn sidewalk like I was some dog he’d fed out of pity. I stood there, fingers curled tight around the sleek, black card that felt heavier than it should. “Blackwood Tech,” cleanly pressed across the top in bold lettering. And beneath it, in all-caps was written: CEO ETHAN BLACKWOOD.
As if I didn’t know who he was.
I shoved the card into my jeans pocket and stalked across the street to Amelia’s car, adrenaline still under my skin. She was already in the driver’s seat, leaning forward, wide-eyed.
“What the hell just happened? I couldn’t even see his face.”
I slid into the passenger seat, still catching up with reality. “You’re seriously not going to believe this.”
So I told her. All of it. No edits.
Her mouth dropped open. “No freaking way.”
“Oh, there’s more.”
“He just—what? Left you standing there? After threatening to call the cops on you if you don’t show up tomorrow?”
“Pretty much.” I blew out a shaky breath.
She leaned back, arms folded, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “Blake. What the hell kind of plan was that?”
I winced. “Remember Jeremy? That weird guy I went out with months ago?”
She squinted, trying to place him. “The t****k magician wannabe? Curly hair? Reeked of Axe body spray and entitlement?”
“That’s the one. Tried to get me to go home with him. I was grossed out. He went to the bathroom, left his wallet… and I sort of took it. Then ghosted.”
Her jaw dropped. Then she laughed so hard she smacked the steering wheel. “Oh my God, Blake! You little menace.”
“Not my proudest moment, okay.”
“No. It’s iconic. That loser deserved it. He really thought he had a shot with you.”
“Exactly.” I forced a smile, but my stomach was still twisted into knots. “Anyway, Ethan gave me his card. With his office address.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes. “Blake. You’re not seriously thinking of going.”
I held up my phone. “He wasn’t bluffing.”
I pulled up Google. And just like that, there he was. Ethan Blackwood. Beautiful. Rich. Dangerous. Photographed in tailored suits, arm in arm with senators and Silicon Valley royalty. A few articles mentioned a breakup two years ago. But no photos of her. Like she never existed.
Amelia frowned at my screen. “That’s… creepy.”
“Right?”
“Still. You can’t go there alone. You don’t know what kind of psycho he is.”
“Amy, I have to. He knows too much. And I don’t want to go to jail also
.”
She didn’t argue. But the worry in her silence clung to the air.
The next morning, I dressed down on purpose—jeans, a fitted black top, light makeup. I wanted to look like someone who still had a shred of control over their life.
Amelia’s mom, Gabriella, offered to drop me off.
“Blackwood Tech? That’s a big place,” she said, side-eyeing me.
“Job interview,” I lied, the words burning in my throat.
“Good luck, sweetheart.”
She kissed my cheek before I stepped out.
10:45 a.m.
Damn it. Already late. It wasn’t as if he gave me a specific time to arrive.
The building was all made of glass. Twelve stories tall. It looked beautiful anyway. I pushed through the heavy glass doors and tried to look like I belonged there, like I wasn’t just a broke twenty-something walking into a lion’s den.
The front desk? Empty. Figures.
I started asking around. Same answer, every time: Ethan Blackwood’s office was locked down. Only his assistant and CFO had access.
“You look lost.”
I turned. The guy had the kind of beach-bum tan you only got from money and no real stress. Sharp jaw. Green eyes. A little too soft to be real.
“I’m Ben,” he said, offering his hand like this was brunch, not an interrogation. “Ethan’s expecting you. Come on.”
I blinked. “He told you I was coming?”
“He tells me everything.”
Cool.
The elevator ride felt like a countdown. I stared at him the whole way.
“You’re not scared of him,” I said.
He smiled. “Should I be?”
When we hit the twelfth floor, he led me down a hallway so sterile and minimal it made hospitals look cluttered.
“Name’s Benjamin Reed,” he added casually. “CFO of Blackwood Tech. Also Ethan’s best friend.”
Of course he was.
He left me in front of a massive matte-black door.
I knocked.
“Come in.”
His voice. Calm. Low. Like a secret.
I pushed the door open.
The office was a cathedral of cold glass and precision. His desk looked like it could double as a helipad. He didn’t even look up.
“You’re late. Is this how you show up for things?”
I didn’t flinch. “I didn’t come here for a lecture. What do you want from me, Blackwood?”
His gaze finally rose. Smirk in place.
“Straight to the point. I like that.”
He nodded toward the desk. “Two documents. Start with the one on the left.”
I picked up the folder.
My throat closed.
It was all there. Every piece of my life. Report cards. Medical history. Photos. Even my parents’ death certificates.
“This is insane,” I whispered. “This is a complete violation.”
He walked around the desk, unbothered. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“And this is your justification for threatening me?”
“I know enough. You’re desperate. You tried to steal from me.”
My head snapped up. “How do you—”
“Security cameras. You were the destraction. Amelia went for the watch. And am absolutely sure you gave her that idea”
My blood ran cold.
“Relax,” he said, like he was offering tea. “I’m not pressing charges. I’m offering a deal.”
He pointed at the second document.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
“Read it. Out loud.”
I swallowed.
“This agreement states that Blake Monroe will act as Ethan Blackwood’s girlfriend for a duration of three months, in exchange for the sum of thirty million dollars, to be paid upon successful completion of the arrangement.”
I dropped the paper.
He watched me with that damn smirk.
“Well?”
I stared at him.
“Are you completely out of your f**king mind?”
- Writer
