The Billionaire's fake girlfriend

Nate Carter’s office was impeccable. Straight lines, neutral tones, and absolute silence. Everything was organized exactly the way he liked it — precise, controlled, and devoid of unnecessary distractions. Lola was already used to that. Her job as an assistant required meticulous attention to detail and, above all, patience. Nate wasn’t the kind of boss who got lost in small talk. He gave orders, expected efficiency, and when something displeased him, he didn’t need words — a look was enough. That day, however, something felt different. Not that she showed it, but beneath her composed exterior, there was a quiet hum of anticipation. One more week until Barb’s wedding. She closed her eyes for a second, inhaling slowly, grounding herself. She had everything planned: the dress, the trip, the final adjustments with Patrick. It would be an intense but special weekend. A celebration of love, of friendship, of something lasting. She picked up the folder of documents she needed to deliver and knocked on Nate’s office door. “Come in.” His voice was firm, direct. Lola stepped inside and walked to the desk, setting down the papers without delay. “Morning, sir. Here are the reports you requested.” Nate didn’t even look up from his computer. His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, expression unreadable. “Anything pending?” “None,” she replied, keeping her tone professional. He nodded, still focused on his work. It was always like that. Quick, to the point, with no room for conversation. Lola hesitated for half a second, an irrational part of her waiting — almost hoping — for him to say something else. Of course, he didn’t. “I’ll get you some coffee.” This time, he looked up. God, his eyes were so crystal clear. It was intimidating. “Strong, no sugar.” “I know.” Routine. Unchanging, predictable routine. She turned to leave, suppressing a sigh. She had no reason to expect anything different from Nate Carter. That wasn’t how he worked. At the end of the day, the office was almost empty when her phone vibrated on the desk. Patrick. She answered without hesitation, still half-focused on an email. “Hi, honey.” Silence. A beat too long. Then — “Lola… we need to talk.” The way he said it made something coil tight in her stomach. Her fingers stilled over the keyboard. “What happened?” Patrick exhaled, and the sound sent an icy dread through her veins. “I… I don’t know how to say this, but I think it’s best if we break up.” The words didn’t register at first. “What?” “I don’t want to continue, Lola. I’m sorry.” A strange ringing filled her ears. “Is this some kind of joke?” “No.” Her grip on the phone tightened. “Patrick, are you seriously saying this a week before Barb’s wedding? After everything we planned?” “I know. But I can’t keep pretending.” Pretending. The word struck like a slap. “Pretending? We’ve been together for a year. What exactly were you pretending?” “I just… I can’t do it anymore. I needed to be honest.” Honest? He was breaking up with her over the phone without a single real explanation. A sharp, aching pressure built in her chest, but she refused to let it show. “Is there someone else?” “That’s not it.” “Then what is it?” The silence on the other end was worse than any answer. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to breathe, to keep her voice steady. “I see...” Patrick hesitated. “Lola…” She swallowed down the lump rising in her throat. “f**k you.” And she hung up. For a long moment, she just stood there, phone still in her hand, staring blankly ahead. The office around her felt impossibly cold, too big, too empty. The phone screen was dark now, the call long ended, but Patrick’s words still echoed in her head. I think it’s best if we break up. A year together, a planned trip, a wedding right around the corner — and he was just done? Just like that? The logical part of her brain told her to breathe, to push it aside until she got home. But logic had no place in heartbreak. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Lola." She blinked, startled, and realized she was still standing at her desk, gripping her phone like it had personally betrayed her. James, one of the junior executives, stood nearby with a curious expression. "Everything okay?" She forced a smile, a reflex she had mastered over the years. "Yeah. Just a long day." He nodded, thankfully not pushing further. "Nate’s asking for you." Of course, he was. Lola straightened her shoulders, quickly composing herself before heading toward Nate’s office. The last thing she needed was to let her personal life spill into work — especially not with a boss like him. She knocked once before stepping inside. "Sir, you asked for me?" Nate didn’t look up immediately. His attention remained on the screen, fingers tapping away at the keyboard with calculated precision. His office was just as cold and composed as he was — everything in perfect order, not a single thing out of place. After a few beats, he finally spoke. "Tomorrow’s meeting with the investors has been moved up an hour. Make sure everything is prepared accordingly." Lola nodded, making a mental note. "Understood." He finally glanced at her then, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he noticed something off. If he could tell that a storm was raging inside her. But if he did, he didn’t say anything. "That’s all," he said simply, returning to his work. Lola turned to leave, grateful for the escape. But just as she reached the door, his voice stopped her. "And Lola." She hesitated, looking back. "Yes?" His eyes flickered to her for just a second. "Strong coffee. No sugar." Right. The routine. The same as always. She swallowed hard and nodded before slipping out of his office. By the time she reached the breakroom, the lump in her throat had grown unbearable. She set up the coffee machine on autopilot, barely registering the motions as she leaned against the counter. She would not cry here. Not at work. Not because of him. But God, how was she supposed to show up at Barb’s wedding alone now? At the end of the day, she gathered her things, stepped out into the quiet hallway, and walked to her car, each step echoing louder than it should. The drive home was silent, except for the sound of her own shallow breaths. The excitement she’d felt earlier? Evaporated. She had been dumped. And she didn’t even know why.