Faking Love

Chapter 6: The Routine

Two weeks in, and I've learned the rhythm of Dante Castillo's life.

It goes like this:

5:30 AM - He's already sent three emails

6:00 AM - First coffee (disgusting)

6:15 AM - International calls

7:00 AM - Reviews overnight developments

8:00 AM - Team meetings

9:00 AM - Second coffee (equally disgusting)

10:00 AM - Site visits or investor meetings

12:00 PM - Working lunch (he never actually stops for lunch)

2:00 PM - More meetings

4:00 PM - Third coffee (I've stopped judging)

6:00 PM - Dinners, events, schmoozing

9:00 PM - Back to office for "quick review"

11:00 PM - Finally leaves

Midnight - Still sending emails

The man is a machine, and I'm struggling to keep up.

But I'm also learning things. Important things. Research things.

Like how he remembers everyone's name, from the CEO of a partner company to the guy who cleans the office at night. How he tips exactly 25% everywhere we go. How he gets this tiny crease between his eyebrows when he's actually worried versus when he's just annoyed.

How he takes his coffee differently depending on time of day, more sugar in the morning when he needs the energy, black after 4 PM because he "doesn't want to be awake all night."

Spoiler: He's awake all night anyway.

I'm documenting everything. The way he rolls up his sleeves when he's about to dive into a problem. The rare moments when he smiles, really smiles, usually at something unexpected. The fact that he owns approximately fifteen identical suits in different shades of gray and navy.

The man has a uniform like he's Steve Jobs or something.

"You're staring again," Marcus says, appearing at my desk with coffee.

It's become our morning ritual. He brings me proper coffee (no sugar) and gives me the download on whatever chaos is about to unfold.

"I'm observing."

"That's what all the stalkers say."

"I'm not stalking, I'm learning his patterns. That's literally my job."

"Uh huh." He sets down the coffee. "How are you finding it? The job, I mean."

"Exhausting. Fascinating. Slightly terrifying."

"That's accurate. You're doing well, by the way. He hasn't yelled at you yet."

"Does he yell?"

"Not yell, exactly. More like... delivers devastating critiques in a very calm voice that makes you question your entire existence."

"Sounds healthy."

"It's character building." Marcus leans against my desk. "He's different with you, though."

My heart does a weird skip. "Different how?"

"Softer. Marginally, like, 2% softer, but for him that's huge."

"I think you're reading into things."

"I've known him for eight years. I'm not reading into anything." He pushes off the desk. "Just... be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"Of thinking the 2% is the whole picture."

He leaves before I can ask what that means.

Dante emerges from his office at 6:05, right on schedule. "Morning."

"Morning. Your 6:30 with Singapore moved to 7. Something about their CEO being stuck in traffic."

"Figures." He heads for the coffee station, pours his diabetes special. "What's my day look like?"

I pull it up. "Team meeting at 8, site visit at 10, lunch with the mayor's office at 12:30, contract reviews at 2, and you have a 5 PM that just came through, your sister."

He pauses mid-sip. "Sophia called?"

"Emailed actually. Said to tell you she's coming by whether you like it or not, and I should order good coffee for her, not your 'tragic sugar addiction.'"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Did she actually say tragic sugar addiction?"

"Direct quote."

"That sounds like her." He heads back to his office, calls over his shoulder, "Order from the place on Fifth. She likes their oat milk lattes."

The fact that he knows his sister's coffee order does something weird to my chest.

Note: Subject has soft spot for sister. Remembers small details about people he cares about.

The morning proceeds like usual, controlled chaos, rapid decisions, Dante being simultaneously impressive and impossible.

During the site visit, I watch him talk to the construction crew. He knows most of them by name, asks about their families, actually listens to their concerns about the project timeline.

"You're good with people," I say in the car after.

"I'm good at managing people. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Managing is about efficiency. Being good with people is about actually caring."

"And you don't care?"

He looks at me directly. "I didn't say that."

The lunch with the mayor's office is political theater at its finest. Dante navigating zoning regulations and permit approvals with the kind of charm that probably gets him anything he wants.

Which makes me wonder what he'd be like if he actually wanted something. Or someone.

Stop it, Raven.

Back at the office, Sophia arrives at exactly 5 PM. She's stunning, long dark hair, designer everything, a smile that could probably win ever guy’s heart.

She sweeps into the office like she owns it, which, technically, her brother kind of does.

"You must be Raven!" She pulls me into a hug before I can react. "I've heard so much about you."

"You have?"

"Dante mentioned you lasted more than a week. That's basically a marriage proposal in his world."

From inside his office: "I can hear you, Sophia."

"Good! You're supposed to!" She pulls back, studying me. "Wow, you're gorgeous. And you haven't quit yet. I'm impressed."

"It's only been two weeks."

"Exactly. The last assistant made it three days." She links her arm through mine. "Come on, I'm stealing you. Dante, I'm stealing your assistant!"

"No…"

"Too late!"

She drags me to the conference room, shuts the door, and produces a bottle of wine from her massive designer bag.

"It's 5 PM on a Tuesday," I say.

"It's 5 PM somewhere. Also, I need to interrogate you about my brother, and that requires wine."

I should protest. I'm at work. This is unprofessional.

She's already pouring into coffee mugs.

"Interrogate away," I say, taking the mug.

"How's he treating you? Be honest. If he's being an asshole, I'll kill him."

"He's... demanding. But fair. Hasn't been an asshole, exactly."

"Yet. Give it time." She takes a sip. "What do you think of him? Real talk."

Dangerous question. "He's dedicated. Smart. Works too hard."

"All true. Also lonely, stubborn, and emotionally constipated."

I almost spit out my wine. "Emotionally constipated?"

"The man hasn't been in a real relationship since... I don't even know. He dates sometimes, but it's always surface-level. Work is his mistress."

"That's bleak."

"That's Dante." She leans forward conspiratorially. "But I think you might be good for him."

"I'm his assistant."

"You're the first assistant who talks back to him. Yeah, he told me that too. He definitely needs that."

Through the glass walls, I can see Dante at his desk, on the phone, looking stressed.

"He seems fine to me."

"That's the problem. He seems fine to everyone. But fine isn't the same as happy." She stands, gathering her bag. "Anyway, I should go. But let's have coffee sometime? Not work coffee. Real coffee."

"Sure. I'd like that."

She hugs me again. "Take care of him, okay? Someone needs to."

After she leaves, I go back to my desk. The sun is setting over LA, turning the sky orange.

Dante comes out of his office. "What did my sister say to you?"

"That you're emotionally constipated."

He closes his eyes briefly. "Of course she did."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Emotionally constipated."

"That's an inappropriate question for an assistant to ask her boss."

"You're the one who brought it up."

He studies me for a long moment. "Do you always say exactly what you're thinking?"

"Usually. It's a character flaw."

"Or a strength."

"You'd be the first boss to think so."

"I'm not like other bosses."

"I'm starting to realize that."

The air between us does something weird. Like a shift, sortof.

"You should go home," he says finally. "It's late."

I check my phone. It's 6:47. "That's not late."

"It is for people with lives outside work."

"Do you have a life outside work?"

He doesn't answer, which is an answer in itself.

I pack up my things slowly, aware of him watching. At the elevator, I turn back.

He's still standing there, looking like a statue of loneliness and success.

"Goodnight, Dante."

It's the first time I've used his first name. His eyes widen slightly.

"Goodnight Raven.”