The CEO's Fake Girlfriend

Today is the day I make the devil get stuck with me.

God, I hate him.

I hate his perfectly pressed suits. I hate how he walks like he owns every molecule of air in this building. I hate his cold stares that make grown executives stammer like kindergarteners.

He’s a monster, pure and simple.

If I had three wishes, I'd wish for financial security, better dancing skills for Maya, and... well, I’d spare him the third one. I might’ve wished his dick shrank and made every woman on Earth repulsive to him, but he’s not even the womanizing type.

He's too busy being a heartless machine to chase skirts—or, too busy dealing with the fallout from his ex and the tanking stock prices she caused.

For two weeks, I’d been trapped in this damn cafeteria, swallowing every curse word that clawed at my throat whenever his face showed up on the company monitors, while serving soup with the same hands that… No. Don’t think about that night.

The health inspection team had arrived twenty minutes ago, already poking around the kitchen with their collective frowns of disapproval.

They were here because of countless anonymous emails detailing expired products and fake meat the cafeteria had been using.

Who had spammed their inbox until they had no choice but to show up?

I hid my smirk behind my hairnet.

My eyes scanned the room for the next pieces of my puzzle. There, sitting with his usual crowd of ass-kissers, was Greg, the executive with harassment as a hobby.

His today's victim sat awkwardly beside his chair as he ate, her expression a mixture of discomfort and forced politeness.

The third piece walked up to my station. The man whose face didn’t match his work ID. Reporter Blake. He adjusted his glasses and flashed me a friendly, nosy smile as he held out his lunch tray.

“Soup, please.”

"Sure, Blake," I smiled back, spooning the liquid into his bowl.

Now where was my final piece?

He never came to the cafeteria—too good for peasant food, I guessed—but today he had no choice. The CEO had to make an appearance.

Other than my obsessive stalking sessions online, I had only seen him once when he was leaving HQ, all red and angry, and his car had zoomed off before I could even get close to him.

The cafeteria door swung open and my heart hammered. The air changed and conversations hushed, because there he was, striding in like he was entering a battlefield.

Lucien Hayes in the flesh, all six-foot-three of him filling the room. His eyes swept the cafeteria as employees rose on their feet and bowed their heads in greeting. I didn’t bow my head.

His unreadable gaze met mine for barely a second, but it was enough to make my skin prickle.

The monster behind the night that ruined my life and the debt that owned me.

“Get it together, Camila.”

I had never seen him this close before, never breathed the same air as him… but it was time to change that.

I watched him move to join the inspection officers, his shoulders a rigid line under that thousand-dollar suit. I could practically feel the rage radiating off him. He was losing control, and that made him dangerous.

His right-hand man, Rafael, suddenly turned back, as if he had felt the heat of my glares burning into his boss’s back. I didn’t bother hiding it. Instead, I flashed him my brightest, most unsettling grin. His eyes narrowed before he turned away.

'Soon, Rafael. You'll be part of this too.'

The pieces were all in place: the crisis, the catalyst, the megaphone, and the ruthless CEO.

Showtime.

I set down my ladle with a clank, ripped off my hairnet, and tossed my apron aside. My fingers worked quickly through my auburn curls, smoothing them into something presentable. I tugged at my jeans and took a deep breath.

Across the cafeteria, Greg had toned down his usual harassment—if you could call having his hand resting under the table on what was clearly the woman’s thigh “toning it down.”

Her smile was forced, and her eyes darted around, silently pleading for help nobody ever gave.

I marched toward their table.

I grabbed the back of his balding head and slammed it straight into his bowl of soup.

“What the—” His words gurgled into the liquid.

“You know what your problem is, Greg?” I said loudly, making sure to be loud. “You think having a corner office gives you the right to treat women like they’re part of the furniture.”

His head jerked up, soup dripping down his red face and soaking his collar. “You crazy bitch—”

“Crazy? Please. I’m just the first person with enough spine to call out your disgusting behavior.

Maybe you compensate with all this harassment because you’re balding faster than you can get your dick up.”

A collective gasp ripped through the cafeteria. Greg tried to stand, but I shoved him back down.

“Sit,” I commanded, and then picked up his bowl, tilting what remained of the soup directly onto his head. “Cool off.”

Another gasp, louder this time. I could feel all eyes on us now, including, I hoped, a certain pair of golden ones, and more importantly, Reporter Blake's.

I grabbed the woman’s trembling hand.

“Stand behind me,” I told her quietly, then turned back to Greg. “Your days at Hayes Corp are over.”

Greg rose from his chair, his face twisted with pure rage. Just then, his palm landed on my cheek in a stinging slap that whipped my head to the side.

The pain bloomed hot across my face, and for a moment, I was too stunned to speak. It wasn't part of the plan, and it hurt like hell, but it was also the perfect escalation.

I straightened up, touching my burning cheek.

“You have any idea what you just did? You just slapped the CEO’s girlfriend!”

Greg burst into laughter, droplets of soup flying from his face.

“Girlfriend? My foot. You disgusting-looking kitchen rat—” His hands shoved my chest, pushing me backward.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

The deep, furious voice cut through the cafeteria chaos.

Finally…