CHAPTER TWO
Evie clutched the wheel tighter as the silence in her small, slightly beat-up car stretched on. Her nerves were already all over the place—she had just gotten fired, her phone bill was due, and now this… this stranger sitting in her passenger seat like he belonged there.
Miles.
He hadn't said a word since getting in, and she wasn't about to start the conversation either. What was she even doing letting a random guy into her car? But somehow, he didn't feel random. He had this calm arrogance to him—like he always got his way.
He gave her directions. "Just take a left at the end of this street. There's a mall there."
Evie frowned. "A mall?"
"Yeah."
"Why are we going to a mall?"
"You'll see."
And that was it. No explanation, no small talk. She wanted to ask more, but something told her he wouldn't answer even if she did.
At the mall, he walked in like he owned the place. Employees seemed to recognize him. Before she could even process it, someone handed him a neatly folded suit.
Then—without asking—he tossed a dress at her.
"Put that on," he said, brushing past her toward the changing rooms.
"Excuse me?" she blinked, holding up the dress. "Why?"
He paused and turned slightly, that same unbothered look on his face. "Just put it on."
Evie stared after him, annoyed. Who did this guy think he was?
Still, she went in and changed.
When they stepped out of the mall, a sleek black car pulled up. Not her car. Definitely not. The driver opened the door like Miles was royalty or something.
"Wait—where's my car?" she asked, stunned.
"I had it sent back. This ride's better," he said casually, already sliding in.
"YOU WHAT—?" she started, but the door was already shutting behind her. She was too tired to argue and too curious to walk away.
The car took them to a restaurant she would never even glance at on a normal day. The kind of place where the menu didn't have prices and the waiter barely spoke above a whisper.
They had barely sat down at the quiet booth in the upscale restaurant when the silence settled heavily between them. Evie kept glancing around. The place was elegant, clean, and totally out of her price range. She felt underdressed even though she had on the sleek dress Miles had basically thrown at her back in the mall.
He didn't even open the menu.
"So," he started, elbows resting on the table as he leaned forward slightly, "you were fired."
Evie blinked, caught off guard by how casually he said it. "Yeah," she mumbled, her fingers gripping the edge of the tablecloth.
Miles nodded once, like he'd expected that. "Do you need the money?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Of course I do. Why else would I be here, wearing this ridiculous dress?"
He smirked, like he found that amusing. "Good," he said simply, then added, "I'll need you to act."
Evie blinked again. "Act?"
He looked her straight in the eye. "As my girlfriend."
She nearly choked on her own breath. "No way," she said quickly, scooting back in her seat. "Are you insane? I knew it. I knew you wanted to kidnap me all this while!"
Miles rolled his eyes. "Relax. No one's kidnapping anyone."
"Oh, really? Because this feels very kidnapping-ish. You lured me with coffee, dragged me to a mall, made me wear a dress I didn't choose, and now you want me to—"
"I'll pay you," he cut in smoothly. "A thousand dollars. Every week."
She froze. "What?"
"You heard me. One thousand dollars. Weekly. Just pretend to be my girlfriend. You'll come to a few events, smile when I need you to, play nice in front of people. That's it."
Evie stared at him like he'd grown horns.
He sat back, confident and calm, as if this offer was the most normal thing in the world.
"Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You want me… a broke, recently-fired stranger… to be your fake girlfriend. For money."
"That's exactly what I want."
"Why me?"
Miles gave a nonchalant shrug. "You're easy to work with."
"You met me an hour ago!"
He tilted his head, studying her. "Yeah. And in that one hour, you've managed to be interesting, unpredictable, and not fake. That's rare. Most people I meet try too hard. You? You didn't even want to come with me."
"That's because I thought you were a psycho."
"You still think that?"
"...A little."
He chuckled. "Fair."
Evie crossed her arms. "And what's in it for me besides the money?"
"A place to stay. Clothes. Food. Basically, I'll cover everything for the duration of the arrangement. But you'll have to show up where I need you, when I need you. Deal?"
She leaned back, staring at him like he was one big red flag wearing a designer suit.
And yet… a thousand dollars a week?
Her bank account literally cried at that number.
Evie bit her bottom lip. "This is insane."
Miles leaned in again. "But tempting?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then…
"Do I get dental?"
He raised a brow, grinning. "We'll talk benefits later."
Evie had no idea what kind of deal she had just walked into, but she knew one thing—it came with leather seats and absolutely zero control.
After dinner, she expected him to drop her off and vanish into whatever elite-rich-guy-after-dinner existence he lived in. Instead, the car glided to a stop in front of a hotel so grand, she was pretty sure it charged extra just to breathe inside.
Her jaw dropped. "You're not seriously—"
"We leave in the morning," Miles said, already stepping out, tossing the valet his keys like he'd rehearsed it his whole life.
Evie stared up at the building. Gold trim. Five stars. A revolving door that looked like it had never been touched by a broke person.
She climbed out slowly, dragging her feet like she was being marched into jury duty. "I have a home, you know. With a loyal couch that doesn't ask questions about my paycheck."
Miles didn't even glance back. "That couch won't teach you how to eat oysters without gagging."
She groaned. "That's the first lesson?"
"No," he said, holding the elevator door open. "That's chapter five."
When they stepped into the suite, Evie froze in the doorway.
The place was huge. Her entire apartment could've fit into just the bathroom—and still have space left over for a hot yoga class. The ceilings were high, the lights warm, and the floors so polished she didn't even want to walk on them.
Miles tossed his jacket over a velvet armchair and motioned toward a wall of sleek wardrobes.
"Training starts now."
She blinked. "Training for what? How to walk like your wallet has its own zip code?"
"No. How to walk like you've never been questioned a day in your life."
Evie folded her arms. "So… delusional confidence."
He pointed at her like she'd just won a prize. "Exactly. Let's begin."
First, the walk.
"Chin up. Back straight. You're walking like you're dodging pigeons."
"I am dodging pigeons. Metaphorically."
He sighed. "Again. This time, glide. Like the air moves for you."
Then came the sitting.
"You're not at a sleepover."
"What does posture have to do with anything?"
"Power. Sit like you belong, and the room will follow."
She muttered something under her breath but straightened anyway.
Then the wine.
"You just gulped a $900 bottle like it's tap water."
"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her mouth. "I've never sipped my sadness before."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Better."
They went over handshakes, small talk, eye contact, elegant nods. He made her practice how to pause before answering—just enough to seem thoughtful. Every tiny move mattered, and she had never felt more aware of her own limbs in her life.
"And don't fidget," he added, watching her adjust her earring.
She froze mid-movement. "You're making me self-conscious."
"Good. Self-awareness is step one."
After what felt like hours, he finally sat down on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, legs stretched in front of him.
"Last test," he said. "Pretend we're at a gala. You're the guest of honor. The host approaches. You don't need to try hard—just show up."
Evie hesitated, then let her shoulders relax. Chin up. A soft, unforced smile.
She crossed the room slowly, walking like the air did, in fact, move for her. Calm, graceful, like she wasn't trying to prove anything. Her gaze was steady as she held out her hand.
"Thank you for the lovely evening," she said softly. "The lighting is stunning. You always pay attention to detail."
And then—just before stepping back—she dipped into a subtle, graceful curtsy.
Miles didn't move.
She straightened. "Well?"
He blinked. Slowly.
"…Miles?"
His arms dropped to his lap. "That was…"
She tilted her head. "Was that praise?"
"I didn't say that."
"You're impressed."
"I'm reserving judgment."
"You're totally impressed."
He exhaled through his nose, half-smirking. "Don't let it get to your head."
"Too late."
Then his tone shifted—calmer, lower, serious.
"Next time, talk less. Less is power. People with real presence don't overshare. And if you're meeting someone older—parents, partners, anyone I respect—you curtsy. Just like that. No more, no less."
She nodded once.
Miles stood. "Get some sleep. We leave at six."
Evie blinked. "Six? As in… a.m.?"
"Correct."
She groaned. "Do rich people hate sleep or something?"
"Only when there's something to win."
She sighed dramatically as she turned toward the guest bedroom. "If I wake up tomorrow and this turns out to be a fever dream, I'm blaming the oysters."
Behind her, Miles murmured, "It wasn't the oysters."