The café had finally begun to empty. The steady chatter had faded into soft music and the hiss of the espresso machine winding down for the night.
Eva wiped the counter, her movements slow and tired. The scent of vanilla and coffee clung to her apron, her ponytail loosening as she counted the tips jar.
Mrs. Holt had gone upstairs to balance the books, leaving the café in a rare hush.
The sound of a car horn outside made her pause. It wasn't the usual sputtering bike or student car she was used to — it was low, smooth, and expensive.
She frowned, peeking out the window.
A glossy pearl-white convertible was parked out front, its headlights casting golden halos across the pavement. The door swung open, and out stepped Jasmine Whitmore — in heels again, of course — her loose waves dancing around her shoulders, her smile bright enough to melt resistance.
Eva groaned under her breath. "Oh no."
The café door chimed as Jasmine pushed it open. "There you are!" she said, scanning Eva from head to toe. "Still in your coffee uniform? Please tell me that's not what you're wearing tonight."
Eva blinked. "You're serious about this?"
"Serious enough to drive myself," Jasmine replied, dangling her car keys dramatically. "And you know how much I hate traffic."
Eva looked down at her apron. "I still have tables to wipe."
"No, you don't," Jasmine said.
Eva sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. "At least let me change," she muttered.
Jasmine crossed her arms "Fine. But make it fast. We're already running late."
Eva rolled her eyes, hurrying toward the small back room where employees kept their things. The mirror above the sink reflected a tired girl with coffee stains on her sleeves and determination on her face.
She tugged off her apron, ran her fingers through her hair, and changed into a simple white blouse and jeans — the only spare clothes she kept in her locker. It wasn't glamorous, but at least she didn't look like she'd spent the day battling espresso machines.
She took a quick breath, grabbed her bag, and stepped back into the café. Jasmine, naturally, was already checking her reflection in her phone camera.
"Better," Jasmine said, giving her an approving nod. "Still not a Whitmore, but we'll work on that."
Eva ignored her and walked toward the stairs behind the counter. Mrs. Holt was coming down just then, a folder tucked under her arm.
"Mrs. Holt?" Eva called softly. "I'm heading home for the night."
The older woman glanced up, her brows knitting slightly. "Already?"
Eva nodded. "Everything's cleaned,Jasmine's here to pick me up."
At the mention of the name, Mrs. Holt's expression shifted. "Ah, yes. The young lady from this afternoon."
Jasmine, who was standing by the door with that same effortless poise, offered a warm smile. "Good evening, Ma'am. Sorry for barging in twice in one day."
Mrs. Holt's lips curved faintly. "You have a habit of brightening the place up — even if it's only for a minute."
Eva laughed softly, tugging at the strap of her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, ma'am."
Mrs. Holt nodded, but her eyes softened. "Don't stay out too late, you hear? You've been running yourself thin lately."
"I won't," Eva promised.
"Good girl," Mrs. Holt said, giving a little wave toward Jasmine. "Take care of her, young lady."
"I will," Jasmine said easily, already steering Eva toward the door.
"My fate smells like coffee and regret," Eva muttered as she followed her. "Jasmine, I really don't feel good about this."
"Oh, please," Jasmine said, unlocking the car. "You'll be fine. You sit, you smile, you make small talk, and poof — dinner's done, alliance saved, and nobody will ever know."
"Except the guy," Eva pointed out.
Jasmine tossed her hair. "He won't even remember your name by dessert."
"That's comforting."
"Eva," Jasmine said, sliding into the driver's seat, "listen to me. This man — whoever he is — is probably in his forties or fifties. Gray suit, grayer attitude. My dad said he's a 'serious businessman,' which translates to boring."
Eva sighed, fastening her seatbelt. "So you're sending me to bore him on your behalf?"
"Exactly," Jasmine said cheerfully, starting the engine. "You'll do great."
The car purred to life, gliding through the city streets bathed in soft amber light. Outside, neon signs flickered against glass buildings, reflections melting into one another as they passed.
Eva stared out the window, the city blurring by. "I still don't know how you convinced me."
"You love me," Jasmine sang.
"I tolerate you," Eva corrected, folding her arms. "And I hate heels."
"Not tonight you don't," Jasmine said, smirking. "Because we're making a stop first."
Eva turned sharply. "Stop? Where?"
"Someplace magical."
Fifteen minutes later, Jasmine pulled up in front of a boutique that looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Crystal chandeliers sparkled through the glass, and mannequins dressed in silk and satin posed in perfect stillness.
"Jasmine," Eva said slowly, "you can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm deadly serious," Jasmine said, stepping out and tossing her keys to the valet like she'd been born doing it. "Come on. Time's ticking."
Eva hesitated, then followed her inside — and instantly felt underdressed just standing there. The store smelled faintly of roses and vanilla, racks of gowns glimmering under soft light.
A stylish woman in black approached them, smiling warmly. "Miss Whitmore. We've been expecting you."
"Of course you have," Jasmine said breezily. "We need something elegant, understated, and absolutely breathtaking. Something that says 'I'm not impressed, but you wish I was.'"
The woman laughed softly. "We have just the thing."
Eva's eyes widened as dresses began appearing — soft champagne silks, midnight blues, shades of wine and gold.
"Wait—what do you mean 'we've been expecting you'? Jasmine, you planned this?"
"Of course I did," Jasmine said, pulling a velvet gown off a hanger. "You didn't think I'd let you embarrass me in denim, did you?"
"Embarrass you?" Eva said incredulously. "You're not even going!"
"Details, darling," Jasmine said. "Now try this on."
Eva stared at the gown — a deep emerald green that shimmered like forest light. "I can't wear this. It's too—"
"Perfect," Jasmine interrupted, thrusting it into her arms. "Go. Dressing room. Now."
Eva groaned, but disappeared behind the curtain anyway.
When she emerged minutes later, even Jasmine went quiet.
The gown clung softly at the waist, flowing like liquid glass to the floor. The green deepened against her skin, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like ink.
"Okay…" Jasmine murmured, circling her. "Maybe I underestimated you."
Eva rolled her eyes, cheeks warm. "Can I breathe now?"
"You can breathe later. Hair next."
"What—?"
But Jasmine was already leading her out again.
The next stop: a sleek salon glowing with gold mirrors and quiet jazz. Within moments, Eva found herself in a plush chair while two stylists moved like artists — one curling her hair into soft waves, another applying a light touch of makeup that caught the light when she turned her head.
By the time they were done, even Eva barely recognized the girl in the mirror.
She looked elegant. Composed. Beautiful, in a way she hadn't felt in years.
"Jasmine…" she said softly. "I look—"
"Like trouble," Jasmine finished proudly. "The good kind."
Eva smiled, shaking her head. "You're insane."
"Maybe," Jasmine said, standing behind her. "But tonight, you're Jasmine Whitmore. Confident, untouchable, mildly disinterested. And you're going to have dinner with a man who's probably twice your age and half as interesting."
Eva exhaled, the weight of the night settling in. "I still don't feel good about this."
Jasmine rested her hands on her shoulders. "Don't you dare change your mind, Eva. I've gone too far to let you chicken out now."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will," Jasmine said smoothly. "It'll be quick. He'll talk about business, you'll pretend to listen, and in an hour, you'll be back home eating ice cream and laughing about it."
Eva glanced once more at her reflection — the stranger in the mirror who wore someone else's confidence — and nodded faintly.
"Fine," she murmured. "Let's get this over with."
Jasmine grinned, looping her arm through hers as they headed for the door. "That's the spirit. Come on, Miss Whitmore. Let's go break a billionaire's ego."
As the two women stepped into the night, the city lights shimmered around them like a stage waiting for its curtain to rise.