Prologue (Samantha)

Samantha's Point of View

I had just finished arranging the documents my boss needed to sign. Stretching my back, I pressed a hand against the ache. It was barely early morning, yet he’d already dumped a full day’s worth of work on me.

I was about to sit down when the door swung open, revealing the one man who never failed to ruin my day—Walter Robles, my boss. He was the CEO of Sirak Wines, a well-known distillery famous for turning local fruits, like duhat, into premium wine.

He walked in wearing a dark blue coat over a crisp white long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into matching dark blue pants. I’ll give him this—he was handsome. With that sharp jawline, the thin line of stubble framing it, those deep black eyes under thick brows, and lips permanently pressed like he’d been holding back emotions all his life. His hair was just the right length, brushed cleanly back.

“Must be nice to just sit around,” he muttered as he headed to his seat. And there it was . . . his attitude that his handsome face could not make up for.

Sit around? My backside hadn’t even touched the sofa and he was already accusing me of doing nothing? I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply.

A second later, I made my way to his desk. Every time he sat on that swivel chair and I was forced to stand in front of him, I secretly prayed that the heavy wooden shelf behind him, displaying all those wine bottles, would collapse right on his head.

He quickly signed the documents while I stood there watching.

“Allow me to remind you, Sir. Your meeting with Mr. Verzosa is at three in the afternoon,” I calmly said and forced a smile.

He simply nodded and continued signing. Every now and then, he’d glance up at me and chuckle. I only rolled my eyes whenever he wasn’t looking. He really knew how to get under my skin.

“You look like a lady guard,” he said in a dead-serious tone, lifting his gaze once more. So now I looked like a security guard because I was standing in front of him. But if I stayed sitting on my couch, he’d say I wasn’t doing anything.

After his last signature, he let out a dramatic sigh as if he were the exhausted one. He slid the stack of papers toward me before leaning back in his swivel chair.

I took the documents to return them to their respective departments. I was just about to turn around when he suddenly leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

“Before I forget, I’d like to make you an offer.” His brows danced up and down, and a smile tugged at his lips.

I straightened and masked all my irritation behind a bright, customer-service-type smile. “If this is about a salary increase, Sir, I’ll take it.”

His smile twisted into a grin—an evil grin that made my heart skip.

“You’re right,” he said. “But it comes with a cost.”

Everything always did. But if it involves a salary increase? I was willing to take most deals. Most. Preferably not those that will harm my dignity or my soul.

“My parents are celebrating their wedding anniversary next week. And since I made them a promise last year, I have to be there—with that promise fulfilled.” He twirled his pen between his fingers. “I need a fake girlfriend. And I’m choosing you.”

My eyes went wide, followed by a loud burst of laughter. This man was definitely not normal.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, his expression tightening. “You’ll pretend to be my girlfriend for a day. In return, I’ll increase your salary—and pay you for the act.”

I was already thinking of other women in the company he could ask, but the moment he mentioned about increasing my salary, I felt my resolve starting to crumble.

“Why me?” I asked, pretending to play hard to get.

He scoffed. “Because you work closely with me. And because you need the money.”

He wasn’t wrong. I did need the money. I could barely think of other reasons why he chose me. Certainly, no woman in her right mind would willingly deal with his problematic attitude. If I had another option, I would’ve resigned ages ago. But I needed the salary—for my father's medicine and my sibling who's still studying.

“What?” he snapped when I didn’t answer. “Are you accepting my offer or not?”

“I need to think,” I said, lying. Truth is, I just wanted to know how much he planned to pay me.

He shook his head. “Five thousand salary increase. And like I said, you’ll be paid separately for our act.”

I smiled. “How much?”

“Ten thousand,” he replied.

Ten? For pretending, socializing, and suffering his personality? I bet he's just fooling me around.

“Twenty-five thousand,” I countered. His brows immediately furrowed. Watching him get annoyed was surprisingly satisfying. Finally, a bit of revenge.

“That’s too much!” he complained. He took a breath. “Fifteen thousand. Take it or leave it.”

I shrugged. I wanted to push him a little more.

“I have to go,” I said, turning away—knowing full well he was desperate enough to stop me.

“Hell! Twenty thousand.”

I smirked at the irritation on his face. That was enough. No need to push him to the edge.

My body turned to face him again and I immediately extended my hand. “Deal.”