My Boss Became My Fake Dating Coach — And Revealed A Six-Year Secret
Part 1
My assigned duty at the Solaris Group was supposed to be strictly professional.
Keep the chairman’s reckless son away from the underground street racing circuit.
Greg treated my constant supervision like a mild, amusing annoyance.
He spent his days dodging my meticulously color-coded schedules.
His nights were entirely dedicated to burning imported rubber on abandoned airstrips.
I spent most of my waking hours covering his tracks and fabricating alibis.
The generous hazard pay was the only thing keeping me from quitting.
My only genuine solace in that massive glass building was Brian.
Brian worked in the marketing department on the fourth floor.
He always flashed me these incredibly warm, easy smiles whenever we crossed paths in the breakroom.
I had harbored a massive, embarrassing crush on him since our high school days.
One humid Tuesday night, I tracked Greg’s phone to a high-end downtown club.
I fully intended to drag him out by his collar for an early morning board meeting.
The neon lights blinded me momentarily as I pushed through the heavy velvet curtains.
I immediately spotted Brian lounging in a VIP booth, surrounded by his usual glamorous crowd.
I gathered every single ounce of courage I possessed and approached his table.
My hands shook slightly as I smoothed down my practical, oversized corporate blazer.
The women flanking him took one look at my scuffed loafers and erupted into sharp, cruel giggles.
One of them pointed directly at my messy bun, whispering something behind her manicured hand.
Brian simply looked away, taking a slow sip of his drink while pretending he had no idea who I was.
My chest tightened until drawing a breath felt like swallowing shards of glass.
Tears instantly blurred my vision as I turned on my heel.
I stumbled out the heavy metal back door and collapsed into the cold, damp alleyway.
I leaned heavily against the rough brick wall, desperately trying to quiet my ragged breathing.
A low, guttural rumble vibrated through the cracked pavement beneath my feet.
A sleek, matte-black sports car rolled to a terrifyingly precise stop just inches from my knees.
The heavily tinted window slid down smoothly, revealing Greg’s sharp jawline illuminated by the dashboard lights.
He didn’t offer any empty platitudes or fake sympathy.
He simply tossed a pristine, linen handkerchief out the window onto my lap.
He leaned over the center console, studying my ruined mascara with dark, calculating eyes.
He proposed an absolutely ridiculous deal right there in the grimy alley.
He offered to personally teach me how to be completely irresistible.
He promised to give me the tools to make Brian beg for my attention.
In exchange, I had to permanently look the other way when he snuck out to race his cars.
The sting of the club’s laughter still echoing in my ears made me agree to incredibly stupid things.
I wiped my face, gave a stiff nod, and took his outstretched hand to seal the devil’s pact.
The next few weeks transformed my sterile office life into an intense psychological training ground.
Greg started by teaching me how to hold eye contact until the silence grew almost unbearable.
He forced me to stare him down during budget reviews until a flush crept up my neck.
He showed me how a light, deliberate touch on the forearm could completely shift the power dynamic of any conversation.
During one particularly late-night lesson in his penthouse, the atmosphere suddenly shifted.
He adjusted my posture, his hands lingering on my bare shoulders just a fraction of a second too long.
His face drifted so close I could feel the rhythmic warmth of his breath against my cheek.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs in a way it had never, ever reacted around Brian.
Then came the invitation to Brian’s highly exclusive, end-of-summer pool party.
Greg personally helped me select a stunning, emerald-green silk dress for the occasion.
He spent an hour making sure every detail of my appearance was flawlessly executed.
I stepped onto the property with my chin raised and my spine perfectly straight.
The fragile illusion shattered the exact moment I walked out onto the crowded terrace.
Brian’s inner circle immediately cornered me against the glass railing.
They loudly mocked my outfit, calling it a pathetic attempt to fit in.
One of the girls intentionally bumped her shoulder hard against mine.
A sticky, dark-red cocktail cascaded down the front of the pristine emerald silk.
Brian stood completely still at the outdoor bar, watching the dark liquid soak my dress without lifting a single finger to help.
I backed away slowly, shivering violently as the cool evening wind hit my soaked clothes.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps suddenly echoed up the wooden stairs leading to the deck.
Greg appeared at the top of the landing, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched visibly.
He wordlessly stripped off his tailored suit jacket, wrapping it securely around my trembling shoulders.
He guided me away from the laughing crowd without sparing a single glance at Brian.
We sat in his parked car for a long time, the powerful engine idling quietly in the dark.
He rested his hands heavily on the steering wheel, his knuckles stark white under the streetlights.
He turned to me, asking why I continually degraded myself by pining after such a spineless coward.
I stared down at my hands, my voice barely above a whisper.
I explained that Brian had saved me from an aggressive creep back in our senior year of high school.
Greg’s hands slowly slipped off the leather wheel.
He turned his head to look at me, his eyes entirely unreadable in the shadows.
“Are you sure it was him?”
