Faking It | Wattys 2022

Chapter 7

Camila checked the time on her watch before knocking on Lauren's front door, a small bag of breakfast goods in her hand. A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a very irritated Cuban woman.

"I think you have the wrong place,"

"Hmm," her eyes raked over the way Lauren was practically drowning in the thin oversized T-Shirt. "Nope, I'm definitely at the right place,"

"Camila," Lauren combed her fingers through her hair. "What do you want? It's seven o'clock in the fucking morning."

She held up the plastic bag. "I figured I'd bring you breakfast,"

Lauren snatched the bag out of her hands. "Thanks, but I'm still not accepting your fake marriage proposal."

"Do you know what my dad hated the most about me growing up?" Camila saw the door slightly opening wider and took that as an opportunity to walk inside. She opened up Lauren's refrigerator, a distasteful look on her face at how bare it is. "He hated how he could never tell me no,"

"Great. A spoiled and rich asshole is stalking me, how much better could my life get?"

Camila briefly glanced at the bill from a nursing home that was left out on the kitchen counter. "From what I'm looking at—a lot better."

Lauren followed Camila's line of sight, stuffing the overdue bill into one of the drawers. "First, you break-in and now you're snooping through my shit."

"You're the one who left it out in the open," she pulled out the take-out box and opened it up for the professor to see the contents inside. "I had your car towed last night, but my maintenance guy couldn't make it here in time to fix whatever was wrong with it. You need a ride to work, don't you?"

"I was going to have Dinah drive me with Normani," Lauren eyed the pancakes suspiciously. "Did you poison those pancakes?"

"Not everyone is out to hurt you, Lauren," Camila rolled her eyes. "Eat, you'll need energy for the day."

She ripped the packet of the utensils open, pulling out a fork as Camila drizzled syrup all over them. "Want to explain to me why you're here now?"

"I wanted to drop this off," the dark-haired woman put the contract in front of Lauren to read. "The offer is still on the table, but I can't promise it'll stay there forever. I know me springing it on to you last night was wrong of me, so I'd like for you to understand all of the circumstances."

"You do realize I'm a professor, right? I don't need this money."

Camila grabbed the bill out of the drawer, glancing at the six-digit numbers for a quick moment. "You owe 'Windfield Homes' roughly two hundred thousand dollars. That's what you make in a year, Lauren. And I'm also assuming you have student loans. Not to mention..." She looked around the apartment. "You don't live in the greatest place."

Lauren snatched it out of her hand. "What I do with my money shouldn't be your concern,"

"It is my concern when I'm offering you a fucking million dollars and you're not taking it,"

"A million dollars for a year of my life!" Lauren pushed the pancakes away from her. "That's not time that I can get back, Camila."

"A million dollars and a penthouse," Camila corrected her. "Why the hell are you paying so much to some nursing home, anyway?"

"None of your business," she snapped, dropping the plastic fork into the container. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for work. And you better be out of here by the time I'm done."