Cody is a billionaire in need of a fiancé (long story).
Adriana is a waitress in need of money.
So they fake a relationship.
What? It's not like anything could go wrong.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
MANHATTAN, NYC
The restaurant was alive with a Saturday night buzz, voices of New York's high society adding to the stress of the waiters who dipped in and out of the kitchen, winding between tables. One of the youngest employees, barely in her mid twenties, had a sheen of sweat on her forehead as she balanced a tray of dirty dishes back to the kitchen.
"Adriana!" her manager called, his finger signaling for her to come over. She all but rushed towards him, narrowly smacking a saucepan out of a chef's grasp.
"Yes sir?" she yelled, struggling to be heard over the sizzling of overpriced food. The restaurant was relatively new, but it already had a Michelin Star and the head chef was world renowned — to its patrons, even your food had to be boujee.
"The reservation for table eight just arrived. Now these are very important people, so don't fuck this up. Any bad word from this guy could put us out of business. Don't ask him for a picture, make sure you refill his drink, and remember, the customer is always right. Got it?"
"Unless it's the Barack Obama, I'm pretty sure I can handle it."
He smiled and patted her shoulder. "Break a leg."
She saluted him before picking up a water pitcher and opening the doors, revealing the full glamour of the establishment. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, modern art pieces were placed around the tables, and dim lighting gave the place a sense of exclusivity. Her eyes locked on table eight and made her way over more smoothly this time.
The patrons of table eight looked to be an older couple and their son, but that wasn't the interesting part. No, the interesting part was who exactly who the son was. He had blonde waves, piercing blue eyes and wore light eye makeup that only made him look more intimidating. He was dressed in a black designer suit, and the couple were dressed equally as nicely and looked equally as intimidating.
"Hi, I'm Adriana and I'll be your server today," she said, extending her routine smile. "Might I start by recommending our house wine—"
"We'll have the 1967 Pinot noir," the older woman cut in, her European accent thick.
Her husband said something in what Adriana quickly placed as Italian, to which the woman rolled her eyes and responded. They argued back and forth before their son rolled his eyes and acknowledged her for the first time. "Adriana, is it?"
The way he said her name made her hands shake. "Yes, sir."
He smiled at her, but it was cold and formal, as if he had done it a hundred times to a hundred other girls. "We'll have the Pinot for my mother and myself and the 1980 Cabernet for my mother. Excuse their fussiness, they're a little high strung tonight."
