"Hello, President? May I ask what's the matter?"
Not long after Sienna left, Grayson received a call—from Quinn, president of the tennis club.
Grayson knew that when Quinn called, eighty percent of the time it was to have him retrieve stray tennis balls, and twenty percent of the time to haul some heavy equipment.
"Which court?" Grayson cut straight to the chase before Quinn could speak.
Actually, he didn't much feel like going—until he thought of Lauren, the girl who had been so kind to him. Maybe he'd get to see her?
"You're blunt, all right!" Quinn's tone dripped with scorn. "Anyway, today I'm not calling you to pick up balls. I want you to come to the Blue Bottle Café—right now."
Blue Bottle Café?
Grayson froze. This was unexpected—Quinn actually wanted him to go to a coffee shop.
"You have ten minutes!"
Click. Quinn hung up.
Quinn always spoke to Grayson like this—issuing orders, never treating him as an equal, as though he were her personal lackey.
Grayson felt a twinge of curiosity.
The Blue Bottle Café sat on a high‑end pedestrian street just outside campus, where clothing easily ran over a thousand dollars per piece.
"This way!"
As soon as Grayson stepped inside, Quinn waved him over. She'd clearly arrived early, seated next to a potted plant.
Today she looked stunning in a white dress and platform sneakers, her air‑fringe framing glossy golden hair, a luxury watch gleaming on her ivory wrist. She sipped her coffee as he approached.
"Just you? No Lauren?"
Grayson's curiosity spiked. Quinn had invited only him—what on earth was going on?
"Listen, Grayson: don't you dare make a move on Lauren!" Quinn bristled. "What's the matter? Did you see Lauren tending your wounds last time and think she's into you? Get real—Lauren's just kind‑hearted; she'd help anyone. Besides, you're not good enough for her. Show some self‑awareness!"
"All right, all right."
Grayson didn't argue.
A waiter came over. "Can I get you something to drink, sir?"
"Um—could I see a menu?" Grayson began.
Quinn snorted. "No use asking him—he's never been to a place like this. Just give him a coconut latte."
Honestly, Grayson was used to Quinn's attitude—she'd always looked down on him at tennis club—so he didn't take offense. But he was still puzzled: what did Quinn want from him?
Quinn stayed silent, studying him like an ancient noble inspecting a potential servant. Then she suddenly burst out laughing, slapping the table. Grayson was baffled.
When she'd finished, Quinn resumed her haughty expression. "All right, I'll be direct. I called you here because I need your help."
"What kind of help?" Grayson's curiosity deepened. Why would Quinn—who had countless admirers, many of them wealthy or capable—come to him for assistance? Of course, whatever she needed would be a cinch for Grayson, but she had no idea of his true background.
"I have a cousin—she's single and wants a boyfriend. I think you should be her boyfriend."
What?!
Grayson was stunned.
He'd heard of Quinn's cousin—never met her, but she drove a white Ford, was quite pretty, had a good figure, and a decent job. Last time he'd been picking up balls, he overheard Quinn on the phone with her, complaining her cousin hadn't dated anyone yet and her family was anxious. Quinn had mentioned her cousin was picky and demanding. So why was she recommending him?
"President, you must be joking," Grayson said.
"Not joking." Quinn's face darkened. "My cousin doesn't care about a boyfriend's family wealth. She just wants someone obedient and honest. You're obedient enough—so I told her about you, and she said she doesn't mind your background as long as you follow her lead."
An obedient boyfriend? A queen‑type personality, perhaps?
"All right. My cousin should be here soon; wait here while I go check outside."
Quinn left him alone without even asking whether he agreed—apparently expecting Grayson to be grateful rather than object.
"Cousin, are you here yet? I'm at the Blue Bottle Café." Quinn dialed her cousin.
"I've just arrived, looking for a parking spot—there are so many people!" a female voice said. "Have you found the guy I asked for?"
"I found him—guaranteed you'll like him!" Quinn giggled. "Cousin, you owe me big time for this!"
"Don't worry, dear—if you help me well, I won't forget your kindness." The woman laughed, then added, "But I worry—can the guy you found really meet my standards? I doubt there are many like that."
"Cousin, trust me a hundred percent!" Quinn almost pounded her chest. "You wanted a poor loser, right? This guy is the biggest loser I've ever seen—his clothes look like last century's laborer's hand‑me‑downs. He never even joins our club dinners because he can't afford them. He's as obedient as a slave—when I call, he comes to pick up balls immediately."
"Ha—such a guy really exists?" the cousin sounded skeptical. "Remember, I want Dylan Mercer to fall for me. So the pretend boyfriend must be a total loser—only then will Dylan get jealous and chase me."
"You really want to marry that Dylan, huh?" Quinn asked.
"What choice do I have? I'm getting old, and my parents are on my back. Dylan's not handsome, but he's a manager at a big company; his parents work for the government. He has a house and he drives a BMW—he's a catch."
"Then why not just flirt and date Dylan directly? He's already shown interest—taken you out, given you gifts."
"You don't get it." the cousin explained. "If I actively chase Dylan, in the relationship, I'd be the lower‑status party. But if Dylan pursues me, then I'm in the higher position. Then he'll do anything I want."
"I see!" Quinn admired her cousin's cunning. "So that's why you want me to find a total loser and pretend to date him in front of Dylan—so Dylan will be jealous and come after you. Then I can dump the loser and accept Dylan."
"Exactly. The faker must be as much of a loser as possible." the cousin said. "We'll fake a relationship for a few days. Once Dylan sees him with me and feels jealous, he'll make his move. Then I'll kick that loser aside and go with Dylan—that's the plan."
"Wow, cousin, you're brilliant to cook up such a scheme!" Quinn was in awe.
"Well, a woman's allowed a little scheming for her own happiness." The cousin sounded proud. "All right, I've arrived—where are you?"
Click. The call ended.
A white Ford rolled up to the café entrance, and a beautiful woman stepped out. Immediately, everyone's gaze fell on her. Tall and statuesque in denim, her long legs accentuated the curve of her figure. Dior lipstick glowed on her perfect face—she was breathtaking.
"Cousin!" Quinn hurried to meet her. The two cousins clearly got along well and weren't far apart in age—both beautiful.
"Let's go in—they're inside, right?" Quinn's cousin said. "Oh, and Quinn—don't tell him the whole thing's a charade."
"Don't worry, cousin. I'm not stupid." Quinn smiled, then couldn't resist a teasing jab: "But you're so gorgeous—faking a relationship with a loser is such a waste. Like putting a fine cabbage in front of pigs!"
Her cousin laughed. "You're such a kid. Don't worry—just a few days, Dylan will be falling over me, and then the poor guy becomes useless. Let's go in."
"These days, I hope he's not too ugly—I'll have to see him up close." the cousin joked.
"Don't worry—he's a loser, but he's not bad‑looking." Quinn pushed open the door.
"There—cousin, that's him." She pointed to Grayson.
Then Quinn called out, "Hey, Grayson—my cousin's here! Hurry up and greet her!"
Grayson casually looked up—and froze. It was her?