At first, Quinn's cousin barely registered Grayson's tattered clothes—thinking her cousin had indeed found a total loser. But when she met Grayson's eyes and really saw him, she froze.
It was him?!
In that instant, Emily's heart nearly leapt out of her chest. It really was him!
"Grayson, we're standing—and you're just sitting there like you own the place! Get up this instant!" Emily snapped, annoyed that he hadn't stood to greet her. She'd grown used to speaking down to Grayson, and she made no effort to be polite now.
"No need—sitting is quite fine," Grayson replied, only to have Emily tug sharply on Quinn's arm, silently signaling her to stop. Then Emily hurried to take a seat.
Quinn was puzzled. Why had her cousin stopped her from scolding this loser? And even seemed to side with him? Of course—Emily only needed him as a pawn, so she'd feign kindness to him for now. Quinn let that thought go.
"Ha ha, let me introduce you." Quinn pointed at Grayson. "This is Grayson—he's a senior in our Management School. He's honest and straightforward—just your type, cousin."
After speaking, Quinn winked at Emily, barely suppressing her laughter. She was just teasing Grayson—knowing full well that Emily preferred wealth and polish, not honest simplicity.
Emily nodded as if convinced. Quinn began to introduce Emily's credentials—until Grayson interrupted.
"Why don't I guess instead?" he said with a smile.
"Tch! Who do you think you are, guessing my cousin's job? If you get it right, I want you to bark like a dog—twice!" Quinn scoffed, indignant at being cut off and sure that no way could he guess correctly.
Ignoring her, Grayson studied Emily for a moment. "If I'm not mistaken, you work at a bank—right?"
Emily's eyes widened in shock. No way—he really got it right?!
"How did you—?" she stammered, astonished.
"Ah, that's a secret." Grayson took a sip of coffee, unwilling to reveal the truth.
"A secret? More like a lucky guess—don't get cocky!" Emily snapped. In her mind, Grayson was a penniless bumpkin whose only role was to take orders from her. Now he was challenging her authority?
"Quinn," Emily suddenly turned to her cousin, "you did say if he guessed right he'd do the dog barking. Aren't you going to make him do it?"
Quinn froze. Her teasing boast was meant in jest—she never expected him to guess correctly.
"Never mind—I was only joking," Grayson interjected, sparing Quinn further embarrassment.
Emily huffed, still reddened by the slight. She felt humiliated by a "loser" in front of her toadying cousin.
"All right, let's order something to eat," Emily said. The waiter brought menus. Quinn ordered the shrimp and cheese risotto, Emily the French bacon fried rice, and Grayson chose the black-pepper diced beef pasta.
The café was busy, and after a while their food still hadn't arrived. Emily grew impatient.
"Hey, Grayson—why are you sitting there like a trust-fund brat? Go pester the counter to hurry up our order!" she barked, determined to vent her irritation on him.
Emily leapt up nervously to go, but Quinn yanked her back down. "Sit, Cousin! He's our errand boy. We'll chat—let him do the running."
Quinn smiled encouragingly. Grayson—used to Quinn's bossiness—took the opportunity to use the restroom and on his way passed the counter, politely asking them to speed up the kitchen.
When he returned from the restroom, he found Emily waiting anxiously by the door.
"Mr. Cole, I'm so sorry—Quinn was out of line. I came to apologize in person." Emily's tone was contrite, as if ready to kneel.
"No harm done—Quinn's the tennis club president; I'm just a member," Grayson replied with a chuckle. He found the situation oddly charming. "I had no idea you were her cousin."
Emily was Sterling Royce Private Bank's front‑desk receptionist. She never imagined the "loser" her cousin set up would turn out to be the same legendary young man from the bank the other day. After Grayson left the bank, rumors flew—some said he was the son of a billionaire, others that he was a high‑ranking official's heir, even whispers that he was the president's illegitimate son. Everyone agreed on one thing: he was unimaginably wealthy.
And the one who regretted most was Emily herself. If only she hadn't looked down on him every time she checked him in! She had nearly had a genuine friendship—maybe more—but she kept treating him like dirt. How could she have been so blind?
Emily still beat herself up over it, though time passed without consequence—Grayson never revealed her misconduct to management, and she kept her job. But she couldn't get over her mistake, and her parents urged her to meet proper suitors. None impressed her after her brush with the "top-tier" heir—until now, she reluctantly settled on Dylan Mercer. He was a company manager with a BMW and a nice family background, but he never made the first move. Emily, desperate, enlisted Quinn's help in her ruse.
Now Emily bowed her head politely. "Yes, I'm Emily. I wanted Quinn to find me a boyfriend because I must settle down."
"You have decent qualifications—bank job, Ford car. I'd heard from Quinn that you're picky and still single under family pressure." Grayson was candid. He knew of Emily's gold-digging reputation—and remembered well how she'd treated him. It puzzled him why she'd asked Quinn to set her up with someone like him.
"Quinn never knew who I really was," Grayson continued, gazing at Emily. "She saw me as a loser—and recommended me to you. And since you told her you wanted a loser, here I am."
He paused. Then he asked gently, "Now the real question: why do you want a loser boyfriend?"