I assumed it would be simple money—three hours, five hundred dollars, get out, and act like you’re someone’s boyfriend. I had no idea it would become a web of lies that could have destroyed the one thing I had worked so hard to create as an adult.
My name is Anthony. My world was in complete chaos six months ago. mid-level strategist in a reputable advertising agency. I could pay for and maintain a clean one-bedroom.
I have enough money to cover my mother’s medical expenses. Mom sacrificed everything to raise me after my dad left when I was twelve. Being the one keeping everything together at last felt fantastic.
The majority of men my age were arranging destination bachelor parties and swiping right. I was at my desk before the cleaning crew completed their rounds, having woken up at six and had coffee at six-ten. I didn’t attend happy hours.
I largely ignored it. My boss, David, had pulled me aside weeks prior and indicated that a manager position was imminent, so there was a promotion looming. I was prepared. For Mom, not just for me.
The pattern was then shattered in half on a Saturday in late September.
I was reading trend reports at my regular café when a woman slid into the chair across from me as if she controlled the atmosphere. Auburn hair, factory-setting green eyes, and that self-advertising smile. She introduced herself as Meredith. In three hours, would you like to earn five hundred dollars?
Coffee almost got in my nose. I awaited the concealed camera. “I apologize—what?”
Her words were, “Fake boyfriend.” “I went to lunch with my parents once. Money. The man who vowed to play the role left.
I gazed. She wasn’t joking. “What’s the catch?”
“My dad’s obsessed with me settling down. I told him I already had someone, and now I need someone—well—today.”
Every sensible neuron advised me to chuckle and go back to my article. Then she said, “You appear reliable. And the sort of guy my folks would genuinely like.
I completed the math quickly. The five hundred dollars equated to two months of physical therapy for Mom. “All right,” I said to myself, “but only this once.”
To “look natural,” we walked to the restaurant. Like I was practicing lines for a play I hadn’t tried out for, she inquired about my employment and the weather. I promised myself that I would have my shopping and laundry folded by late afternoon.
My stomach fell through the floor as soon as we entered the Italian restaurant with the white tablecloths. David sat in the corner, wearing the same subdued authority that he always wore in meetings. My supervisor. The chief executive officer of the organization where I had been pushing myself to advance.
He raised his eyebrow just enough to suggest, “I recognize you.” I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth.
Meredith sang, blissfully oblivious, “Mom, Dad.” “This is Anthony, my boyfriend.”
There was a slow-motion car crash for the next hour. I wasn’t questioned by David about my “feelings” for his daughter.
As though we were in a review masquerading as family time, he inquired about the Morrison account, Q4 estimates, and customer retention. As my inner existence attempted to tunnel out of the building, I continued to respond in courteous, neutral tones.
The mother of Meredith frequently expressed her relief at her daughter having “finally found a young man with ambition.” Near the conclusion, David raised his glass and said, half-joking, half-not, “You won’t work in this industry again if you hurt my little girl.”
I died a little inside and grinned as if the room relied on it.
Meredith recommended a “romantic walk” outside. At the corner, I came to a stop. “You have to tell your dad the truth. I can’t jeopardize my work. I am providing for my mother.
She gave a bored shrug. “That would cause drama. They would never abandon it.
“Then we’re done,” I said. “This was supposed to be one lunch.”
She responded, “Don’t worry,” and moved aside. “Dinner is next week.”
“Definitely not,” I informed her. As if I had said, “See you soon,” she waved.
Her anxiety overcame her pride when she called on Tuesday. I imagined David receiving a distorted account of what happened and thought he would put family before the truth. I went.
It was terrible at dinner. More of Meredith’s rehearsed tenderness, more teasing about “our future.” I tried again on the way back to her place. “I’ll return the money. I’m leaving.
She chuckled. “I didn’t realize you were my dad’s employee when I initially chose you. Why wouldn’t I use it now that I have it? I’ll make you the creep if you back out or say something to him. Who is he going to trust?
I gripped the wheel more firmly and calmly. “You’re playing tricks on me.”
“So?” she asked, shrugging slightly. “See you the following week. Don’t let me down.
She was unaware that my phone was recording the entire trip. Each word is as clear as glass.
With my heart pounding, I headed right into David’s office the following morning. I told him everything after saying, “Sir, I need to tell you something about your daughter and me.
” How she had come to me. How I was unaware that she was his. The room felt smaller every day because of the threats. I waited for security to come and take me away.
David chuckled. Not even a small laugh. He did wipe away tears. “I assumed,” he remarked. “You’re not the original. There is a new “boyfriend” every month. Meredith sends home a decoy to keep the peace because her mother finds it hard to believe that Meredith prefers women.
I sat there attempting to reposition my face in light of that knowledge.
With a calmer tone, he stated, “I’ve known for years.” “I didn’t know she had begun threatening people, so I let her handle her mother. That is now over.
“So… I haven’t been fired? I succeeded.
“Fired? No. “I appreciate you coming to me,” he said, getting up to stand. “Clean out any recordings. We don’t discuss this. I’ll take care of my family.
The file he saw was erased by me. I kept the copy on my laptop to myself. Not retaliation, but insurance against chaos.
The promotion came a week later. manager of marketing. A month later, my own crew. Meredith didn’t give another call. There had been a lengthy, traumatic family discussion, according to rumors circulating the office. The mock parade came to a halt.
I shake my head sometimes when I think of that month. I nearly started a profession that kept my mother in care and my life on track for five hundred bucks. Saying yes to easy money was the mistake; revealing the truth was the recovery.
I discovered that taking charge isn’t about avoiding danger; rather, it’s about having the difficult talk before someone else tells your story.
When I say “busy,” Mom still pats my hand and inquires about how work is going. Without me holding my breath between deadlines, her therapy is still being paid for.
And I genuinely chuckle when Jake stops by my desk and says, “You need to get out more.” Maybe one day I will. However, I’ve had enough of phony dates.
It wasn’t the money or the danger that most stayed with me. It demonstrated how easily a minor concession may turn into a life you no longer recognize and how one frank and horrifying discussion can restore it.