My Hired Lover is a CEO

SOFIA’s POV

Since the restaurant opened this morning, I hadn’t had a second to breathe. I moved like an acrobat—pacing the room with both hands and balancing trays, my mind constantly reminding my feet to avoid slipping on the tiled floor.

By the time the clock crept toward a quarter to twelve, the place had erupted into a war zone. Orders flew in, and customers endlessly waved for attention. Their hunger was seemingly commanding their brains to be impatient. My skin itched just by looking at their sulky lips and bored faces. Normally, every staff in Lorenzo’s Restaurant would be happy to receive so many costumers, but when you’re waiting tables to rude patrons, it would only make you wish for your shift to end already.

The kitchen’s aromas had found their way onto my uniform. I scrunched my face upon realizing that. I spent an hour doing my hair, only to expose it to the greasy scent of garlic butter and grilled meat.

But a 24-year-old woman like me, with no prospects, had to endure this kind of lowly life so I could provide for my family in the province. And while Manila was considered a city of opportunity, no one could deny that living here would mean you need determination and bravery to avoid getting swallowed by the intensity of the lifestyle.

I was dropping off an order when a sharp shriek cut through the restaurant. People turned toward the sound, but no one moved to check. My gaze flicked to the counter, hoping my coworker Danilo would go see what was happening. But he only shrugged, silently dumping the responsibility onto me.

Despite the restaurant drawing in plenty of customers, the management hadn’t bothered to increase staff. Working with me today were Danilo, the cashier and overall runner, and Mike, who was in the back grilling meat. My name’s Sofia, the curvy waitress. Not a nickname I gave myself—our customers did.

I shot Danilo a glare before heading toward the commotion near the entrance. A little girl in an elementary school uniform was struggling to pull away from a towering, six-foot-tall, foreign-looking man. He was wearing a polo shirt and ragged jeans. I couldn’t picture his face well because I was nearsighted. But he wasn’t saying anything, and the little girl seemed determined to break free. Before I could think, I was already moving.

“Sweetheart!” I called, forcing a bright, familiar smile. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The girl stared up at me, her doe eyes wide with confusion. I silently urged her to play along. Finally, she caught on and launched herself at me, clinging to my torso like a tiny monkey.

“Is this man bothering you?” I asked, turning to face him.

A beat passed, and I almost choked on my saliva upon seeing his face up close. ‘

Holy… shit… The man was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that should be illegal. His mixed foreign and Filipino features were striking. That sharp jawline. Those high cheekbones. Those bluish eyes seemed to see straight through me. His gaze flicked between me and the little girl, his head tilting slightly.

“W-what are you doing to my niece?” I stammered, trying to ignore both his allure and the expensive cologne that now surrounded me. I planted a hand on my hip as if I were a Filipina mother scolding an unruly son. “What are you thinking? Kidnapping a kid in broad daylight? And of all places, in a restaurant?”

My confidence grew as I leaned into the lie, determined to save this girl from whatever revulsion this ridiculously handsome man was planning. To my absolute horror, he only smirked!

But that smirk should come with a warning sign. It only sent the butterflies in my stomach into a whirlpool of emotions.

“Do you really believe I’m kidnapping that child?”

Dear God, even his voice was soft and low. The kind you hear in steamy audio recordings that make you imagine things. I forced myself to stay composed despite the erratic beating of my heart. “You’re holding a child against her will! What else am I supposed to think?”

As if on cue, the little girl tugged at my uniform, signaling for me to bend down. “What is it?” I asked gently.

“He wants me to go to the arcade several blocks from here,” she whispered, the fabric conditioner in her clothes lightly brushing my nose. “But I want to eat spaghetti first.”

I clenched my jaw. Are you kidding me?

“See?” Turning to the man and feeling the heat on my cheeks. “You’re forcing a little girl to do things! I say, get out of this restaurant before I call security.”

But instead of looking rattled, he laughed. Laughed! Like this was all some joke to him.

“Is there something funny about what I said?” I asked loudly, trying to drown the twisting motion happening in my gut as I heard that laugh.

I’d been around wealthy men because of my other job as an escort, and I could always tell their status by the way they laughed at people. This man—with his expensive air, controlled amusement, and dangerously rich chuckle—was indeed trouble.