Chapter 3

When did Dakota start paying attention to me?

Back in my freshman year in college, Dakota came back to campus as a star alumnus to give a speech. I was stuck in the last row of the lecture hall, basically forced there by my roommate.

He stood on stage in a tailored suit, the spotlight hitting him right. He looked so good that it was almost hard to believe he was real.

"How many of you will be standing here ten years from now? Not because of your family, but because of your own efforts." As he spoke, his eyes swept across the room, like he was looking down on us.

The girl next to me clutched her fists in excitement. "Oh my god, he's so hot."

I kept my head down, scribbling away at my part-time work schedule.

That night, after working at a coffee shop until eleven, I was heading back to the dorm when I spotted a black car parked by the curb. The window rolled down, and Dakota's face appeared, cool and sharp, almost intimidating.

"You were the one in the back row today, weren't you?" Dakota said.

I froze for a second. "How did you notice?"

"You were the only one who didn't bother to look at me." He handed me a business card. "Herman Group. We're looking for interns."

I didn't take it.

He gave me another look, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Not interested?"

"Don't want it," I said. "I work nights. I don't have time for an internship."

He probably wasn't used to being turned down. He stared at me for a few seconds and then let out a smile.

That was the first time I'd ever seen him smile.

It wasn't that corporate smile he always wore at events. It was real, like he actually found me amusing.

Later, I realized he remembered me not because I had guts, but because I was the only one who wasn't dazzled by his presence. To him, I was something fresh, like someone used to gourmet meals suddenly noticing a bowl of vegetable salad.

But the salad got old after a while.

We got together in my sophomore year, no dramatic confessions, no chasing. One night after a business dinner, Dakota got drunk, and I took him back to his hotel. He grabbed my hand and said, "Don't go."

So, I didn't.

The next morning, he woke up, saw me beside him, and furrowed his brows, looked a bit taken aback, but didn't get mad or anything.

He took out a card from his wallet and placed it on the nightstand. "The PIN is my birthday."

I stared at him, silent.

"What's wrong? Not enough?" his tone was flat, like he was negotiating a business transaction.

"I don't want your money," I said.

He shot me a look, surprise flickering across his face for a second before his expression quickly returned to its usual coolness. "Suit yourself."

Then he got dressed and walked out, never once apologizing for last night or asking what we were supposed to be.

Later, I found out he'd gotten into an argument with Freya that night. She wanted to go study in Fewales, but he wouldn't let her, so things got pretty ugly between them.

He wasn't drunk from some business dinner. He was drunk because of Freya.

And I was the convenient substitute, someone who happened to be there.

I was Freya's stand-in for four whole years.

Over those four years, I learned a lot, like never link arms with him in public and never post anything about him online.

If he called, I had to drop everything and answer right away. But if he didn't, I could never reach out to him first.

And whenever Freya came back from Fewales, I was supposed to disappear.

Freya came back every three months, staying for a week each time. During that week, Dakota would go radio silent, no calls, no texts, as if he'd vanished from the face of the earth.

Once Freya left, he'd pull up outside my place, honk three times, and that was my cue to head downstairs.

He never bothered to come up.

He said my place was a dump.

One time, it was pouring rain, and I slipped coming downstairs. I busted my knee open, blood mixing with the rain as it ran down my leg. Dakota sat in the car, gave me a quick, cold look, and said, "Get in."

After I got in, he tossed me a towel from the back seat. "Dry off. Don't mess up the seats."

He never asked if I was okay.

The towel was dry, but I couldn't bring myself to use it on me. I wiped the water off his seat instead.

Thinking about it now, I found I was such a damn idiot.