Part 2His Five Loves Are All Me

I took the corporate job not just for the competitive salary, but for the predictable schedule. Nine to five, with a strict two-hour lunch break.

It fit perfectly into my ecosystem of survival.

Wake up at 5:00 AM. Drive Uber until 8:30.

Clock in at the corporate office at 9:30.

Use my two-hour lunch break to run high-surge DoorDash orders in the financial district.

Clock out at 5:00 PM. Head straight to the boba shop to shake teas for three hours.

Go home, turn on the ring light at 9:00 PM, and stream ridiculous balancing acts for tips.

Every minute of my day was monetized. My savings account was finally starting to look like a safety net instead of a countdown to eviction. Everything was going exactly according to plan.

Except for the part where my billionaire boss was falling in love with my entire fragmented existence.

The Reddit thread was going viral. The comments were getting sharper, the internet tearing into him with glee.

“I’m struggling to text one girl back, and this dude is out here assembling the Avengers of crushes.”

“Men who perceive every transactional interaction as romantic are a menace to society. She gave you your pad thai, bro, she doesn’t want your hand in marriage.”

“If you’re so rich, stop whining on the internet and do something about it. Give the secretary a raise. Drop a grand on the streamer’s live. Tip your drivers.”

I was reading that exact comment when my phone chimed with a text from Payne.

“Miss Gallagher, your performance has been exceptional. Effective immediately, I am bumping your salary by 30%.”

I physically leaped off my mattress.

Seconds later, my Uber app dinged. A retroactive $100 tip. Then the DoorDash app. Another massive tip.

A DM popped up on my TikTok account.

“Hi. I find your content mesmerizing. When are you going live next? I would like to sponsor your stream.”

My fingers were visibly shaking as I typed back a response.

Then, my phone buzzed again. It was the executive Slack channel. Payne had tagged his chief of staff.

“Please arrange for a custom floral arrangement and a cash bonus to be delivered to the boba shop on 5th Avenue tomorrow morning.”

The chief of staff replied instantly: “Right away, sir.”

I sat on my bed, clutching my head, my brain short-circuiting as it tried to process the influx of cash.

After a few minutes of frantic pacing, I opened a burner Reddit account and left a comment on his thread.

[OP, ignore the haters. I believe you. I understand exactly what you are going through. You need to follow your heart. Be bold! Show them you’re serious! And remember, the best way to show a woman you care is to support her financially. Throw money at the problem. Do not hesitate!]

From that day on, I essentially became the phantom orbiting Payne Sinclair’s entire life.

The next morning, I managed to snag his Uber request again.

Compared to his cold, detached demeanor the first time, today, the man sitting in my backseat seemed… different. As soon as he got in, the expensive, cedar-and-bergamot scent of his cologne filled the car. His hair was meticulously styled, and his cufflinks caught the morning light.

He glanced at the driver profile on the app, then looked up at the rearview mirror, a spark of genuine delight in his eyes.

"You're the same driver from yesterday, right?"

I kept my eyes on the road, lowering my voice slightly. "Yeah. That's me."

Payne’s smile widened, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. "Two days in a row in a city this big. You have to admit, that feels like fate."

I had to suppress a snort. Fate had nothing to do with it; it was the sheer, unadulterated finger-speed of a woman who had spent years fighting for the best gigs on the app.

I drove with my usual terrifying efficiency, pulling up to the corporate plaza. I tapped my phone screen and turned around.

He leaned forward, looking eager. "Do you think I could get your num—"

"That’ll be $136," I interrupted, pointing to the app. "Five stars would be appreciated."

As soon as he stepped onto the curb, I slammed the gas, ducked into an underground parking garage two blocks away, stripped off my casual driving jacket to reveal my tailored silk blouse, and sprinted into the lobby to clock in.

The morning at the office was mostly normal, aside from the fact that I caught Payne staring wistfully at me through the glass walls of his office at least four times.

At noon, I hit the streets for DoorDash. Thanks to my aggressive refreshing, I snagged his lunch order from a high-end sushi place.

Result: A $200 tip.

In the afternoon, I ran a few local courier errands on my way back from a corporate meeting.

In the evening, I shook cocktails of sugar and tapioca while Payne stood awkwardly by the register, trying to make small talk before leaving another absurd tip.

At night, I went live. A user named "T_SINC" dropped the equivalent of five hundred dollars in digital gifts while I balanced a broom on my chin.

It was exhausting, but my bank account had never looked so beautiful. I was counting my digital earnings, my hands practically cramping, when I checked Reddit. Payne had posted a new update.

[Loving five women is emotionally draining. But the strangest part is… in my mind, they are all starting to blur together. They’re beginning to look like the exact same person.]

Because his previous posts had gone viral, the internet descended on this one like vultures.

“The CEO is still at it! Bro, are you just projecting your mommy issues onto a specific type of working-class brunette?”

Payne fired back: [I am taking this very seriously. My feelings for all of them are pure.]

“Pure? You’re emotionally two-timing five women! You just have a type and you're collecting them like Pokémon.”

“If you’ve been pining for this long, make a move. Give your secretary a corporate card. Tell the DoorDash girl you'll pay off her student loans. Drop a grand on the streamer and ask her out to dinner.”

Alarm bells started ringing in my head. Sure enough, ten minutes later, a DM popped up on my streaming account from T_SINC.

“Hi. You’re incredibly talented. Could we exchange numbers?”

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. But the capitalist in me won out. I sent him a Google Voice number.

To his credit, Payne was a complete gentleman. No weird comments, no crossing boundaries. He just asked why I was always streaming so late at night.

I typed back, “I have a lot of day jobs. Just trying to stay afloat.”

“That’s awful,” he replied. “You have to work all day and stream all night? Your boss must be a tyrant. He sounds like a terrible person.”