Part 3His Five Loves Are All Me

You have no idea, I thought, nodding to myself.

Playing into the algorithm's love for a sob story, I crafted a tragic backstory for my streamer persona. An absent dad, a mountain of medical debt for my mom, a younger brother trying to get through college. A shattered American dream.

It worked like a charm. Payne’s sympathy was palpable through the screen. I pressed my advantage.

“But it’s okay. Knowing there are generous people like you watching my streams makes it worth it. Your gifts really help.”

Payne immediately promised he would be back every single night.

“By the way,” he texted. “Can I ask your name?”

“I’m… Jane,” I typed back.

Over the course of the next month, Payne practically funded my entire existence.

He drank enough boba to reach their highest VIP tier. He became a legendary "whale" on the delivery and rideshare apps, known locally as the guy who tipped 200%. He had successfully acquired the contact info for every single one of my alter egos.

I interacted with this man in some capacity half a dozen times a day, and thanks to his broken facial recognition, he remained blissfully oblivious.

To keep my stories straight, I built a mental spreadsheet. The delivery girl was a broke college student. The streamer was the tragic heroine.

But sometimes, the wires crossed.

A few days ago, working as his secretary, I had tried to dodge a weekend shift by claiming I needed to visit my sick father.

Payne had looked up sharply from his tablet. "Miss Gallagher? Didn't you tell me during your interview that your father passed away when you were seven?"

I froze, the blood draining from my face. "My… stepdad. He stepped up."

By some miracle of my own fast-talking and his inherent gullibility, he bought it. In fact, my "dedication to my family" only seemed to make him respect me more.

Which was great for my paycheck, but terrible for office politics. The other assistants were starting to sharpen their knives.

"Jill. Take this contract to the downtown branch."

Courtney tossed a heavy manila folder onto my keyboard. She was the quintessential nepotism baby—her father sat on the board of directors, and she treated the administrative pool like her personal sorority pledges.

The other girls in the office had warned me to keep my head down. “She’s had a crush on Mr. Sinclair since they were kids. Any woman who breathes his air gets targeted.”

I had rolled my eyes at that. “Why target the women? For all we know, he’s not even into girls. Where’s the feminism?”

But Courtney didn't care about feminism. She cared about territory.

"Did you hear me, Jill? I need this downtown in two hours."

I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was the color of bruised iron, and rain was lashing against the glass in aggressive sheets. "It's a monsoon out there. Can't you just use the corporate courier app?"

"No. I want you to do it." She crossed her arms, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood.

I let out a long, slow breath. "Fine. Open the courier app and request a runner. Put it under the corporate account."

"Are you deaf? I said you are taking it."

"I heard you perfectly."

Without breaking eye contact, I reached under my desk, pulled out my bright yellow rainproof courier jacket, and zipped it up right over my silk blouse. I gave her a dazzling, corporate-approved smile.

"Thanks for the gig, Courtney. Good looking out."

It was raining, which meant surge pricing. Delivering this folder across town would net me an easy fifty bucks. If she wanted to play petty power games, I was going to get paid for it.

As I waited for the elevator, my phone buzzed. A coworker texting me: “Omg, you broke Courtney’s brain. She’s practically foaming at the mouth in the breakroom.”

I didn't care. I finished the delivery, internally calculating how I was going to force Courtney to give me a five-star rating on the app, and headed back to headquarters.

But the moment I walked through the revolving doors, water dripping from my yellow jacket, my heart stopped.

Damn it.

Payne was standing in the lobby. What was a CEO doing loitering by the security desks in the middle of a workday?

"Jane? What are you doing here?"

My breath caught in my throat. I froze, dripping rainwater onto the pristine marble floor.

His eyes lit up, and he walked toward me, completely ignoring the security guards. "Are you making a delivery? How is the fund for your brother's tuition going? I meant it when I said I could write you a check."

I didn't say a word. Cold sweat mixed with the rain on the back of my neck.

He has face blindness. How the hell did he recognize me?

"How did you know it was me?" I asked, my voice tight.

Payne stopped a few feet away, suddenly looking shy. He shoved his hands into his tailored pockets. "I… I still can't really picture your face. But I remembered the way you stand. The silhouette. And the jacket."

The corner of my mouth twitched. I forced a laugh, desperately looking around for an exit route. But the universe hates me, and at that exact moment, Courtney stepped out of the executive elevator.

"Jill? You're back already?" Courtney sneered.

"Jill? Wait, I thought your name was Jane?" Payne looked between us, utterly bewildered.

Courtney was closing the distance, looking ready to cause a scene. Panic seized me. I lunged forward, shoved the signed delivery receipt directly into Courtney’s chest, and inhaled deeply.

"Hi, your delivery is complete, please remember to rate five stars—ACHOO!"

I let out an ungodly, theatrical sneeze, spraying a fine mist of (fake) saliva in her direction.

Courtney shrieked, stumbling backward in horror, wiping at her face. "You are disgusting!" She spun on her heel and sprinted for the restrooms.

I slowly turned back to Payne. I gave him a weak, trembling smile.

He stared at me, his brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Who exactly are you?"