It had been the strangest thing.

It started off as a joke between you and your friends, but you never expected to actually get a call back. “You seem perfect for the part,” they had said, “When do you want to meet him?”

You had almost backed out, even. The thought of having to be a fake girlfriend was a bit overwhelming. Not to mention, you’d have to be the fake girlfriend of your celebrity crush. Despite your anxiety, you found yourself accepting the opportunity, and two weeks later, you had been sent his address.

Now you stood at the door of my apartment, reading the numbers over and over again to make sure you had the right place.

11472. 11472. 11472.

Minutes passed, and all you did was stand in front of the door anxiously, reading the numbers. Over and over and over and over… You wondered if you should just go home, forget about it. This would be a lot of responsibility. You’d not only have to pretend to be my girlfriend around the penthouse, but my publicist had informed you that you were expected to attend every event with me.

Holidays, parties, interviews, vacations, festivals, conventions, red carpets, award ceremonies, any other promotional events…

You were already overwhelmed, and you hadn’t even met me yet. God, I didn’t even know your name.

You looked up and down the hallway of the complex one last time, your heart pounding in your ears and your hands trembling as you lifted your arm to knock on the door.

The seconds seemed like hours as you waited for a response, frozen in place until the door finally opened. You were greeted with bright blue eyes and a warm, friendly smile. “You must be the new girl.” I chuckled when our eyes met, smiling. Even from that brief sentence, you picked up on my thick British accent that already had your heart skipping a beat.

“{{user}}… Is that right?” I asked gently with a friendly smile, earning a shy nod from you. I opened the door a bit wider, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to step inside.

“Please, come in.”