They Set Up the “Grease Monkey” on a Blind Date as a Cruel Office Prank—But When the CEO’s Smart, Beautiful Daughter Sat Down, Took His Hand, and Said “I Like Him,” the Joke Backfired on Everyone Watching

By the time they brought out the dessert menus, Ethan had figured out two things:

He was absolutely, definitely underdressed.

Whoever set this up thought it would be hilarious.

He sat at a small table in the middle of Lumière, the kind of restaurant that had a French name, white tablecloths, and more forks than he owned in total. The chandeliers sparkled. Soft music drifted in the background. Waiters glided instead of walked.

Ethan Blake, who spent most of his time under car hoods in a stained work shirt, felt like a wrench dropped into a jewelry store.

He tugged at the collar of the only button-down he owned. His reflection in the window stared back at him—dark hair that refused to stay put, jaw shadowed from a hurried shave, hands that still held faint traces of motor oil no matter how hard he scrubbed.

“Relax,” he muttered to himself. “It’s just dinner. If she doesn’t show, you go home, you eat ramen, and you never, ever listen to Carlos again.”

Carlos, his co-worker at the garage, had burst in yesterday with eyes shining.

“Man, you gotta trust me,” he’d insisted, waving his phone. “My cousin’s friend knows this girl. Totally your type. Smart, funny, likes cars. She wants to meet someone ‘real.’ Blind date. Tomorrow night. Eight p.m. Lumière.”

Ethan had stared at him.

“You do remember,” he’d said slowly, “that I wear the same shirt three days a week and live over a body shop. That place probably has a dress code that requires owning socks that match.”

Carlos had slapped him on the back.

“Exactly!” he’d said. “You’ll charm her. Besides, you work too much. You need to go somewhere that doesn’t smell like gasoline for once in your life.”

Against his better judgment, Ethan had agreed.

Now, sitting alone at a table that probably cost more than his rent, he began to suspect that “cousin’s friend” was code for “group chat dare.”

He glanced around.

Couples laughed quietly. A man in a tailored suit toasted a woman in a sleek black dress. A family celebrated a birthday at a corner table, a sparkler fizzing cheerfully from a tiny cake.

No one else looked like they were waiting for a date who might not exist.

The waiter cleared his throat gently.

“Another minute, sir?” he asked. “Or…?”

Ethan cleared his.

“I’m, uh, waiting for someone,” he said. “She’s probably running late.”

The waiter smiled politely in a way that said, I have seen this before.

“Of course,” he said. “Can I bring you some water in the meantime?”

Water he could afford.

“Sure,” Ethan said.

He tried not to see the glances from the table near the bar—three guys, all in work shirts from the logistics company across the street, who kept looking over and snickering.

Carlos sat with them.

Ethan’s stomach sank.

He recognized the other two: Dylan and Mark. They’d brought their trucks into the shop more than once. Nice enough when they needed a favor. Loud when they were in a group.

Dylan elbowed Carlos, nodding toward Ethan’s table.

“He actually came,” Dylan whispered, not quite quietly enough.

Mark snorted.

“In that shirt,” he said. “Man, if she shows, she’s gonna walk right out again.”

Carlos looked uncomfortable.

“It was just supposed to be a joke,” he muttered. “He works too hard. Thought maybe he’d loosen up.”

“Yeah, well, this is entertainment,” Dylan said. “You see his face when he gets the bill?”

Ethan pretended he hadn’t heard, but the words settled like stones in his gut.

He should leave. Call it early. Apologize to the waiter, pay for the water, avoid the humiliation.

He reached for his wallet.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice said near his shoulder. “Is this seat taken?”

He looked up.

And forgot how to breathe for a second.

The woman standing by the table looked like she’d stepped out of the kind of magazine he flipped through at the barber shop—elegant dress in deep green that set off her warm brown skin, hair pulled into a sleek twist, a simple pendant at her throat catching the light.

She wasn’t dripping diamonds or trying to impress anyone.

She just…belonged here.

Unlike him.

Ethan’s brain scrambled.

“Yes,” he blurted. “I mean, no. I mean, yes, it’s taken, but by you. If you’re you. Which, I hope, you are.”

She smiled.

It was not the polite, distant smile of someone who’d realized they’d approached the wrong table.

It was amused. Curious.

“Are you Ethan?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. Then, because panic made him stupid: “All day. So far.”

Her smile widened.

“I’m Ava,” she said. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was…creative tonight.”

He stood up so quickly his chair scraped.

“No worries,” he said. “I was just, uh, getting to know the bread basket.”

She glanced at the half-empty plate between them.

“Seems like it’s been a good conversation,” she said. “May I?”

He pulled out her chair and tried not to trip over his own feet.

“Please,” he said. “Sit.”

From across the room, the trio at the bar went silent.

“She actually showed,” Mark whispered.

“And she’s…” Dylan faltered, blinking. “Wow.”

Carlos’s jaw dropped.

“Guys,” he said slowly. “That’s…Ava Linwood.”

The name meant nothing to Dylan.

“To who?” he frowned.

“Linwood,” Carlos repeated. “As in Linwood Motors. As in Linwood Tower, over there.” He gestured through the front window, where a gleaming glass building rose across the street, its logo illuminated against the night.

Dylan’s eyes widened.

“You mean that’s—”

“The CEO’s daughter,” Carlos finished. “She did a tour at the garage last month, remember? Intern program? I only saw her from the back, but…that’s her. She’s on the company site.”

Mark whistled low.

“You set him up with the boss’s daughter?” he hissed. “As a prank?”

Carlos swallowed.

“This…just got less funny,” he muttered.

---

Back at the table, Ethan tried to act like his lungs worked normally.

“So, um,” he said, “are you…my date?”

She tilted her head.

“Well, I came here to have dinner with a guy named Ethan who apparently talks to bread,” she said. “If that’s not you, I should find out before I order.”

He huffed a nervous laugh.

“That’s me,” he said. “Ethan Blake. Mechanic. Occasional carburetor whisperer.”

Her eyes lit with interest.

“You’re a mechanic?” she asked. “Like, cars?”

“Yeah,” he said, surprised anyone would sound that pleased about it. “I fix what people break. Or what breaks on people.”

She rested her elbows lightly on the table.

“I love cars,” she said. “Not in the ‘I can name five models’ way. In the ‘I watch documentaries about engines for fun’ way. So this is already more interesting than the last three dates I went on.”

He blinked.

“Seriously?” he asked. “What do you do?”

She hesitated.

“I’m…in the family business,” she said. “Engineering department. Kind of.”

He nodded.

“Family business,” he repeated. “Must be nice.”

She smiled, but there was a flicker there—something complicated.

“It has its moments,” she said. “So, Ethan, tell me about your favorite car you’ve ever worked on.”

The question was like flipping a switch.

His shoulders relaxed.

“Well,” he said, “there’s this old ’69 Mustang that belongs to a guy who clearly loves it but doesn’t understand it. He treats it like a trophy, but that thing wants to run. I swear when I tune it, the whole engine feels happier.”

Ava leaned in.

“Happier,” she repeated, amused. “You talk about engines like they’re people.”

“They kind of are,” he said. “They tell you when they’re hurting. You just have to listen.”

She nodded slowly.

“Most people don’t listen to things until they break,” she said. “Or to people.”

He caught the edge in her tone.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That too.”

The waiter reappeared, gracefully pretending he hadn’t watched the whole exchange.

“Are we ready to order?” he asked.

They fumbled through the menu together, Ava translating the fancy terms into things like “roasted chicken with lemon” and “steak with butter that has a French name.”

When she mentioned the steak, Ethan’s eyes flicked to the price.

His stomach clenched.

“I, uh,” he said, lowering his voice, “should probably tell you… I can’t really do the…extra fancy side of this menu. My friend talked me into this place. I didn’t realize there’d be…market prices.”

He waited for the flicker of disappointment.

The polite excuse.

The gentle retreat.

Ava glanced at the menu, then at him.

“Good to know,” she said easily. “In that case, we order what makes sense. Or we share. I’m not big on wasting food or money. Besides—”

She quirked a smile.

“Real confession? I like the chicken here better than the steak anyway.”

Something in his chest loosened.

He smiled, grateful.

“Chicken, then,” he said. “And maybe we skip dessert unless we plan to wash dishes.”

“Deal,” she said.

They ordered.

From the bar, Dylan watched, incredulous.

“She’s…into it,” he said. “She’s laughing.”

Mark shook his head.

“This was supposed to be brutal,” he muttered. “He was supposed to sit alone and look dumb.”

Carlos’s stomach churned.

He’d gone along with the prank because he was tired of seeing Ethan work late and go home alone. He hadn’t expected a real person to get involved in the joke. Let alone her.

“We should…tell her,” Carlos said weakly. “Tell him. Something.”

“Are you crazy?” Dylan hissed. “You want the CEO to find out we used his daughter as part of a prank? You like having a job?”

Carlos looked back at Ethan.

At the way his face had changed—less guarded, more open—as he talked. At how Ava seemed genuinely interested, not forced.

“Maybe we just…shut up for once,” Carlos said quietly.

---

Dinner flowed.

Ethan learned that Ava had studied mechanical engineering at a college back east and had come back to “see how the family business works from the inside.”

She learned that Ethan had dropped out of community college to take care of his younger sister after their parents died and had never quite found his way back to classes.

“I always meant to go back,” he said, twisting his napkin. “But life kept…happening. And car payments. And rent. College went from ‘later’ to ‘maybe someday’ to ‘that would be nice,’ you know?”

She nodded.

“I do,” she said. “People assume I always wanted what I have. Mostly because it looks good on paper. They don’t ask if there was anything else I ever thought about.”

“Was there?” he asked.

She smiled.

“I wanted to design engines for a race team,” she admitted. “Or build my own motorcycles. My dad nodded and said, ‘That’s a nice side project. After you learn how to run the company.’”

“Ah,” Ethan said. “Side project. The polite way of saying, ‘When you’re done doing the real thing we expect from you.’”

She lifted her glass.

“You get it,” she said. “Most people just say, ‘Wow, your life must be perfect.’”

He clinked his water against hers.

“To side projects,” he said.

“And the people who take them seriously,” she added.

They shared the chicken.

They skipped dessert.

At one point, Ava excused herself to go to the restroom.

As soon as she disappeared down the hallway, Ethan’s phone buzzed.

It was a text from Carlos.

Bro. I need to tell you something.

Ethan frowned.

Now? he typed back under the table.

Yes. It started as a joke. The date. I’m sorry.

Ethan’s pulse jumped.

He read the message twice.

Then slowly, he lifted his head and looked at the bar.

Carlos met his gaze.

Guilt was written all over his face.

Dylan and Mark looked away.

Heat climbed the back of Ethan’s neck.

He’d suspected something.

That didn’t make seeing it confirmed any less of a punch.

He looked at the empty chair across from him.

At the half-folded napkin.

At the water glass with a faint lipstick mark.

This wasn’t a joke to her.

At least, he didn’t think so.

He took a slow breath.

He could stand up. Walk out. Leave the three idiots at the bar to figure out their own shame.

He could stay. Pretend he knew nothing. Let the evening end on a pleasant lie.

Or he could do something harder.

Tell the truth to the one person whose opinion he actually cared about tonight.

A few minutes later, Ava returned, smoothing her dress as she sat down.

“Sorry,” she said. “The line in there is longer than the line for new iPhones.”

He tried to smile.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

Her smile faded.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “What’s wrong?”

He exhaled.

“This date,” he said. “It…didn’t start the way you probably think.”

He told her.

About Carlos.

About the “cousin’s friend.”

About the way he’d seen them at the bar, heard the snickers. About the text.

“I should’ve walked out when I realized,” he said, jaw tight. “Or not come at all. I’m sorry you got dragged into it. You didn’t deserve that.”

She sat very still.

For a second, he wished he could rewind the last minute.

Then she looked past him, toward the bar.

Her gaze landed on Carlos.

He flinched.

She raised one eyebrow.

From across the room, he mouthed, I’m sorry.

She turned back to Ethan.

“You came anyway,” she said. “Knowing it might be a joke.”

He nodded.

“I thought maybe…” He shrugged, helpless. “Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you were real. Maybe I’d get a decent meal and a weird story out of it either way.”

“And when you found out it was a prank?” she asked. “You could’ve lied. Smiled. Pretended you didn’t know. Why tell me?”

“Because I like telling the truth,” he said. “Even when it’s messy.”

He winced.

“And because if you find out from them later, it’ll feel worse. You’ll think I was in on it.”

She studied him.

“Well,” she said slowly, “that explains why Carlos looked like he wanted to crawl under the floorboards when I walked in.”

“You…know him?” Ethan asked.

“He works in the logistics division,” she said. “I’ve seen him at the building. And I recognized him from the garage visit.”

She leaned back.

“For the record,” she said, “ending a prank by dragging someone into a fancy restaurant isn’t the worst crime I’ve seen that office commit. But it’s still a lousy thing to do to both of us.”

He nodded, ashamed even though he hadn’t planned it.

“If you want to leave,” he said, “I get it. I’ll pay my share and you never have to see me again. Or them.”

She tilted her head.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked.

He hesitated.

“Yes and no,” he admitted. “Yes, because I hate that you got pulled into something stupid. No, because…” He spread his hands. “I’m having a good time. Which doesn’t happen a lot in places like this. Or at all, really.”

She softened.

“Me too,” she said.

His heart stuttered.

“You are?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I walked in here expecting another bland evening with someone who’d spend more time talking about themselves than asking about me,” she said. “Instead, I met a guy who genuinely likes his work, listens when I talk, and tells me the truth even when it might make me walk away.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“I like that,” she said simply.

He blinked.

“You…like that?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said. “I like you.”

Simple words.

Seismic effect.

From the bar, Mark gaped.

“Did she just say—”

“That she likes him,” Dylan groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “We are so dead.”

Carlos exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Maybe this prank did something right by accident,” he murmured.

Back at the table, Ava drummed her fingers lightly.

“How about this,” she said. “We finish this meal. We split the bill. Then we walk past that bar together, and I introduce you to my coworkers properly. I’d like them to see your face when they realize I’m the one who wants a second date.”

Ethan’s mouth fell open.

“You…do?” he asked.

“If you say no, I reserve the right to change my mind,” she teased.

He laughed, the sound coming more easily now.

“Then yes,” he said. “Definitely yes.”

They waved the waiter over.

When the bill arrived, Ava reached for it at the same time he did.

“Let me,” he said.

“We said split,” she replied. “I make my own money. And I refuse to let this night end with you bankrupt because my coworkers think they’re funny.”

In the end, they divided it down the middle.

Ethan’s share stung his wallet but didn’t break it.

Worth it, he thought, watching her tuck her card back into her clutch.

An investment in something that actually mattered for once.

They stood.

Ava slipped her arm through his.

He stiffened, then relaxed as she smiled up at him.

“Ready?” she asked.

“For what?” he said.

She nodded toward the bar.

“For the walk of shame,” she whispered. “Theirs.”

He grinned.

“Absolutely,” he said.

They crossed the room together.

Conversations hushed as people realized where they were heading.

Carlos swallowed hard.

“Hey, Ava,” he said weakly.

She stopped in front of them, still holding Ethan’s arm.

“Carlos,” she said. “Dylan. Mark. Fancy seeing you here.”

“We were just, uh, grabbing a drink,” Dylan stammered.

“After work,” Mark added. “You know. Long week.”

“Mm,” she said. “And setting up blind dates for your mechanic friends as a joke?”

Carlos flushed.

“Ava, I’m sorry,” he said. “It was stupid. I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t,” she agreed. “That much is clear.”

She looked at Ethan.

“Ethan told me the truth,” she said. “I appreciate that. I don’t appreciate being treated like part of a dare. That’s not how we do things at Linwood. Or in grown-up life, generally.”

Her tone wasn’t cruel.

It was disappointed.

Somehow, that felt worse.

“We get it,” Mark muttered. “It was dumb.”

She held their gaze for a moment longer.

“Good,” she said. “Because the next time I see something like this, we’ll be having a discussion in my father’s office. And he’s less patient than I am.”

They paled.

“Yes, ma’am,” Carlos said.

She turned back to Ethan.

“For the record,” she said loudly enough for them to hear, “this has been the best date I’ve had in a long time.”

Ethan’s ears went hot.

“And I’d like to see you again,” she added, smile soft.

“Me too,” he said.

She squeezed his arm.

“Walk me out?” she asked.

He nodded, still a little stunned.

They stepped into the night air, leaving the stunned trio and the murmuring restaurant behind.

Outside, the city hummed—cars passing, streetlights buzzing, the Linwood Motors logo glowing from the glass tower across the street.

“Your coworkers are going to be terrified of me on Monday,” she said, amused.

He chuckled.

“Good,” he said. “Maybe they’ll think twice before messing with mechanics and CEOs’ daughters.”

She tilted her head.

“You know now, right?” she asked. “Who I am. Or at least who my family is.”

He nodded.

“Carlos told me,” he said. “Linwood Motors.”

She watched his face carefully.

“Does that…change things?” she asked.

He thought about it.

“It makes some things make more sense,” he said. “Like how you know your way around an engine and a wine list. But you’re still the person who sat down at my table and made me feel like I belonged there. That’s what I care about.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Good answer,” she said.

They paused on the sidewalk.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

She smiled wryly.

“I don’t have one,” she admitted. “I walked from the tower. My car is stuck in the garage because they were testing the entry system and it decided I didn’t exist.”

He laughed.

“Savage,” he said. “Technology has no loyalty.”

She shrugged.

“I could call a car,” she said. “But…”

She looked at him.

“Would you like a lift?” he offered. “My ride’s not fancy, but it runs.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he said.

His truck was parked a block away—a battered old pickup that he’d painted himself in the shop, the blue a little uneven but proud.

She ran a hand along the side.

“I like it,” she said. “Has character.”

“Some people call it rust,” he said.

“Some people have no imagination,” she replied.

He opened the passenger door for her.

She climbed in, smoothing her dress.

As he rounded the front, he caught sight of them reflected in the windshield: him in his slightly rumpled button-down, her in her elegant dress, both grinning at something that made no sense to anyone but them.

He slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

It purred.

Of course it did.

He drove her back toward the tower.

“Same time next week?” she asked as they pulled up to the corner.

He glanced at her, surprised and delighted.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Maybe not here,” she said. “Somewhere with fewer forks and more fries. Let’s see if we like each other in daylight. And in grease.”

He laughed.

“Deal,” he said. “There’s a little diner on 3rd that does amazing burgers and lets you talk about cars as much as you want.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Text me?”

He hesitated.

“I, uh, don’t have your number,” he said. “Carlos never got that far in his…planning.”

She pulled a pen from her clutch, grabbed his hand, and wrote digits across his palm.

“Now you do,” she said.

He stared at the numbers.

“Wow,” he said. “Old-school.”

“Sometimes the basics work best,” she said.

She reached for the door handle, then paused.

“Ethan,” she said.

“Yeah?” he replied.

She looked at him, expression open.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said. “For telling me the truth. For not pretending to be someone you’re not.”

He swallowed.

“Thank you,” he said. “For sitting down even when I didn’t look like I belonged at that table.”

She smiled.

“I decide where I belong,” she said. “Not the table.”

With that, she slipped out of the truck and headed toward the tower, heels clicking on the pavement.

He watched her go, then looked down at his hand, numbers inked across his skin.

He flexed his fingers.

For all the jokes, all the setup, all the bad intentions that had tried to turn him into entertainment, the night had given him something real.

Not a fairy tale.

Not a lottery ticket.

A connection.

Built on shared stories, honesty, laughter, and a mutual love of engines that most people didn’t understand.

Back at the garage the next day, Carlos approached him, face pale.

“Man,” he said. “I am so, so sorry. I thought it’d just be a dumb joke. I didn’t know she was gonna be—”

“Kind?” Ethan said. “Smart? Way out of my league?”

“All of the above,” Carlos groaned. “Please don’t quit. Or hit me. Or tell her dad. Or—”

“Relax,” Ethan said, picking up a wrench. “I’m not quitting. And I’m not telling anyone. Except maybe that next time you want to set me up, you run it by me first.”

Carlos blinked.

“Next time?” he echoed.

Ethan grinned.

He lifted his palm, numbers faintly smudged but still legible.

“I’ve got a second date,” he said. “This time, we’ll pick the place ourselves.”

Carlos stared.

“You…do?” he asked. “And she said yes?”

“She said, ‘I like him,’” Ethan replied. “You can ask her coworkers if you want.”

He went back to work, heart lighter, wrench steady.

Engines, he thought, made sense.

So did some people.

Even if the way they came into your life made no sense at all.

Outside, cars rolled past on the street, every one of them carrying someone with their own stories, their own side projects, their own jokes that sometimes turned into something more.

And somewhere in an office across town, a CEO’s daughter looked out at the city, fingers tracing the outline of a number written on her own hand, smiling at a memory of a mechanic who had refused to let a prank define him.

THE END