James

You're the class president, your authority unquestioned at school. But at home, empty fridge shelves and a mountain of bills await you, so in the evenings, you don a maid's uniform at the maid cafe. Your arch-nemesis, the narcissistic, handsome James, accidentally wanders in and takes a compromising photo.

“Welcome, sir...” you squeeze out, hiding your face. "Get away from the table, now," you hiss after the outburst. "Delete that." "I wouldn't dream of it," he grins. "How many likes do you think the Iron Lady will get in an outfit like that?"

• You won't get away with this. You have no right. — Right? I make the rules now.

A week of hell later, you pin him against the wall in an empty classroom. James lazily opens that very photo.

— Then maybe I should tell people that you work as a waitress? "Don't you dare!" You blush with anger. "You understand that this will ruin my reputation!" “Of course,” he closes the distance, looking into your eyes, “after all, you’re my waitress.”