Chapter Two: The Wrong Table!

Vanessa's POV.

If there was ever a walk of shame worse than walking out of your own charity gala after slapping your husband and exposing your best friend's pregnancy with his child. It was this.

Driving up the driveway of the Roothmoore estate, after three years of silence, with my suitcase in the trunk and my pride shattered like glass.

The mansion stood tall, just as cold and proud as I remembered it. A modern fortress made of marble, money, and memories I no longer owned. Two guards opened the gates for me; their eyes widened at me. They were probably shocked that the heiress had returned.

Inside the mansion everything still smelled like old money and lavender polish. My mother's presence lingered in every vase and painting.

The silence in the hallway was louder than the cameras that had screamed my name last night. I stepped into the living room and found them both there. 

My father, Bernard Roothmoore, CEO of Roothmoore Conglomerate, Forbes's number one for seven consecutive years, sat on the couch like a throne.

 My mother, Sylvia, sat beside him looking more disappointed than angry. They had seen it all. The slap. The betrayal. The shame.

“Vanessa,” my father called out my name calmly. “Have you come back just to make another poor decision?” he asked, and I swallowed hard.

“No. I came to say you were right.” I said, and my mother's lips twitched, almost giving a smirk. But my father didn't react. 

“I married Damon because I thought love was enough. I believed in him. And I was wrong.” I said, and my father stood up to his feet. 

“You were not just wrong. You were foolish. You chose a man we didn't approve of. You cut us off. And now look.”

I held my breath, expecting warmth or at least pity from them. But my mother chimed in instead with a cold and composed voice.m

“We have arranged a meeting with someone who is actually worthy of you.”

“What?”

“A blind date,” she said, like it was a job interview. “Tonight, the son of my friend, Mrs. Adisa. His family owns one of the top oil chains in the country. You will like him.

I almost laughed. “You are seriously throwing me into another marriage pitch? When I just got out of one.”

“Correction,” my father said. “You are getting out of a public disaster. A stain on this family's name. You are lucky we didn't remove you from the will.”

“I’m not doing another arranged marriage. Not until I choose it myself.” I snapped.

“Fine. Choose it. But meet the man first.” My father said as he handed me a folded slip. I opened it, and in the folded slip was the time the blind date was scheduled for and the name of the restaurant the blind date was to be held at.

“If you walk away again without doing what we have asked of you,” he said, “don’t bother coming back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was how I ended up sitting alone at Bistro Rose's rooftop, checking my phone and regretting every choice I had ever made.

I wore a red silk short dress with thin straps. It was simple and clean, nothing too loud. My makeup was soft, but my lips were painted with the same red I wore when I slapped Damon. So it was my confidence armor.

I glanced around the restaurant. It had fancy couples in it. Quiet jazz music was being played in the background. And then…

A man sat at the table across from me. Black t-shirt, grey joggers, damp hair like he had just finished a run. Definitely not the corporate oil prince my parents had arranged for me. I frowned at him.

“Excuse me? Are you…?” 

He looked up from his coffee, and I was instantly blown away. I didn't fail to notice his sharp jawline and thick lashes, and he had a smirk at the corner of his lips. The kind of smirk that could either annoy the hell out of you or pull you in like a wave.

“Are you lost?” I asked as though I wasn't the one staring straight into his eyes and scrutinizing his facial features as he tilted his head at me.

“I am Zane. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He said as he lazily extended his hand towards me.

“I’m Vanessa. Wait, are you my blind date?” I questioned, and he shrugged his shoulders at me.

“I could be. Are we judging looks by joggers now?”

“I mean…my parents have really lost it,” I cursed out, but he sipped his coffee calmly.

“You don't like casual?”

“I don't like liars,” I said flatly. “What do you do to make a living?”

“Currently?” He said, then tapped on his phone. “Freelance coffee sipper. Broke. And between jobs.” 

I blinked at him as I tried to process his words in my head. And when I finally did, I spoke up.

“So, you are jobless?”

“Painfully, I am jobless,” he replied.

“And yet you want to get married?”

“Maybe I like chaos,” he said, and I scowled at him.

“My parents must be blind.” I muttered, and he leaned in closer to me with a grin on his lips.

“Or maybe they wanted you to be humbled for once,” he said, and I folded my arms, crossing them against my chest.

“Wow. You are very confident for someone who has nothing.” I snapped at him, and he just kept smiling at me like he had figured me out.

"Or maybe I have everything you don't know you need." He countered. 

Before I could reply, a man in a blue tuxedo approached me. He looked down at his phone, then at me.

“Vanessa Roothmoore?” He called out, and I blinked at him.

“Yeah. That is me. Is there a problem?”

“I’m your date. Sorry I'm late.”

My mouth opened, and Zane leaned back in his chair, smiling like the devil.

“Oh,” I said, already feeling humiliated. “I…I sat at the wrong table.”

As I got up to leave, two suited men burst through the restaurant doors.

“Boss,” one of them said to Zane. “We are sorry we lost track of you.”

Zane waved casually at them as he spoke up. “It took you long enough,” he said, and I froze to the spot.

“Boss?” I mouthed.

He caught my stare as he sipped his coffee like it was all a joke. I wanted to die; I had judged him and insulted him. And he was clearly not broke.

I didn't say anything else to him. Instead, I just followed the real date to the table at the back. To me, the real date already smelled like cologne and desperation.

“I have seen you on TV,” he said proudly. “That slap was iconic.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“As for me, I want five kids. Maybe six if you are not too old. Are you fertile?” he asked, and my eyes widened at him in surprise.

“Excuse me?” I said, and he smiled at me.

“I mean, you were married for three years. No child. So…” he said, and I stared hard at him.

“Do you always lead with that?”

“You are a high-value woman. So I need to make sure you are not barren.” He said, and I hummed at his words.

“Interesting.” I uttered it, and he kept on rambling.

“I run three companies all on my own. I just opened another one in Mexico. And we are going to live in Seychelles when we get married. But my mom has to move in with us. I hope you're okay with that, right?”

I smiled and nodded at him. Then I leaned my face into my palm and stared past him as I looked at Zane, who was still seated and sipping his coffee. His eyes were still watching me.

My body burned; I wasn't used to being embarrassed like this. I just grabbed the glass of juice beside me to calm myself down.

Finally, my date paused and looked at me. “So…. What's your body count?”

I choked on my drink, and I cleared my throat as my eyes burned from the impact of the cold juice.

“That is it,” I said. “I'm done.”

“What? Wait.”

“You are so beneath my league. Tell your mother I declined your proposal. And maybe ask her to raise you better.”

I grabbed my clutch and stormed towards the exit.

As I passed Zane's table, he stood up, stretching like he had just finished a show. 

“Did you have a fun date?” he asked casually. 

“Rot in hell,” I said, and kept walking away as I heard Zane's voice behind me again.

“See you around, Vanessa Roothmoore,” he said.

And I didn't turn back. But my heart did.