A blind date

Irene’s POV

“Blind date?” My jaw dropped as I took my eye mask off, dropping it into the sink.

I grabbed my robe off the rack, wrapping myself in it.

Marching out of the bathroom, I found my mom fiddling with one of the bows she got me as a kid.

When I moved closer to the bed, she turned around.

“I told you over the phone last night. Didn’t I?”

Shaking my head, I massaged my temples.

“No, and I hate to let you down, but I’m not going.” I walk around the bed, heading to my walk-in closet to take out my dress.

I didn’t want to be a minute late for my interview at the fashion school I applied to a month ago.

I finally got a call from them right after I dragged myself out of bed at noon.

I checked and realized they sent me emails twice, and I only missed one phone call.

Damn, hangovers hit hard when you do nothing to distract yourself from the alcohol. Like sex.

Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t have sex with the stranger from last night, or else I’d have been wrapped up in the sheets of sin, sleeping off an orgasm he’d have squeezed out of me, then miss my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Phew!

Did I choose not to have sex with him, or did he dump me halfway?

Shit, I think he did.

But I couldn’t deny how soaking wet I was, pinned against the wall by the hard planes of his body and his bulge—

“I wish it was that easy, honey. But your dad and I already decided you’d get married to Damian.”

“Rene?” Mom called, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Hmm?”

I thought I heard the word ‘marry.’

“It’s a done deal.” Mom said calmly.

My mouth formed an O shape as I nodded quickly, acting like I was digesting the whole information.

“Fine. I’ll take my sweet time fooling around till one stranger sweeps me off my feet a day before the wedding.”

“That’ll be great.” I chuckled dryly.

Taking out a scrunch dress with spaghetti straps, I shook my head.

Nope, I was going to an interview, not a fashion show, even if it’s at the school.

My eyes landed on a cream-colored blazer, a black mini skirt, and a matching tank top, and I smiled, bringing them out.

“You have to start learning to take things…” Mom suddenly snatched the blazer from me.

“Seriously.” She finished, raising her voice a bit.

I stared at her wide eyes, in disbelief.

“Mom, you’re going to make me late,” I cried.

Dropping the clothes on the bed, she ran her hands up my shoulders, her brows knitted together,

Ok, this might be more serious than I thought.

“What, now?”

“It’s your dad. He bought your flight ticket to England for that law course in case….” She paused, her lips trembling.

My heart was in my throat as I folded my arms across my chest.

“In case what, Mom?”

“In case you don’t want to get married,”

Everything in the room spun in my vision as cold sweat gathered on my pores, making me lean against the wall for support.

“He’s going to take you away from me.” Mom sobbed, resting her head on my shoulder, and my eyes watered.

Dad knew how much that hellhole ruined me. But he’s quick to throw me under the bus if I don’t let him puppet me into an arranged marriage.

I knew Mom was shallow at times, but Dad was much worse, and I didn’t even know the name to call him.

Also, I didn’t want to be the reason Mom cried so much, so I stroked her back.

“What time is the date?”

She sniffed, releasing me.

“Really? You’d go?” She asked and I looked away.

“Not like I have a choice.” I said.

“It’s by 4, he’s got your number, so he’ll call you.”

Then and there, I decided on one thing.

Since my dad was hellbent on making a fuss about this arranged marriage bullshit with his business partner's son, then I was going to put an end to this soap opera.

I made it to the interview in time, but with the weight of what Mom said, I got extra nervous and fucked the whole thing up.

Those long hours I practiced in front of the mirror, preaching confidence to myself, all went down the drain.

By the time I left the building, I was sure the HR team was deleting my rèsumè straight to the trash can.

I could have easily used my dad’s connection to secure the job, but I didn’t want to get hired based on favors.

Besides, dad would slit my throat if he found out I was applying to different fashion schools to pursue my dream.

He’d always wanted me to be a lawyer.

Whew! At least I survived through the day.

The moment I stopped a cab to get in, my phone buzzed. I thought of ignoring it, but the ringtone made my ears bleed.

With everything I had been through today, the last thing I wanted to hear was the annoying sound of a ringing phone.

The person on the other end had better pray for thick skin because I was about to take it all out on them.

Not bothering to check the caller ID, I picked it up.

“Hello—

“Past 4, once you’re 5 more minutes late. I’m leaving.” A thick masculine voice sounded on the other end before the line went off.

Distancing the phone from my ear, I coughed a laugh, amused at what the hell just happened right now.

Before I hit the call button to ask who it was, a text appeared on my screen.

*FREVO, 48 W 8th Street, TABLE 7. SHOW THE WAITER THIS WHEN YOU COME IN* A pic of his credit card followed the text*

A black card, hmm.

My eyes glued to the screen as I reread the text over and over again before it clicked.

Oh, the blind date. Of course that was it.

Crazy things like this never happen in my life out of the blue.

And the bastard didn’t even introduce himself properly over the phone, not even a name.

Now, he was bossing me around.

Damian, is it right?

“Ma’am, are you getting in?” The cab guy asked impatiently, and a smirk lifted the corners of my lips.

“Take me to Frevo, 48 West 8th Street, please.” I said as I entered the car.

If he wanted to play boss, then ‘ding,’ guess I was officially clocking in.

By the time I got there, the place was filled with couples at almost every table, and I struggled to catch sight of him.

Actually, not him but the table number.

I don’t know what he looked like, and do I give a fuck? Definitely not.

Pushing my dress up a bit more so that it was almost showing my naked thighs, I decided to strut towards a waiter, seeing that I wasn’t any good at finding the table.

“Irene Reynold?” Someone called, and I spun around to find a lithe-looking man in uniform smiling at me.

A waiter.

“Yes, that would be me.” I smiled back.

I watched his fingers flying across the screen of a tab as he confirmed the reservation.

“Ok, table 7. The photo, please.”

Sliding my phone open, I held my phone up.

“Here.”

Nodding, he gestured towards a table.

“Thank you, ma’am. This way, please.”

I followed him, keeping my dress up and strut intact, so by the time the rude bastard spotted me from afar, he’d know what a terrible decision it was trying to wife a tacky slut who was flaunting almost half her ass for free in public.

Freebies. I know that’s right.

Curling my lips, my eyes searched around the room to find him even before he did.

The waiter took me past a bunch of tables till we got to a small secluded section that hinted that the area was reserved for VIPs, and that was when our eyes locked.

A familiar pair of topaz eyes that seemed to see right through my soul watched me as I drew closer to his table.

Then I paused, my feet rooted to the spot.

The Stranger.

“Why is it every time we meet you’re hustling for some free fuck?” He asked, his eyes dragging down my exposed thighs, and embarrassment washed over me.