He's Problematic

"What do you mean I have to go out with her again?" Blake thundered over the phone. His grandfather was being more insistent than usual. "Didn’t I already agree to marry the girl? Just call me on the wedding day!"

“That’s not happening!” his grandfather snapped. "I sent you a message last night to inform you. Don’t tell me you ignored it just to come up with excuses today!"

“Grandpa, I have a meeting,” Blake replied, trying to keep his tone calm.

“Cancel it,” his grandfather ordered firmly.

Blake was about to fire back when his assistant, Jeffery, gestured at him from the corner of the office. Taking a deep breath, Blake pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting.

There were so many things he wanted to say, but he was painfully aware of his grandfather’s heart condition. Jeffery’s silent reminder made him swallow his anger. The last thing he wanted was to be the reason the old man ended up in the hospital.

“You’re always busy with work, even for family gatherings,” his grandfather continued, his voice laced with disappointment. "Last Christmas, you didn’t come home, and your excuse for missing New Year was a business trip. Do you think you’re the only person in the world with work to do?"

“Grandpa, you need to calm down,” Blake said, trying to placate him.

“The company you’re so obsessed with used to be mine,” his grandfather snapped. "And I still made time for family. Your father was the same—a fine man who learned how to balance work and family. It’s such a shame he passed away. If he were alive, I don’t believe you’d act like this! The only reason you are like this is because I am nothing but a distant relative."

Blake felt a pang in his chest, but his anger bubbled over. "Fine!" he shouted, getting out of his chair. "I’ll go. You don’t have to remind me of how messed up I turned out just because I’m an orphan. If it makes you happy, I’ll go."

But his grandfather had already hung up, leaving Blake to stew in guilt.

He sat back down, running a hand through his hair. He knew the old man had been through a lot—losing his only son and then having to deal with a grandson who constantly fell short of expectations.

"I’m a terrible person," Blake muttered bitterly, letting out a humorless chuckle.

“Jeffery,” he called, pulling at his tie to loosen it, "postpone the meeting. It looks like I have a date to attend."

“Ugh,” Blake groaned, glancing at his wristwatch. She was late again, and lateness irritated him to no end. Was this some kind of payback for their last meeting?

Just as he was about to get up and leave, the café door swung open. A petite woman entered, dressed in an oversized summer dress with an elegant hat perched on her head. Even without seeing her face, he recognized her instantly.

He snickered under his breath. “What is this? The 1920s?” he muttered, realizing he hadn’t even bothered to ask her name during their last encounter.

She lingered near the door for a few moments, scanning the room until her gaze locked onto his dark, brooding stare. Her eyes widened slightly, and she stumbled toward the table where he sat.

“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I could’ve planted a forest of pine trees in the time I’ve waited,” he muttered irritably, folding his arms across his chest.

Cassandra glanced at her phone, her brows furrowing as she checked the time. “I was only ten minutes late,” she said, her voice laced with confusion. What the hell was his problem?

“A minute of your time might as well be an hour of mine,” he shot back, his tone sharp. “Do you have any idea how precious my time is? I canceled a very important business meeting for this date.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, we could always reschedule. You don’t need to sit here pretending you’re enjoying yourself.”

“And you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine with anything,” she replied simply, and something in her demeanor made his expression soften, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“This is fine. I suppose I can spare an hour,” he relented, leaning back in his chair. “Order whatever you want and ask anything you want; my time being well spent is my priority.”

“I... I...” she stammered, making him narrow his eyes.

“What?” he asked, his tone edged with impatience.

“About your phone,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

“Forget about—”

She interrupted him, her voice firmer this time. “I brought the money for the repair.” She slid a brown envelope across the table toward him. It was all her savings, plus what she’d borrowed from her uncle.

Blake stared at the envelope with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, wondering if he hadn't made it clear enough that he didn't need the money anymore. Picking it up, he opened it and examined the contents: rumpled, old bills that smelled of paint.

“Two hundred dollars?” he muttered incredulously, dropping the envelope back onto the table and snickering.

“I wasn’t sure how much the phone cost,” she explained hesitantly. “It might be too much, so you can keep the rest as an apology.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What am I supposed to do with two hundred dollars? Wipe my ass with it?”

Her eyes narrowed, unsure where he was going with this.

“Did you come here to mock me?” He asked, his tone cutting.

She shook her head quickly.

“How much do you think my phone costs?”

The table fell silent.

“That phone was beyond repair,” he said coolly. “Fixing it would’ve cost almost as much as buying a new one. As you can see—"he gestured toward the phone resting on the table beside his water glass—“I’ve already replaced it.”

Cassandra gripped the edge of her seat, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Take it back, and don't bring it up again if all you're going to do is play with me,” he said, sliding the envelope toward her. “What’s your name?”

“C-Cassandra,” she stammered.

He nodded, then pushed his phone toward her, her eyes widened slightly, and then returned to his dark, smoldering gaze.

“Put your number in,” he instructed. “It’ll save me the trouble of going through my grandfather to reach you.”