The Wrong Date

Jeremy Brown didn't blink. His dark eyes remained fixed on her, calculating, sharp, and intensely present. Slowly, the edge of his jaw relaxed, and he tilted his head back slightly, studying her like a man trying to decipher a foreign code.  

"Are you sure?" Jeremy asked softly.  

His baritone voice carried a quiet, deliberate weight-not angry, but carrying an implicit warning, as if giving her a clear window to step back, re-evaluate the room, and correct whatever wild mistake she was currently swimming in.  

Celine, however, was already committed. Two thousand pounds was sitting safely in her current account, and she had a mandate from Kylie: act completely self-absorbed, present an unbearable persona, and ensure this man never, ever wanted to see her face again. She had no intention of backing down now.  

"Yes!" Celine exclaimed, her voice bright, airy, and entirely unbothered.  

She leaned back in the plush velvet chair, folding her hands neatly on the mahogany table, putting on the most insufferable, pompous expression she could muster. She looked at him dead in the eye, ready to fire the opening volley of her scripted nightmare act.  

"And since we are on a date," Celine continued, her tone dripping with casual entitlement, "You should know that once we get married, I won't even lift a finger. And you would do whatever my mom demands, and you don't get to have a problem with that..."  

She paused, realizing mid-sentence that despite launching into her demanding routine, she didn't actually know his name. She tilted her head slightly, her crimson-painted lips curving into a expectation-filled smile as she waited for him to fill in the blank.  

"..."  

Jeremy stared at her. He didn't interrupt, nor did he look angry. He simply sat there, broad shoulders filling out his bespoke black suit, watching her with a dangerous, quiet fascination.  

"Jeremy," he finally supplied, his voice flat, deep, and smooth.  

"Yes, Jeremy!" Celine finished triumphantly, clapping her hands together with a little theatrical snap.  

Beneath the heavy mahogany table, Celine relaxed her posture just a fraction, suppressing the urge to let out a huge sigh of relief. Well, she said to herself, a smug, satisfied smirk playing in her mind. This should put him off.  

No self-respecting, powerful man sitting in a Mayfair private dining room would tolerate a complete stranger walking in, talking about marriage demands, and declaring her mother as the supreme authority over his future household. She expected him to stand up, call the waiter, or at the very least, wave his hand to have her escorted out.  

Instead, Jeremy leaned forward slowly.  

He rested his forearms on the edge of the table, bringing his intimidating frame closer into her space. Up close, the lighting caught the dark brown tones in his eyes and the subtle, impeccably groomed stubble along his sharp jaw line.  

"So," Jeremy said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet rumble that vibrated right through the center of the table. "You don't recognize me?"  

Celine's smile flickered. She blinked, thrown off by the complete lack of disgust on his face. He didn't look repulsed; he looked baffled.  

"Um, no," Celine admitted, her confidence taking its very first small hit. She leaned back just an inch, her brows knitting together in genuine confusion as she scanned his striking features. "You are not a relative, right?"  

Jeremy stared at her in dead silence.  

Inside his head, the gears were turning fast. Is she serious? Jeremy thought, his eyes narrowing as he took in her clear skin, dark hair, and the flawless emerald dress. She straight up came to me and spoke nonsense. She claims not to recognize me.  

In his world-the world of multi-billion-pound corporate acquisitions, high-stakes boardroom battles, and relentless media coverage-nobody walked up to Jeremy Brown without knowing exactly who he was. People either cowered, flattered, or carefully negotiated. Nobody casually sauntered into his private room, delivered an unhinged rant about domestic laziness and mother-in-law demands, and then asked if he was an obscure cousin.  

The silence between them stretched, thick with an electric, confusing tension. Celine could feel her pulse beginning to quicken. The sleek confidence she had worn into the building was starting to feel suspiciously thin under the laser-focus of his gaze. Looking at the domineering CEO sitting across from her-a man who radiated absolute control without lifting a finger-she realized she needed to regain the upper hand before the atmosphere swallowed her whole.  

Celine swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat. She cleared her voice lightly, attempting to regain her previous bravado, though a subtle tremble laced her tone.  

"Well," Celine said nervously, her eyes darting to his dark gaze and then back to her lap, "you have your chance. Try to make me fall for you."  

Jeremy didn't react immediately. He sat perfectly still, letting Celine's nervous words linger in the air like perfume in a small room. His dark eyes tracked the tiny, almost imperceptible quiver in her jaw-the subtle break in her cool, unbothered facade.  

Then, slowly, a sound broke the silence.  

Jeremy laughed. It wasn't a cruel laugh, nor was it loud. It was a low, velvet rumble that started deep in his chest and warmed the cool air of the room. A genuine, dangerous amusement lit up his dark eyes, softening the harsh, angular cuts of his face for just a fraction of a second.  

He leaned forward, sliding his forearms across the white tablecloth, closing the distance between them until he was resting merely inches from her space. The rich scent of his cologne-sandalwood, amber, and crisp winter rain-drifted over to her, entirely overwhelming her senses.  

"Why don't we get married instead, my love?" Jeremy murmured softly.  

The words were spoken with such casual, velvet smoothness that for a second, Celine's brain refused to process them. She sat frozen, her lips slightly parted, her crimson lipstick contrasting sharply with the sudden, pale shock on her skin.  

"I'm sorry..." Celine stammered, her voice dropping into an unscripted, genuine squeak. "What?" 

"You heard me," Jeremy said, his smirk broadening, revealing a flash of clean white teeth. "You just spent two minutes explaining the terms of our hypothetical marriage. No lifting a finger, complete obedience to your mother, zero complaints from me. It sounds like an extraordinary arrangement."