The Wrong Date

"You said we should get married," Celine said, her voice dropping into a sharp, incredulous whisper as she stared across the crystal and mahogany. "What do you mean by get married?" 

She shook her head, her dark waves swaying against her shoulders as a wave of sudden, cold clarity washed over her. The absurdity of the situation hit her like a bucket of ice water. The £2,000 in her account, the emerald dress, the absurd speech about her mother—and now this lethal, drop-dead gorgeous man sitting across from her, calmly offering a marriage proposal like he was ordering an appetizer. 

"I think this is the wrong date," Celine said quickly, grabbing her leather clutch off the table and pressing it against her chest like a shield. "Why don't I leave? You leave. We all leave." 

A nervous, dry chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it—a tiny, helpless sound that echoed softly against the high ceilings of Private Room 4. 

"No," Jeremy said smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, uncompromising baritone that cut right through her panic. 

He didn't move fast, but there was an effortless, predatory grace in the way he stood up from his chair. Broad shoulders filled out the dark, custom-tailored suit, and at six-foot-two, his presence instantly made the luxurious private room feel very small. 

"And this is the right one," Jeremy added, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that held her glued to the floorboards. "And we will leave together. We can actually get married right now." 

Celine’s breath hitched her throat. "Right now? Are you insane? It's nine o'clock on a Tuesday in Mayfair!" 

"I have resources," Jeremy replied coolly, stepping around the long table with slow, deliberate strides. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her by the elbow—not with force, but with a firm, magnetic weight that left zero room for argument. "Come." 

Before her brain could process a proper refusal, Jeremy was guiding her smoothly out of Private Room 4. The mahogany double doors swung open, and they stepped out into the quiet, carpeted corridor. The polished waiter who had ushered her earlier was standing near the entrance, holding Jeremy’s tailored black wool overcoat. 

"Good evening, Mr. Brown," the waiter bowed to his head respectfully, handing over the coat. "Shall I wrap the wine?" 

"No," Jeremy murmured, tossing a black card onto the leather tray without even looking at the bill. "Keep the change." 

Celine was practically floating on pure adrenaline, her high heels clicking softly against the marble floor of the reception as Jeremy guided her past the velvet curtains and out through the heavy glass doors of Le Saint-Martin. 

The cool, damp London air struck her face, smelling of rain and asphalt. Waiting right at the kerb, idling quietly with its amber running lights glowing through the mist, was a sleek, pitch-black Maybach. 

The moment they stepped onto the pavement, a uniformed driver stepped out into the drizzle, immediately holding open the heavy rear door. 

"Good evening, sir," the driver said smoothly. 

"In," Jeremy said softly, looking down at Celine with a small, knowing tilt of his head. 

Celine looked at the dark leather interior of the luxury vehicle, then up at Jeremy's sharp, impossibly handsome jawline in the streetlights. Every instinct told her to run toward the nearest tube station, but the sheer, magnetic pull of the man next to her—combined with the utter shock of the last twenty minutes—paralyzed her resistance. 

She swallowed hard, gathered the emerald silk of her dress, and slid into the deep, heated leather seat of the Maybach. Jeremy slid in right beside her, the heavy door closing with a solid, airtight thud that cut off the outside world completely. 

The Maybach glided through the London drizzle with silent, heavy precision. Streetlights flickered past the tinted glass, casting long amber beams across the soft leather interior. Beside her, Jeremy Brown sat with an easy, quiet authority, one hand resting casually on his knee, his profile sharp against the passing neon glow. 

Celine leaned her head back against the plush headrest, her heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs. She couldn't believe her life had unraveled in less than an hour. 

Her mind spun wildly as she contemplated her next move. What on earth was she going to tell Kylie? How was she supposed to explain to her best friend that instead of sabotaging a blind date, she was currently sitting in the back of an ultra-luxurious car, being driven through the city after agreeing to marry a drop-dead gorgeous stranger?  

"I think there's been a massive misunderstanding here. I'm not here to negotiate a marriage. I'm here on a blind date that I was paid—I mean, asked—to attend." 

"Paid?" Jeremy caught the slip of her tongue instantly, his dark eyebrows lifting in sharp interest. "Your friend paid you to take her place?" 

Celine bit her lip, mentally cursing herself. "That is beside the point!" she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "The point is, you are supposed to be terrified of me right now. You're supposed to be calling your mother or your lawyer or whoever arranged this, telling them that Kylie is an unhinged nightmare. 

Jeremy leaned back into his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest, looking utterly at home. "Well, to do that, I'd first have to care about whoever this Kylie person is. And second, I’m not easily terrified." 

"You should be," Celine insisted, pointing a finger across the table at him, her eyes wide. "I am a disaster. I spend money recklessly, I have terrible posture when I sleep, and I will make your life a living hell." 

"Sounds refreshing," Jeremy replied coolly, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "My life is usually entirely predictable. A living hell might be just the change of pace I need." 

Celine stared at him in utter disbelief. Every single line Kylie had prepped her with, every cliché sabotage tactic she had planned, was bouncing off Jeremy Brown like water off glass. The man wasn't just unbothered—he was actively enjoying every second of her suffering. 

"You're unbelievable," Celine muttered, sinking slightly lower in her chair, crossing her arms defensively over the emerald silk of her dress. 

You’re looking at me like I'm an unsolved puzzle." 

"That's because you are," Jeremy said, his voice dropping into a quieter, darker register that commanded the space around them. "A very loud, very dramatic puzzle who just walked into the middle of my evening."  

A man she had mistaken for Kylie’s blind date—a man sitting right next to her with an irresistible, terrifying charm that had rendered all her common sense completely useless. 

I came here to ruin a man’s night. Celine thought frantically her eyes darting sideways to sneak a glance at Jeremy’s strong, sculpted jawline. Instead, I'm stuck in a rolling fortress with a billionaire who thinks our arranged marriage is a done deal. 

Just as the sheer panic began to peak in her chest, her leather clutch vibrated violently against her thigh. 

The sharp buzzing shattered her spiral of thoughts. Celine gasped softly, snatching the bag open and pulling out her glowing phone screen. 

The caller ID flashed in big, bold letters: Kylie. 

Celine took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice, before hitting accept and raising the receiver to her ear. 

"Hello, Celine!" Kylie’s voice burst through the speaker, crisp, loud, and tinged with frantic impatience. "Where are you? Are you stuck in traffic? He's been waiting for you!" 

Celine froze, her brow furrowing in instant confusion. She glanced nervously at Jeremy, who slowly turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes narrowing with silent curiosity. 

"What do you mean, he's still waiting for me?" Celine asked, her voice dropping into a tense whisper. 

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Kylie snapped back, her background noise echoing as if she were pacing around their flat. "He texted me two minutes ago asking if i was still coming! He's sitting right there in the restaurant!" 

Celine’s blood ran completely cold. "Kylie... I am literally inside Room Four. I've been sitting with him for twenty minutes!" 

"Room Four?!" Kylie squealed in utter horror. "Celine! It's Room Six! I texted you a mistake!" 

"What?!" Celine practically shrieked into the mic, her composure shattering completely. "How did that happen? How do you not check your text before sending when you know this is important?!" 

She yanked the phone away from her ear, her thumb slamming against the red button to end the call before Kylie could offer another excuse. Panic, embarrassment, and a wave of ridiculous, surreal humour tore through her all at once. 

She turned slowly toward Jeremy, her eyes wide, her crimson lips parted in sheer shock as the full truth finally clicked into place. 

"This is obviously a misunderstanding," Celine gasped, turning her body fully toward him on the leather seat. "Take me back! There was a mistake—I entered the wrong room! You are not my date!" 

“I see this misunderstanding is a good one” 

“Not today please take me back”