Blind Date With Mr Arrogant

Tiffany's POV

Tiffany clenched and unclenched her fists as they stood in front of the restaurant waiting for their reservation to be confirmed. She smoothed her velvet green skirt over and over again and tapped the sides of her french bun, attempting to fix it even though she knew it was already perfect. She couldn't help it, though, she was nervous. More nervous than she had ever been before.

Afterall, it wasn't every day one met their fiancé for the first time.

The restaurant staff looked up from the list in his hand, and offered them a too-bright smile, having found their names on the list.

"Yes, Mr. and Miss Dion," he said, his attitude immediately taking a huge turn from the sour display earlier, probably recognising the last name, "Will it be just the two of you tonight?"

"No," Tiffany's dad, Russell Dion, said. "We're expecting two more guests."

"Alright, that's perfect, sir." Said the staff, and he snapped his fingers to summon a waiter to them like calling a dog. "Please, let us escort you to your table. That will be, table five."

The waiter bowed, looking nervous and flustered, but escorted them to a very good table near the center of the room and in the crux of the state-of-the-art lighting, so that no shadows were cast on anyone that sat down to eat there.

They sent the waiter away for water, claiming they would only order once their guests arrived, and he left them with a deep bow.

"I don't like this place," Tiffany said to her father as soon as she was seated, "They treat their staff like slaves."

She cut an impressive figure even just sitting. From her perfect posture and poise, one could easily tell that she was a lady of fine upbringing. Her green velvet dress hung gently and gracefully off her skin, and the dip of her collarbones was elegantly adorned with a simple silver chain. Small green emeralds hung from her ears and dangled from her wrists, these three the only jewelry she had on.

She had debated for a long time whether to keep her look simple or elaborate, but in the end decided to just go with what she was most comfortable with. There was no point putting up appearances, afterall. If she was going to marry this man, then he should get comfortable with seeing her as she truly was.

Not to say that she wasn't nervous about what he would think of her appearance. She was nervous as hell. If she had read clearly into what her father was purposely not telling her, then it seemed that the fate of their company, and ultimately, her future, rested on this single night. And she had to do everything in her power to make sure it worked.

Her father shrugged at her statement. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if his guests had arrived yet. "I don't care much for it either," he said, "But it's apparently the young Mr. Gold's favourite, so it would be tactful to eat here."

Under the table, Tiffany's hand clenched on her knees, and her heart sank even lower than it had been all night. She had tried, had really tried to get comfortable with the idea of this man. Afterall, one had to like someone before they began to love them. She had even asked her father to tell her all he knew about him. But unfortunately, everything she'd heard had only made her form a bad opinion of him.

He'd sounded like a stuck-up, arrogant, up-tight asshole, who knew nothing but how to work and how to look down on others, but Tiffany decided to put her impressions away until she actually met him. She really, really hoped they were wrong.

The water arrived, and the Golds still hadn't. Tiffany shifted in her chair, suppressing the urge to get up and go to the bathroom to fix her hair and make up. She knew they were already perfect – she'd seen them at home, and nothing particularly perilous had occured in the twenty minutes' drive from their house to the restaurant, and so by all reasonable logic there was nothing to fix. However she still couldn't stop herself from twitching nervously, first raising her hands up to her face or hair, halting it in mid air, then returning it back to the table, and then her lap.

She did this for a few minutes before her dad noticed her twitchy behavior and glanced at her. She instantly felt guilty at the worry that immediately clouded his face, and he reached a hand across the table to clasp her own.

"Tiff?" He asked with concern in a low voice, "Are you alright? If you're not sure about this, we can-"

"I'm fine, dad, really." Tiffany said bravely, smiling reassuringly at her father. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. "I'm here because I want to be. You don't have to worry."

Her dad smiled at her, hopefully reassured. "My brave girl. Your mother would be proud."

The mention of the mother she had never known was too much at that point, so she quickly excused herself afterall, claiming she needed to use the restroom. If her father noticed anything was off, he gave no indication.

Once she was there, she stood facing the mirror over the elegant sink, staring at her reflection. Her own green eyes gazed back at her in desperation, a little red-tinged at the edges. If truth be told, she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, anxious about today's meeting, and now she was feeling the effects. She felt faintly nauseous and somewhat dizzy, and overall the feeling of diluted fear and uncertainty bordered on overwhelming.

Gripping the sink, she leaned forward to face her reflection, whispering, "Get it together, Tiff. You can do this. Be. Strong." Those were her words, the ones she usually whispered to herself with when she was about to go on a new diet, or to an audition, and even now they gave her a little bit of strength. Enough for her to decide she was ready to go back outside.

She turned on the tap and splashed her face with water, and when she looked back at her reflection, she gasped in horror.

FUCK.

She forgot she had been wearing makeup. Her mascara ran down her face in dark lines, making her lashes stick together in wet, dark clumps, and her blush and foundation were now uneven and smudgy. She literally looked like the corpse bride.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," she cursed, quickly opening her purse to search for a solution. She had to fix it, and fast. What if the Golds had already arrived? Would they think she was suffering from constipation or something? Tiffany groaned to herself at the thought. That would be so embarrassing.

She located some wipes and, deciding that it would be better for her to just start over, cleaned all the makeup off her face save her lipstick, which was fainter now but she decided she liked it. She quickly touched up on her concealer and blush, fixed her eyebrows and applied more mascara. Then finally, touched up just a little on her lips.

The overall effect wasn't too bad for something so rushed, but it definitely didn't look as good as it had before. She bit her lip, worrying, but then deciding there was nothing else she could do about it, left to go rejoin her father at the table.

Tiffany's POV

Immediately Tiffany returned to the dining area, the sight of their table made her heart skip a beat.

Contrary to the way she'd left him, her father was no longer alone. Instead, he sat at the table with two other men, one older gentleman and a younger one, additions that could only be the guests they were expecting. Her dad looked to be deeply engaged in an amusing conversation with the older, while the younger sat rigidly, arms crossed, nodding and offering stiff smiles in intervals. There was a cold but regal air to him, and the way he held himself forcibly reminded Tiffany of the phrase "proud peacock."

As if he'd somehow magically heard her thoughts, the man suddenly lifted his head, his eyes instantly finding hers in the dim lighting, and even from across the room the shock of his gaze made her feel a little dizzier, a little weaker than she had been before.

Her heart skipped another beat. God, he was handsome.

He raised an eyebrow at her, a movement so miniscule and lasting for seconds so few that she thought she'd imagined it, and then, he looked away, face impassive as if he'd simply just glanced at a bit of wallpaper.

Somehow she managed to retain control of her wobbling legs, and made her way back to the table, her heels making soft, clicking sounds on the plush carpet. Her dad smiled when he saw her, and introduced her immediately she was seated. Her seat was placed so that she was seated beside her father, and directly opposite the young Mr. Gold.

"Richard," her dad said, waving his hand in her direction as if he were a car salesman, his eyes shining with pride, "My daughter, Tiffany. Tiffany, this is Richard Gold, Chairman of Gold Enterprises."

Tiffany extended her hand, as was customary and lady-like, and Mr. Gold accepted it pleasantly, placing a small dry kiss at the back of it.

"Richard, you bastard," the man said, a twinkle in his eyes not unlike her father's, "You didn't mention she was this gorgeous." Tiffany blushed, and hoped they wouldn't notice that anything was wrong with her makeup. "My pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, sir," she said, deciding at once that she liked the man, if he was a little strange.

Mr. Gold released her hand, seemingly pleased. He straightened up and leaned back into his chair, making an almost dismissive gesture to the man seated beside him with a face stony and impassive. "This is my son, Shawn."

Tiffany allowed herself to glance at the man, now. She had been trying her best not to do it, in case she was caught staring again. Up close, he was even more handsome than she had originally thought. Sitting beside his father, they looked more like brothers than a parent and a child. They were both tall, dark and handsome with matching deposits of rich, black hair that was dusted with grey in the old Mr. Gold, and sleek and black in the young Mr. Gold. But there was just something about Shawn's face and demeanour that was reminiscent of the domineering CEOs in the manhwas Tiffany used to obsess over as a child.

He really was gorgeous.

To her trained eye, she could tell that he could be a model himself if he wanted to. Pictures of him were not scarce in any capacity, being as widely-known in the business community as he was. Being the third youngest successful director in all of Canada didn't come without it's own wealthy share of fame, afterall. But now she realized that all the professional pictures in all the magazine expositions she had hastily read for research had done little to do him justice.

Sitting across from him, the sharpness of his features was more plain than ever. He had finely sculpted cheek bones, which rested under eyes of the most captivating shade of blue that almost looked grey in the ambient lighting of the restaurant, and led in an elegant taper to a set of full, pink lips. The features were individually soft, but the overall effect was completely the opposite. Instead, he gave off a somewhat hard and unforgiving feeling that made Tiffany shift nervously again in her chair.

Currently, the three of them were all looking at Shawn, expectant, waiting for him to do something, but he simply sat there and stared. Tiffany looked around, uncertain. Should she speak first? What was his problem? Perhaps he was a bit slow?

She was just about to open her mouth to re-introduce herself, when, much to her surprise, horror, and (even though she would deny it later,) amusement, Mr. Gold reached out a hand and thwacked his son hard, on the back of his head.

Tiffany and her father stared wide-eyed at this interaction, but Shawn only rolled his shoulders with a light glare leveled in his father's direction. Apparently, it happened all the time for them.

"Have you no manners, boy?" his father asked him, brow raised. "Introduce yourself to the lady."

Shawn looked straight at Tiffany then, and the look in his eyes made her recoil. What the hell? Why was he looking at her like that?! She almost refused to give him her hand. Afterall who knew what would happen? He might break it, or squueze it so hard it bled, if the look on his face was any indication of his intentions.

Instead, he released her hand almost as soon as it made contact with his.

He crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair in a gesture imitating his father's. "I have my manners," he said, and Tiffany realized it was the first time she was hearing him speak. For some reason she had expected him to have a high, cold, biting voice, but instead his voice was a smooth, rich, baritone that would have been pleasant to listen to if the words flowing from his lips were anything less insulting.

"Unlike some others." His eyes found Tiffany at this last statement, and she bristled immediately.

Luckily, her chance of retorting was taken away by the waiter who appeared then to take their orders.

She breathed out in frustration, trying to calm her temper down as everyone selected what they wanted.

Tiffany ordered the salmon fillet with Dutch carrot puree, and looked up to see Shawn staring at her again as if she had just done something irretrievably nasty, but at this point she decided she was done. He had been nothing but cold, unwelcoming, and rude to her since she'd entered the room, and if that was how he wanted things to go, then Tiffany Dion was up for the challenge.

Shawn's POV

Shawn Gold was a man who liked to keep lists, and right now he was keeping one on Tiffany Dion. Here were the things he'd discovered about her since meeting her.1. She seemed to have no respect for business partners or other partners, seeing as she'd shown up late and held up every other person at their meeting.2. She was a shallow girl who only cared about looks, but didn't care enough to prepare properly before leaving her home, evidenced by the smudges of makeup he could see on her fingers.3. She had evidently kept them all waiting so that she could apply makeup in the bathroom, which showed a frank lack of respect.4. She apparently thought it was very funny to flaunt one's allergies at them upon a first meeting, seeing as she didn't hesitate to order seafood even though she must know Shawn was allergic.

He liked to divide his lists into pros and cons afterwards, but it seemed that everything on his list was a con. She was a child, crass and uncouth, stuck up and rude and took other people's health as a joke. A rich socialite who had probably grown up on daddy's money, and had never known a day of work in her life. And now, she was probably going to be jumping at the opportunity to marry rich as well, even though there was nothing of substance she could possibly contribute to her husband.

Shawn allowed his eyes to rove over her, and decided to add one more item to his list.

5. She was beautiful.

It seemed his father knew his type, afterall. She was slim, not too much to appear sickly, but somewhere in the balance between curvy and thin. Her fair skin looked well cared-for, as if it would be supple to the touch, and the shade of green she'd chosen perfectly complemented her skin tone.

But still, Shawn had seen a lot of beautiful people in his life. Gold Enterprises had an Entertainment Industry subsidiary, and since his teenage years he had found many aspiring models, actresses and singers alike throwing themselves at him in the hopes that he would help them secure a spot their talent, or the lack thereof, wouldn't have gotten them otherwise. He'd since developed a distate for such beings, and had also gained the strong mentality that looks weren't everything. In fact, hed found that people who thought they had the looks often saw it fit to put much investment in little else. She may be pretty, but Shawn needed his wife to be more than that.

Throughout the dinner, he watched her very closely, maintaining a stony exterior so as not to encourage ny delusions she may be having.

He had to admit that she at least sounded intelligent. The questions she asked were thoughtful and precise, but then again her father was a businessman and could have told her what to say. She addressed all her questions to her father and his, and hadn't tried to make eye contact with him since before they'd ordered their food. Was that a tactic? Acting uninterested to pique one's interest?

Shawn scoffed internally. He'd seen that before, and it wouldn't work on him.

"So, miss Dion," Shawn's dad was saying, shifting their conversation from business to more personal matters, "How's school?"

Tiffany smiled pleasantly, no doubt just an act. "It's fine, sir, thank you."

"I heard you were on the school student body committee?"

What? Shawn thought, sitting up at once. The what committee?

"I am," Tiffany said again in her soft voice, "Though not for long. I'm graduating this year, afterall."

Fuck. Me. Thought Shawn. She's still in fucking highschool. He couldn't believe it.

"I'm sorry?" Shawn said, dropping his fork. Everyone at the table fell silent and looked at him. Tiffany's brow went up. "Did you say you were still in high school?" He laughed. What the fuck was his father playing at?! A bloody highschooler? "You can't be serious." This last part was directed at his father, but the man pretended as if he didn't know what was happening. He only sipped his soup nonchalantly, making Shawn's anger flare up even higher.

It was Tiffany who answered him, instead. Her voice had taken on a different, harder tone, momentarily surprising him, and she looked him straight in the eye and said, "So what if I am?" Daring him to judge.

"For fucks' sake, you're still a child!" Shawn hissed, angry at everyone seated at the table. He made sure not to raise his voice enough that the people seated at neighbouring tables would hear.

Tiffany, however, seemed to have no such qualms and slammed her fork down loudly on the table. The plates and glasses clattered. "I am not a child, for your information," she said, "I am nineteen years old, Mr. Gold. That is adulthood by many laws, including ours, in case you didn't know."

Shawn scoffed. "Oh please, age has little to do with maturity."

"Clearly," she spat, and they both sat glaring at each other from across the table.

Shawn's father acted as if nothing was happening, but Mr. Dion laughed nervously, looking from Tiffany to Shawn and back to Tiffany.

"Shawn, calm, down," he said, trying to placate the matter. But Shawn was done listening. He had wasted enough time here today, and he was a busy man.

He threw down his napkin and got up. Tiffany frowned at him, and he stared down impassively at her. Hopefully he wouldn't need to see her after today.

"Pardon me," he addressed the table, "But I think I'll take my leave. Mr. Dion, Dad," He nodded briskly at the two men, ignoring the young miss Dion totally, and with that, he strode out of the restaurant without a single glance backwards.

Tiffany's POV

What the fuck had just happened?

Tiffany walked Shawn leave the restaurant, and she was almost glad to see him go, before she remembered why he was important in the first place and the weight of the night's events came crashing down on her.

She looked at her father anxiously, and he looked back at her with worry. Only Mr. Gold seemed to be calm at the table.

"Richard," Tiffany's dad said, frowning at his friend. "You didn't tell him she was still in school?"

Richard Gold grunted in amusement. He waved a hand nonchalantly as if it was no matter. "Don't worry," he said, flagging down the waiter for dessert. "That boy will find any excuse to not do what he doesn't want to do."

"If he doesn't want to–"

"I said don't worry, old friend," Richard said, "I have my ways." He picked up his wine and sipped it as if he had no care in the world.

Tiffany only frowned to herself and said nothing.

Later, after they had eaten dessert, they walked outside and waited for the valet to bring their cars around. Apparently, Shawn had taken a taxi. Tiffany left the two men to their conversation about business while she pondered the night's events.

She knew she had agreed to go through with this, but that was before she had actually met the man. She now realised that all her original impressions of him had been correct. He was every bit as insufferable, arrogant and childish as she had first thought. He was the type of person she would normally give the widest of berths in other circumstances, but unfortunately, they needed him now.

Their cars arrived, and Tiffany and her dad said goodbye to Mr. Gold.

He kissed her hand again as they parted, promising to have a talk with Shawn.

"You're a very lovely lady, Miss Dion," he said, "He would be lucky to have you."

"No, it's me that would be lucky," said Tiffany, even though she didn't really believe it. Richard laughed, showing that he didn't believe it either. Then he said goodbye to her dad and got into the passenger side of his black Chevrolet Volt, and soon Tiffany was left standing with her dad.

They got in their car and drove home, and she was silent for the entire ride, looking out the window the whole time.

When they got home, her father held her back.

"Tiffany, I want you to know that I'm so proud of you," he said, "So proud."

Tears welled up in Tiffany's eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. The night hadn't gone like she'd expected it would, and she felt she just needed to sleep it off. Tomorrow was school, and she would need to focus her energy on that for now.

"Thank you, dad. I appreciate it. Good night."

Her dad hugged her, and kissed her forehead. "Night, Tiff."

Tiffany walked up to her room, while her dad went into his home study to do more work. She switched on the lights, taking off her shoes, then her dress, and taking her hair out from it's bun. She shook it out, letting the thick, blonde curls breathe, and then she got into her night things and climbed into bed, getting out her phone to check her messages.

There were a few from her friend group chat, asking her how the night went, but she didn't have the energy to discuss it now, so she simply closed her phone without replying.

Tomorrow, tomorrow she would deal with all of it.