The Wrong Date

The rain in South London didn't fall so much as it clung to the windowpanes, blurring the red double-decker buses crawling down the street below into streaks of crimson. Inside the third-floor apartment, the air smelled of burnt toast, expensive dry shampoo, and absolute panic.

"Celine, please. I am begging you on my hands and knees. If I have to go on this date, I will literally throw myself into the Thames."

Celine didn't look up from her laptop. She was curled into the corner of the faded velvet sofa, a half-empty mug of tea resting near her knee, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she tried to finish her freelance edits before the deadline.

"You say that about every blind date your mother arranges for you, Kylie," Celine said, her voice dry, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Last month you said you'd rather drink bathwater than go out with that guy who brought his own Tupperware to a steakhouse."

"This is different!" Kylie flopped onto the sofa next to her, sending a jolt through the cushions that nearly spilled Celine's tea. Kylie clutched her hands together under her chin, her big brown eyes wide with dramatic desperation.

"My mum set this up through one of her high-society connections. Some family friend's nephew. He's bound to be eighty years old, smells like mothballs and polo horses, and expects me to talk about the stock market for three hours.

"I can't do it. I have tickets to the theatre tonight with Dan!" Lied Celine.

"Dan? The bartender with the stick-and-poke tattoo? Celine raised an eyebrow, finally turning to look at her roommate. "You're ditching a high-society blind date for a guy who thinks a romantic dinner is sharing a bag of chips on the Overground?"

"Dan is raw! He's real! Kylie groaned, throwing her head back against the cushions. "Look, I don't care about the guy's money. I just need you to go in my place. Just step in, sit down, be a total disaster, so he never wants to see me again, and then leave. Ten minutes max!"

"Absolutely not," Celine said smoothly, returning her eyes to her screen. "Impersonating you sounds like a legal liability. Plus, I'm in my sweatpants. I have zero intention of putting on real clothes tonight."

"Celine. Best friend. Light of my life. The apple of my eye" Kylie leaned closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "What if I made it worth your while?"

"You can't afford my dignity, Ky."

Ping.

Celine's phone vibrated on the coffee table. She didn't reach for it immediately, but Kylie gestured frantically toward the screen.

"Check it. Go on. Check your banking app."

Celine sighed, picking up the phone and tapping the screen to unlock it. A notification banner from her banking app hovered at the top of her lock screen. She tapped it, her thumb print verifying, and the main account balance popped up.

A fresh transaction was glowing at the top of the history in bold black numbers:

+ £2,000.00 - Transfer from Kylie V.

Celine froze. She looked at the screen. She looked at Kylie. Then she looked back at the screen, double-checking the zeroes just to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her in the dim London afternoon light.

"Kylie," Celine said slowly, her voice dropping an octave. "Where did you even get two grand?"

"Saved it from my last bonus. And it's yours. Yours to keep, no strings attached, the second you put a coat on and walk out that door." Kylie leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Celine stared at the money. Two thousand pounds. That was two months of her share of the rent. That was a weekend trip to Italy. That was her entire savings safety net replenished in a single second.

She turned her head slowly to face Kylie. Celine let out a low, theatrical gasp, blinking knowingly at her best friend; her lips curling into a wicked, greedy grin.

"Ah..." Celine purred, her tone dripping with dramatic realization. "So... Is this a bribe?"

Kylie burst out laughing, clapping her hands together. "It is an ethical compensation package for services rendered!"

"Okay, I'm going!" Celine announced cheerfully, snapping her laptop shut with a sudden, decisive click and setting it onto the table. "For two grand, I will not only mess up this date, but I will also make him think your entire lineage is cursed."

"Yes! That's my girl! Kylie squealed, leaping off the couch and grabbing Celine by the wrists, pulling her up out of her blanket nest. "Come on, we have forty-five minutes to turn you into an upper-class nightmare."

For the next half-hour, Kylie's bedroom became a war room of silk, perfume, and cosmetics. If Celine was going to play the role of an unbearable high-society disaster, Kylie insisted she had to look at the part first.

"We need effortless wealth, but with a touch of unhinged," Kylie muttered, tearing through her closet. She pulled out a sleek, emerald-green slip dress made of heavy silk that hugged Celine's frame in all the right places.

"Wait, isn't this dress way too nice for a date I'm supposed to sabotage?" Celine asked, wincing slightly as Kylie yanked a brush through her dark waves.

"No, that's the genius of it," Kylie said, applying a bold shade of crimson lipstick to Celine's mouth with practiced precision. "You look like a million bucks when you walk in. Stunning. Classy. And then the second you open your mouth; you act so utterly bizarre and narcissistic that he gets whiplash. The contrast is what makes it unforgettable-in a terrible way!"

Celine looked in the full-length mirror. The emerald dress draped down her curves, contrasting sharply with her pale skin and dark hair. Kylie handed her a pair of gold hoop earrings and a tailored black blazer to drape over her shoulders against the London drizzle.

"Phone's buzzing," Celine noted, checking her screen. "My Uber is three minutes away."

"Right, put your shoes on!" Kylie handed over a pair of black strappy heels.

Celine slipped into the heels, suddenly feeling six inches taller and far more intimidating than she felt ten minutes ago in her baggy grey tracksuit. She grabbed her small leather clutch, double-checking that her phone was fully charged.

"Okay, I'm stepping out," Celine said, walking toward the front door of the flat while carefully navigating the heels on the hardwood floor.

Kylie followed her to the threshold, leaning against the doorframe with a triumphant grin, her fingers already holding her own phone.

"I'm texting you all the details right now!" Kylie called out as Celine started down the stairwell. "The table number, the name on the reservation, everything! Just check your text when you get into the car!"

"Got it!" Celine called back over her shoulder, her voice echoing in the stairwell. "Prepare to receive a text from a very offended rich guy by eight o'clock!"

The black cab rolled smoothly through the slick, rain-glistened streets of Mayfair. Outside the window, London was a blurred canvas of neon signs, glowing streetlights, and couples huddled under oversized umbrellas. Inside, Celine sat back against the leather seat, smooth silk brushing against her legs, staring at the lit screen of her phone.

A text from Kylie popped up:

Kylie: Reservation is under 'Brown'. Private Dining Room 4 at Le Saint-Martin. Remember: act completely self-absorbed, talk about yourself constantly, order the most expensive thing on the menu, and make sure he thinks I'm a total nightmare. Good luck! xx

Celine chuckled to herself, locking the screen and slipping the phone into her clutch. Two thousand pounds sitting safely in her bank account made the prospect of acting like a total eccentric, surprisingly entertaining. Whatever excuse Kylie had cooked up to avoid her mother's relentless matchmaking-whether it was a fake double-booking or just pure rebellion-didn't matter now. Celine had a job to do, and she intended to earn every single penny.

The cab pulled up to the kerb outside Le Saint-Martin.

The restaurant was the kind of place that didn't bother putting a menu in the front window. A sleek black awning stretched over the pavement, flanked by two towering iron torches flickering with gas flame. A doorman dressed in a crisp wool overcoat stepped forward immediately, opening the cab door and holding a golf umbrella over Celine's head as she stepped onto the wet pavement.

"Good evening, madam," the doorman said with practiced, quiet reverence.

"Thank you," Celine murmured, pulling her blazer tighter around her shoulders as she walked up the broad stone steps.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the noise of London's evening traffic vanished, replaced by the soft hum of jazz, the delicate clinking of crystal glasses, and the faint, rich scent of truffle and aged oak. Soft lighting bathed the dining room in a warm, amber glow. Velvet booths were filled with men in custom-tailored suits and women wearing subtle, devastatingly expensive jewelry.

Celine took a subtle breath, squaring her shoulders. She might be living on instant coffee and freelance paychecks, but in this green dress, she looked like she owned half the street.

A tall, polished waiter in a tailored tuxedo approached her, his posture straight as a pin, holding a leather-bound clipboard.

"Good evening, madam. Welcome to Le Saint-Martin," the waiter said, his voice smooth and welcoming. "Do you have a reservation?"

Celine offered a small, cool smile. "Yes. Room four."

The waiter lowered his clipboard slightly, his eyes flashing with a sudden, heightened level of respect. Room four was clearly reserved for a specific tier of guest.

"Ah, of course. Right this way, madam. Please come with me."

He turned, leading her away from the main dining floor and down a wide, carpeted corridor lined with fine art and subtle recessed lighting. The air grew quieter the further they walked, wrapping the private dining wing in an atmosphere of exclusive, heavy quiet.

They paused outside a double door made of dark walnut with a discreet brass number 4 mounted at eye level.

"Enjoy your evening, madam," the waiter bowed his head slightly, pushing the door open for her just wide enough to enter, before stepping back into the hall.

Celine took a steady breath, stepped past the heavy door, and walked into the private room.

The space was stunning. A floor-to-ceiling glass window on the far wall offered a sweeping view of a rain-soaked private courtyard illuminated by soft garden lights. A long, dark mahogany table sat in the center, set for two with silver cutlery and crystal stemware.

And seated at the head of the table was her date.

Celine stopped in her tracks, her heart skipping a sudden, traitorous beat.

She had expected an arrogant, stiff-looking man in his late fifties with thinning hair and a gold watch he wanted everyone to notice. Instead, sitting right there, swirling a glass of deep red wine between long, elegant fingers, was a man who looked like he had been sculpted out of marble and dark shadow.

He was only twenty-seven years old, but he carried the powerful, unmistakable presence of a man who ran an empire.

He wore a dark, custom-tailored suit that fitted broad shoulders, hair styled with sharp precision, and a razor-clean jawline. The light caught his sharp cheekbones and eyes so piercingly dark they locked onto her the second she crossed the threshold.

My oh my, Celine thought to herself, her breath briefly catching in her throat as she stared at him. This man is so beautiful. Why on earth is Kylie blowing this off?

For a split second, the thought of throwing the plan out the window crossed her mind. But then she remembered the two grand sitting in her account, squared her jaw, and masked her surprise with a broad, dazzling smile.

She sauntered toward the table, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the hardwood, her eyes locked directly onto his.

"Hey, handsome date," Celine said smoothly, pulling out the plush velvet chair opposite him and sliding into it with effortless grace. She leaned her chin on her hand, beaming at him. "I hope I'm on time."

The man didn't flinch. He slowly lowered his glass of wine to the white tablecloth, his dark eyes trailing over her-from the crimson's lipstick, down the length of the emerald dress, and back up to her face. A small, dry chuckle escaped his lips, carrying a tone of cold, amused superiority.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest, looking at her like a man thoroughly unamused by a predictable game.

"So," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that echoed softly in the quiet room. "What can I do for you? Are you one of those girls who are obsessed with me?"

Celine's playful smile faltered for just a fraction of a second as the sheer audacity of his words hung in the air. She blinked, resting her hands on the table, and let out a light, airy laugh.

"Ah," Celine said, tilting her head with a look of pure, sweet amusement. "Hello. I'm your blind date, Celine."

Jeremy's dark brow lifted sharply. The amused, condescending smirk on his lips vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, cold confusion. He tilted his head, his dark eyes tracking every detail of her face as if checking to see if she had lost her mind.

"My... what?" Jeremy asked, his deep baritone dropping an octave into a hard, incredulous rumble.

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."

"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"