Chapter 4

“People do not plan to mess up their lives. They just don't plan not to.”-Andy Stanley.

The view from the window of The Flounder is beautiful, far more beautiful than the lady sitting across from me digging into her salad.

I turn my gaze towards her and frown in disgust at the greens I see in her teeth when she smiles at me. I should never have listened to Dean's advice.

“So tell me about yourself,” I mutter as I push my untouched meal further away from me, grabbing my glass of wine instead as I relax into my seat.

The lady–I have forgotten her name–stares at me like a deer caught in headlights before politely dropping her fork. This is the first sentence I've spoken to her since we came into the restaurant.

“Well, you know my name already,” No, I don't. I don't say my thoughts out loud though, “I love shopping and…” She pauses as if trying to recollect something.

My heartbeat quickens as I wait for more, desperately praying that she has more to offer. Even though I didn't place much hope on her from the start, my heart still sinks when she says, “I think that sums it up.”

She looks at me expectantly and I sigh, placing my wine glass back on the table. “If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

She nods, turning back to her meal and I shake my head subtly as I slip outside the VIP room I had rented out for the date. I take the elevator down to the main restaurant on the first floor and I slip outside.

The crispy air slaps my face and I loosen my tie as I inhale deeply. Pulling out my phone, I dial Dean.

“So how is it going?” His enthusiasm annoys me and I scoff.

“What do you think, Dean? She's appalling and boring. She's like a robot, no expression of human feelings apart from the fake smile she throws my way with salad greens in her teeth. Disgusting. Believe me, she has no redeeming quality.” I rant in frustration, running my free hand through my hair.

The jerk guffaws over the phone and I'm thoroughly pleased when he breaks off into a fitful cough.

“Honestly, you're an asshole.” If it weren't for his advice on taking this particular lady out on a date–in case I don't get a positive reply from Alisha, which I doubt–I would be home right now securing deals.

“I'm so… so sorry for laughing at your situation but honestly, your comments on each date just keep getting better,” he says between laughter and I roll my eyes.

Ever since the shareholders have threatened to pull out their investments, I've been going out with at least two ladies every week. But they're either boring, or annoying. Or both, like in this case.

I have been waiting for Alisha's call since yesterday but it never came. To say I'm shocked will be an understatement. Before I left her house, I could have sworn I saw a hint of desperation and after the question she asked when I was leaving, I got home certain I would receive her call in an hour.

But here I am, almost twenty-four hours later and no response.

“Damon, you there?” Dean's voice breaks through my thoughts and I respond.

“Any lead on Miss Thompson yet?” I have assigned Dean to keep an eye on her.

“Well, apart from going to work, nothing new. Be patient, man. She's practically signing her life over to you for half a year. Of course, she'll have to think about it.”

I sigh in response. “Anyway, just do what you do best and keep me updated. I have a date to get back to.”

“Enjoy,” he teases and I hang up before he can say anything more, wallowing in self pity as I make my way back.

My head throbs as I pour myself a glass of whiskey upon getting home. Tonight's date has to be the worst in the history of dates.

I make my way to my study when my phone pings. Groaning, I open the text and stop in my tracks as I read Alisha's short message.

Alisha: I've signed the contract.

I smirk as I type a response.

Me: Good. You will receive your payment in the next five minutes. Our first public appearance is tomorrow. I'll send a dress over in the morning and I'll pick you up by 5:00. Be ready.

Then I send a quick message to Dean. She signed it.

I wake up the next day feeling light, like a huge burden has been lifted off my shoulders. Before I know it, 5pm arrives and I exchange my suit for a casual round neck and slacks before heading downtown to Alisha's apartment.

She's already waiting for me outside when I arrive and I get down to open the door for her like a gentleman. The pink floral gown I picked for her clings onto her upper body before spreading into a flare at the waist.

Her long strawberry blonde hair falls in loose curls around her neck, framing her face and I suck in a breath as her chocolate scent fills the car.

I don't even realize I'm staring at her until she asks, “So where are we going?”

I blink and focus, noting the blush staining her cheeks. Forcing my gaze forward, I clear my throat and reply with a smirk, “It's a secret.”

She nods and fastens her seat belt and I step on the gas. I sneak glances at her but her face is propped on one hand as she looks out the window.

“Would you like to eat first?” I ask, trying to engage her in a conversation.

“Sure,” she replies without glancing at me. I can still note the blush on her cheeks and I realize she's shy.

We get to the restaurant and as soon as she steps out, camera flashes almost blind us. I'm used to it but Alisha looks shocked and I almost feel bad for not warning her on the drive.

Suddenly, someone lunges at me from the side and I'm yanked away from Alisha. “Damon, it's so nice to see you again.” A sloppy kiss is placed on my cheeks and I freeze as I look down.

My eyes widen when I come face to face with…

“Sheila.” I whisper. My throat closes up, my mouth slightly ajar as she smiles up at me.

I realize my mistake a second too late when camera flashes go off. The worst part is that Sheila’s lipstick is smeared, this certainly looks like a romantic moment between us and my wife-to-be is standing just two feet away from me, watching the whole exchange.

And they just captured this whole moment for the world to see. Shit.