11th too late ✔

ii/ Dean Hudson

Date one.

As the taxi pulls up to the curb, my heart beat accelerates, and my stomach churns, making me feel uneasy about this whole set up.

I paid the dude and got off, taking a deep breath before stepping into the den where my blind date would soon reveal.

I stride up to the counter where the receptionist obviously forces a graceful smile on her heart shaped face. Her bun seems too tight, her hair might get pulled off her scalp.

"Um, a reservation under the name Dean Hudson?" I politely request, watching as her hazel eyes sweep me up before she manages to broaden her smile and gestures with her hand.

"Right over there, by the window."

I nod, "thank you."

Who does she think she is looking at me like that? I mean, the place is so fancy but I dressed up nicely. I think I fit in quite well, except my dress is so back-of-the-class last season.

If it was ever in season, that is.

I am putting on a baby pink dress, with a turtle neck and a short flay that stops a few inches above my knee, 'to show decency and class,' Paris said. The dress isn't that bad, just makes me feel like I'm ten.

I'm wearing black stiletto heels and my chocolate brown hair is packed up into a wavy ponytail. Paris did my make up of course, she is the expert here.

I walk with my beating heart, obviously trying to be the death of me and the nausea I am starting to feel. This is just a result of meeting a guy for the sole purpose of taking things further.

As I near the table where I'm supposed to be meeting my supposed blind date, I find it empty, except for a wine glass that sit on the table, idly.

My heart beat rises and I realise something, that goddamned receptionist pulled a joke on me, taking me for a fool.

As I am about to stalk over to the counter, I get halted by a very sexy hulky voice, from a very sexy hulky man. Damn.

What was that about my heart being the death of me again?

"Excuse me," he says. He is heavenly gorgeous, every girl's dream I tell ya. Straight outta a book.

From his slicked back jet black hair that seems to shine with the chandelier that is hung against the ceiling, to his perfectly smooth black suit and red tie, then down to his polished shoes. I am definitely swooning.

Don't let me get started on that face, as blue eyes lock in my grey ones. I internally fan myself, is it hot in here or what?

He does a quick sweep of me with his eyes and I could almost faint, but then when his full brows shoot upwards I wonder if it's a good surprise or a disappointing surprise.

He stretches his hand out, "Dean Hudson."

I take it, "Champagne Gaétan." I smile. But it isn't returned.

He stretches his hand towards the chair and offers me a seat, "please, sit."

I gladly oblige with a thank you, but I still am very unnerved by the turn of events. I wasn't expecting my date to have such a cold demeanor, he doesn't seem very pleased with my appearance and I internally wince, punching myself in the face for ever agreeing to this.

What came over me though? It was a spur of the moment thing. Yes, Paris clearly dug deep into my emotions.

With a little gesture with his fingers, a waiter appears by the table in a flash, who is this man?