The Blind Date

The delicate clinking of fine porcelain against saucers mingled with a soft classical melody, yet the ambient elegance of the high-class Oakhaven tea house did nothing to soothe Hazel Brooks. She sat in a plush corner booth, steeped in a suffocating blend of anticipation and mounting dread. Her mother had orchestrated this blind date down to the minute, yet her prospective partner was already half an hour late. A sulky shadow crossed Hazel's delicate features. She traced the gold rim of her teacup, her fraying nerves stretched thin as she watched the entrance.

Footsteps approached. A man waddled toward her table, and Hazel’s expectations plummeted straight into an abyss. The man in the gray suit looked incredibly weathered. His stout, unkempt figure made him look old enough to comfortably pass as her father rather than a prospective romantic partner.

"Hi, is this Ms. Brooks?" he asked, not bothering to mask his blatant appraisal of her.

"I am," Hazel replied. *Is this the handsome catch Mom described?*

"I'm Graham Briggs." He pulled out the chair and sat down with a heavy thud. After another lingering look at her face, a wide, satisfied grin spread across his lips. He possessed an unwavering sense of entitlement and wasted zero preliminary courtesy.

"I've heard of your situation," Graham commandeered the conversation, laying out a list of staggeringly arrogant demands. "I don't have high requirements for my wife. Upon our marriage, you will focus on being a full-time housewife. I'll be responsible for all living costs. I have two children from a previous relationship. You will take uncompromising care of them. Besides that, my aging parents require nursing, so you will..."

Hazel sat in stunned silence. The sheer audacity of his monologue washed over her like a bucket of ice water. He expected her to instantly strip away her hard-earned career to become a subservient nanny and caretaker. Refusing to endure another second of this degrading proposition, she inhaled a sharp, deep breath. Her posture straightened.

"Please stop for a second, Mr. Briggs," Hazel cut off his endless rambling. Her voice was firm and unyielding. "I'm sorry. I don't think we're suitable for each other."

The rejection struck Graham's fragile ego like a physical blow. His face contorted into a mask of furious indignation. "Ms. Brooks, I'm a business owner. You should be grateful to be able to marry me..."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Briggs. I've made myself clear," she maintained her ground, staring him down. "We're not suitable for each other."

"You'll regret crossing me!" Graham warned bitterly, his voice rising enough to draw uncomfortable stares from nearby tables. He dramatically stood up and stormed away in a huff, leaving a trail of awkward silence in his wake.

Hazel rubbed her throbbing temples. *I never should have listened to my mother.*

Since she had already sacrificed a precious half-day of leave from her demanding job for this disastrous encounter, Hazel refused to let the afternoon be a total loss. She lingered in her seat, picking up her cooling tea. As she took a sip, her attention was effortlessly captured by a captivating scene unfolding at the next table.

The man sitting there was a stark contrast to Graham. Clad in an impeccably tailored, pitch-black suit, he radiated an overwhelming and deeply elegant aura that seemed to lower the temperature of the room. His profile was chiseled perfection, exuding an intimidating authority.

His date sat across from him, leaning forward and gazing at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated infatuation.

"Mr. Hayes, let's hold our grand wedding ceremony in Ireland," she suggested breathlessly, painting a picture of romantic bliss. "What do you think? We can invite a lot of guests and..."

The man did not even lift his eyes. His response was a masterclass in freezing detachment. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I'm not satisfied with you. You may leave now."

The sheer bluntness of the dismissal hung heavily in the air. The woman's eager smile stiffened in shock.

"Mr. Hayes, this is our first encounter," she frantically argued in desperate protest. "We don't have to rush such things. You desperately need to take the time to truly know my inner self. I'm a very nice person..."

Unmoved, the man slowly lifted his deep, penetrating eyes. With insouciant, devastating precision, he uttered, "I don't fancy a woman whose face is full of fillers."

Hazel nearly spat her mouthful of tea across the pristine tablecloth. She clamped a hand over her mouth, caught off guard by this brilliant, ruthlessly observant excuse.

Insulted and burning bright red, the woman abruptly stood up. She stomped away in a flurry of humiliated rage.

As the dust settled, Hazel realized she had been blatantly eavesdropping. Desperate to avoid the intimidating man's notice, she hastily gathered her handbag. She rose from her chair, attempting to sneak out of the teahouse with the utmost stealth.

Her escape was abruptly halted.

"Hazel Brooks."

A deep, magnetic voice sliced through the quiet atmosphere, calling out her full name. Her entire body stiffened in instant paralysis. Slowly, reluctantly turning around, she hastily pasted on a flawless, polished professional smile, masking her internal panic.

"Hi, Mr. Hayes," she greeted awkwardly.

Gideon Hayes, the twenty-six-year-old billionaire president of the prestigious Hayes Group and her ultimate superior, stared at her intensely. His net worth exceeded ten billion, while she worked merely as an ordinary designer within his massive corporate empire.

"Are you happy with the show you just witnessed?" he asked, a dangerous hint of amusement playing in his tone.

Terrified of giving away her eavesdropping, Hazel quickly backtracked. "Not... I'm not watching any show."

Ignoring her nervous defense, Gideon issued a single, authoritative command. "Sit down."

Reluctantly, her legs moving almost against her will, Hazel took the seat directly across from him. Her mind raced. Three years ago, when he first took over the corporation, he had singled her out among all the other designers to ask for her name. She had stuttered her answer, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. Since that fleeting encounter, their paths had never crossed. She had firmly assumed the great, untouchable president had long forgotten her minuscule existence.

Yet here he was, watching her.

Desperate to escape the suffocating presence of this extraordinary man, Hazel attempted to politely excuse herself.

"Mr. Hayes, if there's nothing else..." she stammered, gripping her handbag tight.

Before the sentence could fully leave her lips, Gideon leaned forward. His deep-set, fathomless eyes locked intensely onto hers, bringing her entire world to a screeching halt.

"You're looking for a partner to get married with?"