Deeper

3. The Date

"You look beautiful," were the first words he said after I opened the door.

"You don't look too bad yourself," I replied with a smirk.

Josh wore a black suit with a red tie, matching my dress perfectly. His black formal shoes were polished, and a long white shirt peeked out from beneath the suit jacket. He reached for my bag, and before I could protest, he placed a single finger on my lips.

He mumbled something under his breath as he pulled his finger back, but all I caught was "soft." Maybe he meant my lips? The thought alone had my cheeks flaring up red.

Josh noticed the blush rising and smirked as he turned around and walked to his car, placing my bag gently in the trunk.

I ignored the rush of thoughts swirling in my head, turned around, locked my door, and made my way to the passenger seat of his sleek car.

As he turned the ignition, *Meant to Be* by Bebe Rexha began playing softly through the speakers. The blend of country and pop wasn’t usually my thing, but this song was an exception. I sang along quietly, smiling when familiar songs played.

"Where are we having dinner?" I asked once he pulled out of the driveway.

"You'll see," he said, offering no more than that.

I let it go, deciding to enjoy the surprise. Every now and then, I'd catch him glancing at me with a slight smile, as if amused by my casual singing.

**"Was he amused? Well, I'm not going to hide my crazy and fun side—he better like it."** I chuckled softly at the thought.

Eventually, the car slowed to a stop in front of a massive five-star restaurant. A long red carpet stretched toward the entrance, and a line of luxury vehicles made it clear this was a place where only the elite dined.

I froze.

Josh was already halfway out of the car, and I stared in disbelief. Was he serious? I mean, I knew the man drove a Hennessey Venom F5, but this felt... excessive. I wasn’t from this world of high-class glitter and silk. People in a place like this would laugh me out of the room or whisper behind napkins that I was a gold digger.

A hand waved in front of my face, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. Josh stood at my open door, grinning. My face was on fire, but I took his hand and pushed the doubts aside—for now.

He held my hand as we walked up the carpet. Not wanting to seem like I was being dragged, I walked proudly beside him, keeping my head up.

A hostess led us to the VIP area—a private section of the restaurant that resembled a luxurious lounge more than anything else.

---

**••••••••Josh••••••••**

I led Brooklyn through the restaurant to our reserved table in the VIP section. She sat on one of the plush sofas, her posture slightly stiff. She was trying not to show it, but I knew she felt out of place.

This place wasn't made for comfort—it was made for power plays, expensive tastes, and quiet competition. The kind of space where names carried weight.

And mine? It’s a name that opens doors.

They knew who I was. Some of the people in this room had done business with me. Others had only heard of me. Let them wonder. Let them whisper. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for how I got here. They just know not to cross me.

But Brooklyn... she doesn’t even realize it yet, but she owns the kind of presence that makes people pause. That’s why they’re staring. Not because she doesn’t belong, but because she walks in and changes the atmosphere without trying.

I took her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her fingers were soft and small in mine.

A waiter came to our table—young, maybe in his late twenties. I ordered steak and chips. Brooklyn asked for a chicken salad and a small bucket of buffalo wings. We both settled on a bottle of red wine—any kind would do.

"How’s the place so far?" I asked, hoping to ease her tension.

"It’s absolutely beautiful," she said, offering a small smile.

"You seem uneasy."

"Yes, well... everyone is staring, and I feel like an outsider."

"That’s because you’re beautiful," I replied, taking her hands again. "They don’t know what to do with that."

"Thank you... but I think it's more because they know I don’t belong here."

"You’re not supposed to *fit in*, love," I said, flashing her a grin. "You were made to stand out. That’s what makes you unforgettable."

Her cheeks turned pink again, and I felt proud of that moment. She's adorable when she blushes.

Our food arrived just then. I reluctantly let go of her hands to pour the wine. The waiter leaned too far across the table, letting his hand trail from behind Brooklyn’s shoulder down her arm, smirking the whole way.

My body moved before I even thought about it.

I grabbed his wrist and stared him down. “Don’t you ever try that again. I’ll rip your hand off, cook it, and feed it to you. Got it?”

His eyes widened in panic. “Ye—yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

I released his wrist, and he scurried off. Everyone had stopped to watch.

"Well, that wasn’t creepy at all," Brooklyn said, staring at me with a mix of surprise and... was that gratitude?

"Sorry about that. But he disrespected both of us, and I don’t tolerate that."

She placed her hand on mine, calming me instantly. “Maybe just talk to the manager. A warning could help him change—at least for the next woman.”

I considered it. She was right.

"Fine," I muttered. "Next time we eat here, let’s hope he’s more polite."

Another waitress brought the check shortly after. I thanked her and slid the booklet aside for now.

We continued our meal, making small talk. I found out that Brooklyn prefers white roses over red, but hates how quickly they wilt. She’d rather get potted plants than a bouquet. She was full of small surprises.

Once we finished the wine, I excused myself to speak with the manager. The conversation was quick. The guy’s name was Connor, and this wasn’t his first warning. The manager promised to handle it.

But on my way back to the table, I spotted Brooklyn. She was no longer alone.

She stood across from a woman I instantly recognized, caught in a heated conversation.

“No... no, no, no. This cannot be happening,” I whispered under my breath, moving faster now.