HER THREE BEAUTIFUL LIES

Cleo's POV I've always wondered why people went on blind dates. It was like walking through a thorny ticket blindfolded, you can never tell what to expect. Yet so many risked their safety to have one dinner with a total stranger, who could turn out to be a creep, a pervert, or worse…. someone who would make you feel like sticking needles in your ears, like the old man who sat across from me. "If we got married, how many children would you want?" I reeled back and sat there dumbstruck by the sudden question. Few seconds passed, Mr Andrew was still waiting for my answer. I slowly lowered my fork. "Children?" "Yes." He smiled, leaning farther across the table. "I think it's important for a woman to know what she wants." I glanced at the clock hanging above the restaurant's bar. 7:16pm My next date was at eight. I had forty-four minutes to get rid of this man, find a taxi, cross half the city, change into another dress, and move on to my next client. Forty-four minutes. I could work with that, only if Mr interrogative here, would pause his questions for a moment. "I'd like three," I finally answered and his smile widened. "Three?" "Yes." "Excellent. I always wanted three." Of course he did. I smiled sweetly. The only reason I was sitting across from him was because his original date bailed on him, and paid the agency quit a sum, for someone else to replace her. That someone was me apparently. I mean, it was my job after all. "How wonderful." He grinned like we'd just agreed on the names of our future children. I stabbed my fork into the food again and focused on my plate. I tried my possible best not to roll my eyes at him. What in the world was this? A date or an interview? Unfortunately, tonight I was supposed to be the kind of woman who never interrupted a man. A kind who listened attentively when he talked, who smiled instead of rolling her eyes when a man talked about himself for twenty minutes straight. However, this woman was currently fighting for her life. "So," Andrew continued, "would you be willing to stop working after marriage?" My smile twitched. "I suppose it depends." "On what?" "On whether my husband can afford me." He laughed, but I didn't flinch. Apparently, he thought I was joking. I grabbed my glass of water and took a sip. I needed to tolerate him as long as possible. Precisely for another twelve minutes. “I mean," he continued, “I believe a wife should focus on her family." “That's an interesting belief." He didn't stop there, he went on and on about his philosophy on a woman’s role in keeping a perfect marriage. Then he asked what my relationship with my father was like. I nearly dropped my glass. "My father?" "Yes." "Why?" He shrugged. "I'm trying to understand you." Oh dear Lord. I didn't even know this man's second name, and I doubt he even remembered the one I gave him. "And what do you need to understand?" "Whether you'd make a good wife." He beamed. I stared at him, at my plate, then back at him. My appetite had officially left the building. He reached across the table, I instinctively moved my hand away. His hand stopped halfway, neither of us spoke. "I don't like being touched without permission." His expression changed. "I'm sorry." "Thank you." At least he apologized. That earned him one point. Unfortunately, he immediately lost it. "You'll have to get used to affection if we're going to be married." “ Married?” I was practically only trying to do my work, and he thought he actually had a chance with me? I looked at the clock again. I've had enough. I gently wiped my mouth, then placed my napkin beside my plate. "Andrew." "Mr Andrew." He quickly corrected, grinning like he'd just won a trophy. I released a long breath and prayed to the good Lord to guide my next choice of words. "Mr Andrew," I began. “I think we've officially come to the end of our date" His eyebrows rose. "Already?" "Actually..." I gave him my most polite smile. "I had a terrible time. Let's not meet again." He gaped at me, mouth open, I was sure a little fly flew in. I stood and grabbed my handbag then walked away before he could ask another question. The moment I stepped outside, the cold evening air hit my face. I breath in the cool fresh air and exhaled, relieved to have tolerated such date that seemed to go on forever. "Finally." One down, two more to go, then I could retire for the night. My phone vibrated. ENCORE HEARTS: Hope your first date went well! Your next client is expecting you at 8:00 p.m. Please remember to maintain the agency's secret persona. I stared at the message. When have I ever disclosed their secret persona. Because apparently, being a broke college student wasn't complicated enough. I slipped my phone into my bag and started walking toward the road. I hated this job. Well…I hated the dates. The money? That part I loved. My rent wasn't going to pay itself, and neither was my father's debt. The rent was due months ago, and the landlord's patience had already been exhausted. Things wouldn't be this difficult, if only my dad stopped trying to murder himself with alcohol. Every single date mattered, as terrible as it may be. Successful date meant another payment, and cancelled dates meant less money. So I had to endure the weird men, the awkward conversations, the endless questions, and the occasional psychos who stared at me like he'd already foreseen our beautiful future together. I flagged down a taxi. "Where to?" The driver asked. I gave him the address of the next restaurant and leaned back against the seat. I had barely five minutes to mentally prepare myself. New restaurant, another new date and the same fake smile. I'd done this dozens of times. Few minutes later, I stepped into the restaurant and took a deep breath. I adjusted the strap of my handbag and scanned the tables. My eyes moved from one stranger to another. That was when I saw him, my entire body went still. I knew that face. Everyone at Westbridge University knew that face. There he was, sitting at the table near the window. The same icy cold smile. Radiating the same confident and intimidating aura everyone knew. Liam Brook. The campus bad boy. Permanent trouble. And, according to approximately every girl on campus, ridiculously attractive. His back hair was slightly messy, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. His black shirt hugged his shoulders, and one arm rested casually against the back of his chair. He looked completely at ease. Until his eyes found mine. His expression changed, then he smiled, and lifted a hand. A casual little wave. Ice shot through my body and every muscle seized up. Oh, no. Of all the men in this city, it had to be him.