Chapter 1 The Wrong Date

• “Aunt Anna, this is all your fault,” I said, slapping my temples. My blind date was sitting at the far end waiting for me like he was the Grim Reaper.
• I didn't need a seer to tell me that this date would be the perfect description of ruin. The place looked so fancy, it seemed to have a secret rule about having a Lamborghini packed somewhere before you had to step in.
• The air smelled of truffle oil and something else that would pay for my house rent in six months, and the lighting made everything feel like it was from one of those romantic dramas which I hated.
• Then I saw him.
• Joachim Knight. Cold-hearted, popular billionaire lawyer in Manhattan and, supposedly, my blind date for the evening. My stomach twisted. Of all the people my family could have set me up with, it had to be him — the same man I had been secretly taking his photos and selling online.
• Yes, I was the Woodsman, the secret paparazzo who had a knack for taking celebrities' photos when they least expected it.
• I couldn’t believe he was my date. I had gotten myself into so many scandals with actors and actresses in the past, but this was trouble in every form.
• He sat at the table, wearing an impeccably charcoal black customized suit and a look of boredom on his face.
• “You are late,” he said. His voice was not just cold; it was unnaturally still, with an absence of warmth so profound it felt ancient.
• His voice oozed arrogance like honey, thick and unbothered.
• I rolled my eyes. “ Sorry, your majesty.”
• He raised an eyebrow, easily unimpressed, his eyes sizing me up.
• I couldn't blame him, I was wearing a ‘borrowed’ dress from Aunt Anna. I don't know where she bought her dresses from, but I look like an eighteenth century time traveler.
• I sat down across from him, my heart pounding. It wasn’t because he was handsome and popular. Far from that, my heart was hammering because I was about to spend an entire evening with the man I had been stalking and selling his photos.
• How was I supposed to pretend that I didn’t know exactly who he was?
• The waiter arrived. He glanced from me to Joachim, also back to me. I was quite sure he was trying to understand if we had both lost our way.
• "Good evening, Sir, Ma'am," the waiter said nervously, easily picking up on the awkwardness in the air." May I take your orders?"
• Joachim didn’t even look up from his phone, his jaw set. The restaurant was an assault of competing scents—truffle oil, cloying perfume, simmering sauces—and he seemed to be building a wall around himself to keep it all out.
• I bit my lower lip, tapping my fingers nervously against the table. The silence stretched on longer than I wanted to admit.
• Eventually, he put the phone down just long enough to stare at the menu." I’ll have the steak," he said flatly, without even asking what I cared for.
• I shook my head and turned to the waiter.
• “I think french fries —”
• But he wouldn't let me finish as he snorted, making the waiter jump.
• “French what?” He asked, staring at me like I had ordered a plate of deeply fried cockroaches. “If you want French fries why did we come here?” He began to scroll through his phone again. “Seems Coq au Vin is a joke to you.”
• He had really embarrassed me in front of the waiter, and I was sure the next time I came here— if there would be one next— the waiter would never take me seriously.
• “Mind your business.” I retorted.
• But he didn't say anything and I turned to the waiter, suddenly losing my appetite.
• “Just get me anything.”
• He chortled audibly, and I swear, I could feel the temperature drop by five degrees.
• " Don't let peer pressure force you into what you don't want to eat, Yvette," he said, using my name for the first time that evening." I’d rather not waste my money.”
• I bit my lower lip, trying to suppress the appetite to retort, but before I could, the waiter was back, looking like he was about to enter the ring for a boxing match.
• “ Has anyone decided? ” he asked, glancing nervously between us, maybe hoping we weren’t about to launch into World War III over our orders.
• I glanced at Joachim, also back at the server." We’ll both have the steak," I said snappily, realizing that neither of us was going to get anything we actually wanted.
• Joachim looked like he wanted to say something — likely another snarky comment about my“ low norms” — but before he could, the waiter gave a relieved nod and danced down to put in the order.
• For a moment, silence fell between us, thick and awkward. I hated every nanosecond of it.
• I cleared my throat, trying to break it.
• " So, any big cases recently, or is it all just?
• ‘Counsel stuff’ to you? ”
• Joachim didn’t even look up from his phone." I don’t talk about work on dates."
• I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might hit each other.
• " Oh, so now I’m a ‘date.’ I should have known it was you from the start.”
• He eventually looked up from his phone, his expression unreadable." Can you just stop talking, it's called a blind date for a reason.”
• I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head.
• In all my years of going on dates, this was so far the worst. It looked like I was in hell already.
• We sat in silence for another awkward moment before the waiter returned with our food. The steak looked fine. Not that I cared. I wasn’t here for food; I was here because I was supposed to enjoy the New Year celebration like every normal person, but I'm here at 7:00 pm stuck with this perfect devil for the rest of the evening.
• In minutes, the waiter arrived with our orders and also a bottle of wine. I stole glances at him, hoping nothing seemed off about me and, with the way he was scrolling through his phone, he shouldn't find out that I was The Woodsman.
• Joachim didn’t even look up from his phone, his jaw set. The restaurant was an assault of competing scents—truffle oil, cloying perfume, simmering sauces—and he seemed to be building a wall around himself to keep it all out.
• Damn.
• And just as he picked up the wine glass, it stopped close to his lips and he gave me a hard look.
• “I should have known,” he said as he stared at me like I had stolen his wallet.
• My fork fell onto the plate and my stomach dropped. Did he recognize me?
• Yvette, you are ruined. I whispered to myself.