I pour myself a generous glass of red wine and dim the bathroom lights, as I allow my black silk robe to fall and pool at my ankles. The candles flicker and my shadow casts dimensions against the blank wall, enlarging my silhouette.

The smell of lavender swirls in the warm atmosphere as I step into the hot water, my entire body submerges itself and disappears beneath the bubbles. I take out a copy of my favourite book and allow the tension of the week to fade away and the scent of my bath bombs and salts to serenade me into a calm euphoria.

Who needs men when you can do this every other day? Just lavishly pamper and spoil yourself because you deserve it.

I run a hand through my damp hair just as my phone goes off with a text message. I smile when it's from Mona, loudly in bold caps reminding me that I have a date and that she'll happily dispose of me if I don't make it.

I want to ignore her and brush it off but I find it rather hard to just clear the thought of going on a blind date. For all I know this said date could be an assassin from one of my old clients, the ones who tamper with immigration systems for their dirty illegal dealings.

I don't want to go but a sense of my pride wants to go just to prove that I can go. I ask her where I'm going for the date because I need outfit options but she hits me with the useless, I don't know.

You're a great wingwoman, truly.

Oh shut up! It's a blind date, I know as much as you Miss Sass. Zilch.

I sigh and wash myself before drying off and leaving the bathroom in my black robe and matching slippers. Sabrina slips into the bathroom and does what I still struggle to do at my age and that is to clean up after myself.

Many may think this is odd because it is but since the day I was born, there has always been a silver spoon in my mouth and since then I still haven't learnt how to live without that spoon. Sabrina has been with the family for a very long time, a little over forty years, and I trust her with my life. So I thought, why not poach her from Washington and bring her with me to LA?

I walk into my room and the automated sensory lights switch on the further I walk into the bedroom. I make my way into my walk-in and contemplate what to wear. What does one even wear on a date? Jeans probably but I don't own any kinds of pants except for my slacks and he wants a date not a lawyer.

With my hands on my hips, I decide on a cocktail dress, something sexy but modest.

Ramona wants me to do this to get laid, and the more time I have with my thoughts, it makes complete sense for me to allow myself at least one orgasm that's not by my own hand.

A text notification comes in and it chimes against the speakers of my wall. I request Peach to read the text out loud and it's from Ramona, telling me to meet this said bachelor at The White Pearl and that he'll be wearing a black tux—not vague at all.

I smile at my choice of clothing and pull off a rose gold cocktail dress from the hanger.

The secret grin might also be because this said date has taste and he might actually not be a lost cause after all. The White Pearl is a five-star restaurant, nothing too outstanding with Michelin status but grand enough for my heart to be at ease.

At least it's not a picnic setup on some beach somewhere.

The day I walk on sand ever again, it'll be too soon.

I dry my hair and allow it to fall off my shoulders and down my back in natural curls. I slip on heels and keep my makeup as natural and simple as possible. Grabbing my purse, phone and car keys I leave just when I realise how provocative this dress actually might be.

Did I overdo it? Maybe the open back and spaghetti straps are too much.

I pause and contemplate at my bedroom door, not yet crossing the threshold. Sabrina walks out of my bathroom and pauses beside me, confused.

"Going out Madam?" Sabrina's thick Hispanic accent adds to her gentle comforting voice.

"Going out isn't the correct word," I cross my legs and she smiles, clearly picking up on my nerves. "I'm going on a...venture of two people under a candlelight dinner," I wave a hand.

Sabrina chuckles, "So, a date then, Madam?"

"Yes that," I blink and she clasps her hands before her.

Why am I nervous, I have no reason to be nervous. To whom it may concern, the man on the other end of this should be nervous, not me—I'm Brielle Spencer for god sake.

"Madam, may I say something?" she narrows her eyes and I sigh with a nod, bracing for a lecture. "You look breathtaking."

A light-hearted chuckle leaves my lips and maybe even a blush coats my cheeks as I cross the room and hug her.

"Thank you, Brina, you're just lovely," I chuckle and she squeezes me back.

I leave before I get too comfortable. That's the last thing I need right now, becoming emotional and ruining my makeup.

The drive to The White Pearl feels short but I know it was quite a drive because I live near the coast and it's at the heart of the city. I walk into the restaurant in a good mood with a small spark of hope for not only is the location perfect but so is the weather.

I allow my eyes to scan over the restaurant and all the men are dressed to the nines. I text Ramona what I'm wearing and take my seat at the open bar, getting myself a glass of red wine and crossing my legs.

I glance at the clock and it's nearing seven. With a sigh, I take a sip and turn my back to the bar, gazing out at the scenery before me. Couples are holding hands, business partners are exchanging handshakes and a few celebrities are trying to stay incognito and enjoy their dinner.

I then spot a group of young adults, actually kids if you ask me, occupying the entire second level of the restaurant.

I scoff and bring the glass to my lips. The second they get drunk this is going to go from a classy establishment to a bar on the more exotic side of LA.

I avert my gaze from the children and just take in the gold and brown hues of the restaurant. All warm and comforting colours, nothing too off-putting. Even the gold chandeliers and soft play of jazz is a beautiful touch to the place. I glance at my watch and it's seven.

Is he punctual? Clearly not.

I bring the wine to my lips and try to convince myself it's beyond normal for someone to be late, even when it's a first date with a stranger. Not the best first impression but it's fine. Right?

I allow my eyes to scan the floor, maybe he's here but we're missing each other.

I want to strangle Ramona; a black tux is not an accurate description of someone, especially if you come to a restaurant where a black tie and evening gown is a must.

My gaze sweeps over the entrance when my eyes lead me towards the second level, yet again. Instead of seeing young adults, my eyes meet with the sharpest blue eyes I've ever seen. They gleam in the light and sparkle like the surface of the ocean.

I allow my eyes to take in his high cheekbones and strong defined jawline. I then follow the long crease of his nose and the bob of his Adam's Apple until I finally settle on his full lips.

My own lips curve and I bring the glass to my mouth, allowing myself to look at the face instead of the features. My eyes focus on his face and I nearly choke on my drink.

Still mesmerised by his beautiful allure, I realise that those pair of beautiful eyes belong to his father. I blink furiously and yes, to my utmost horror, it's Callum Slaters looking straight at me. He's staring at me in the most horrid and inappropriate way.

He's staring at me like I'm his.

I huff and turn around, heat spreading across my face as I order something stronger. I shake my head and accept the whiskey on the rocks from the bartender. I breathe in the strong scent of the amber liquid and try my best to compose myself.

Fuck.

Why is this happening to me?

Unfortunately, I have to admit that Callum and I have a short history together.

On his eighteenth birthday, five years ago, he hosted a pool party and luckily for me—note the sarcasm—Ramona invited me and by the time the clock struck midnight Callum was in my bed.

Now, we didn't do anything worth questioning my moral compass but he opened up to me in ways that no boy his age ever should. By the morning, when he was sober, Callum hated me and my guts. Not that I'm to blame for him explicitly describing what kind of obscene crush he had on me but alas, my reaction could've been more understanding and less accusing.

Frustrated, I take a sip of my drink and start to get restless about my date—my late date!

"Miss Spencer..."

A warm hand lands on the small of my back and sends sparks of interest along my spine.

I sigh in defeat, I know this voice all too well. The voice of the American child star, a voice I've heard too many times over the television screen but not enough times in person.

I take a deep breath and turn around slowly, my eyes landing on the intruder himself. He's so damn pleasing to the eye and it's infuriating because he knows it.

Callum leans forward and with a low sultry tone he says, "A lady shouldn't be sitting alone at a bar with a drink already, it's intimidating the rest of us."

"I'm not alone, I'm expecting a guest," I cross my legs and notice his eyes follow the action.

They linger at my legs before his gaze meets mine once again, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Clearly, he hasn't grown out of his crush for me which makes this interaction inappropriate and impossibly awkward. It doesn't matter that he's an adult now, he's still just a teenager to me.

"Ramona never counts as a guest and she's having dinner with Dad. So it's definitely a man," he shoots me a confident glare and I bring the glass to my lips, unamused.

"What's it to you, Callum?" I ask, and he moves close enough to brush against the side of my stool, completely crowding my space while his scent suffocates the air into submission around us. "Shouldn't you be causing mischief elsewhere?"

Callum chuckles and studies me before he says, "And leave a beautiful lady like yourself alone and unattended to? What kind of gentleman would I be?"

"A gentleman who respects boundaries and consent," I chide.

Callum chuckles dryly and extends his arm, resting it on the bar's counter.

The fabric of his suit brushes against my arm when he places his hand on the back of my stool, trapping me in a cage. Callum leans in and my muscles tighten under the full attention of his beautiful eyes, "I'm a risk taker Miss Spencer and you're a risk."

I tilt my head and look at him, our noses only inches apart, my lips a breath away from a kiss.

"No Callum, you're a child with a ridiculous crush."

The words orbit around us for only a split second when he grabs my chin and holds me in place. I lick my lips and glare at him defiantly, daring him to find out how far I'm willing for him to go with his little game. Sensing my deviance and reluctant display of patience, he brushes his thumb over my damp lip and a sizzle of heat tingles across my mouth.

"You're so much more than just a crush, Miss Spencer," he says in a low drawl that heats my skin. "You're a forbidden fantasy. My filthy, erotic fantasy."

I loathe the way my body reacts to him, from the hitch of my breath to the rapid skip of my heartbeat. My reaction towards his obscene mouth is embarrassing.

Still glaring at him, I bring the whiskey to my lips and compose myself before I wordlessly pull away from him, hyper-aware of some of the gazes that we're already attracting.

I meet his gaze and my jaw clenches, my ability to breathe being tested, "Callum, you're cute and all but you're not my type. I don't date boys and you, Slaters, are a boy."

Callum laughs hoarsely and pulls away from me with a nod and a smug grin. "That is what you say now, but wait until I have you marked and bound by pleasure, Brielle," he caresses my cheek. "I'll turn my name into a prayer of worship and mercy on those lips, I promise."

I swallow, damn him.

It takes a moment but I compose myself nonetheless and slide off of the stool, bringing myself to his height. The heels fill in those inches I seemed to have missed while growing up.

I'm about to say something along the lines of; no thank you, this is some perverse antics you're pulling. When I spot a man walking in with a slim-fitted black tuxedo. Relief washes over my heart when a spark of hope convinces me it's finally my date.

Late date, but still him nonetheless.

Our eyes meet simultaneously and I feel my heart shatter, my hope sinking into the void.

Charlie Caine.