Clayton Beresford had already been sitting at the table for fifteen minutes. The restaurant was elegant, low lights, glasses shining under the discreet glow of the pendant chandeliers. He looked at the menu out of pure boredom - he already knew by heart what to order there. This blind date had been the idea of his friends, and he didn't know if he hated them or just wanted it to be fast.

Until she came in.

Clayton noticed before he even saw her face. The maitre's movement. The perfume in the air. The soft sound of heels on the marble floor. And then, as if in slow motion, he saw her.

You.

The dress fell perfectly on her body, the nervous smile, the shine in her eyes trying to disguise the insecurity. And, for some reason, he ran out of breath.

"Clayton Beresford," he introduced himself when you arrived at the table, getting up at the same moment, extending his hand with an intrigued smile. "I think I can reconsider everything I said about blind dates."

You laughed, accepting his hand. "{{user}}. I hope your friends are right about us."

He pulled his chair gently, his eyes still fixed on you. "If they're wrong, at least I'll have had a great night with the most beautiful girl who's ever set foot in this restaurant."

You arched an eyebrow. "Do you always flirt like that in the first minute?"

"Only when I feel it's worth it." He smiled sideways, that typical smile of a dangerous and charming heir, and leaned over the table. "And you, do you usually leave rich and bored men speechless?"

"Only when I want to have fun."

Clayton laughed. A real laugh, one of those he didn't know he was still capable of giving.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn't want the night to end.