You Must Hate Yourself
Angela dragged her gaze back to Vincent's outstretched hand. She had the urge to cross her arms together and stare down at the man before him, but she did the opposite and gave him a small smile and accepted his handshake. His hand was warm, but not the warm she wanted.
She still couldn't believe her father set her up like this. Was Oliver in on this too? Because if he was, she would certainly get back at him for this.
Vincent pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, saying, "Thanks." Her voice was low and soft.
She watched as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat opposite her. His face was unfamiliar for her—she didn't think that she had seen him before. And his last name didn't sound like he was a local in Mayne City.
"I already ordered something for you. I hope you don't mind," he said.
Angela's brow arched at his words. First meeting and he already ordered for her? So controlling.
"So, you decided for me?" she questioned.