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.

His expression didn't change as he gazed at her—as if he wasn't bothered by her question. "I heard from your father that you frequent this restaurant, so I figured I should get you your favorite."

The door to the private room opened, and a waiter came in with a bottle of expensive red wine, her favorite.

Angela softly chuckled, feeling both impressed and unimpressed by her date's preparedness. "Looks like you've done your research."

Vincent waited until the waiter poured wine into their glasses and left them alone before he answered her. "I like being thorough. I hate mistakes."

Overbearing. She subtly rolled her eyes while looking down and placing the napkin on her lap. "You must be so much fun, Mr. Stone."

A handsome smile broke his face. "Please, call me Vincent."

He reached for his wine glass and swirled it gently, but he didn't bring it to his nose like Angela thought he would. "Tell me about yourself," he said.

The corners of her mouth curled upward in a sly smile, and her head tilted to the side as she responded, "I thought you like being thorough, Mr. Stone? Shouldn't you have done your research about me? Looks like you already made a mistake… You must hate yourself now."

Vincent dragged his gaze to the glass in his hand as he brought it to his nose, a satisfied smirk forming on his lips. He took a whiff of the earthy and floral aroma of the wine, and then his smile brightened his face as if he just discovered something interesting.

"You really do have a smart mouth," he said. "At least that, I already know."

Her brows knitted for a brief second before her face relaxed once again. "Does it bother you? I'm not like most women."

Setting the glass back on the table, Vincent's stare pierced right through her. The way he looked at her was so intense that she subconsciously straightened her back.

His fingers softly caressed the wine glass as he spoke, "I don't like most women. I prefer smart mouths."

Returning his gaze, Angela felt like tiny fibers tickled her ear. She tucked her hair behind her ear out of habit and flicked it. This man was too bold. He reminded her of someone, except the two weren't exactly the same.

It was only then that she noticed the color of his eyes. They were blue like the ocean. His light brown hair was neatly combed and his face was clean-shaven. Vincent Stone was good-looking, and she could tell that he knew it—what with the way he carried himself wearing an Armani suit. He was lean and probably about six feet tall.

A part of her started to think that maybe this dinner wasn't bad. However, would she really just allow her father to do this to her? This was only the first of many dates that she had yet to go through.

The door opened once again, and a trolley was rolled in. The waiter served the plated meals in front of them and left right after.

Angela glanced at her plate. In it was a spice flank steak with creamy gin sauce, garnished with watercress. She softly scoffed, her eyes shifting towards Vincent, and she saw him take a bite of his food—he was having the same.

"This isn't my favorite food," she muttered as she sliced through the meat and started eating. When he looked up at her, his brows furrowed as though he didn't understand. So, she clarified, "I only eat this when I come here because my father orders it for me. This is his favorite food, not mine."

Realizing what she meant, he stared at the food and then at her. "I see…"

"Your research sucks. You don't know a thing about me, Mr. Stone."

Wiping his mouth with the table napkin, he placed his cutlery aside and lifted his wine glass. "Very well. Then, my apologies. Please feel free to order anything you want. I'll ask them to remove—"

"There's no need to waste food, Mr. Stone. There are millions of starving kids out there." Angela smiled. "I don't mind eating this dish. I was just informing you that you were wrong."

He let out a small sigh and chuckled.

"Another mistake on your part… I guess you hate yourself twice as much now."

"You're a fascinating woman, Ms. Su," he replied. He didn't like that she insisted on calling him by his surname, but the way she talks caught him by surprise. Most of the time, women would never dare to make fun of him. But here she was, calling him out without even flinching.

The familiar taste of the creamy gin sauce didn't surprise her. She drank her wine to cleanse her palate and kept the small smile on her face. "Am I? Is that an observation… or did that come from your research?"

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you gave me that impression right off the bat." She shrugged nonchalantly and continued eating her food.

"How about we start over?" Vincent proposed.

She took a deep breath and decided to just go with the flow. She was already here, so she might as well give this man a chance. As much as she wanted to bail out, Angela couldn't afford to compromise her father and this man's connection. She could hate the idea all she wants, but she would try not to sully their last name as much as possible.

While they got to know a little bit more about each other, Angela found out that Vincent wasn't actually a son of her father's business partner. He was an acquaintance, and the two met each other a few months back, and then they only met again earlier today—no wonder why she hadn't seen his 'portfolio' in the files given to her. Also, how could her father be so fast?!

Vincent was thirty-two years old. He owned a software development company that was based in California, and he was in the city to meet several people in the business. Judging by what she knew about him until now, he seemed like the workaholic man whose dating life came second in his priority list. First, work—he had no family, or so he said. His parents died when he was young, so he basically grew up in foster care.

Vincent Stone was a self-made man—an example of a 'rags to riches' story.

At the end of the meal, Angela thought he wasn't bad at all—not because of his money, rather, her first impression of his personality had been changed. But would she meet him again?