AN – Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews you left for the last chapter.

As always a couple of words for those of you who left reviews who don't have accounts so I couldn't reply personally – Sophiaaaa – So glad you liked the start and hope you got the teaser okay! Hope you like the next chapter! Lo – I'm so pleased you are enjoying the story and hope you like the update! Rachel – Aw, I'm so pleased you found it funny and enjoyed reading the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this update! Weens – I'm so pleased you enjoyed the last chapter and like the characters! Hope you enjoy this one too! Lous – So glad you enjoyed the last chapter and hope you got the teaser okay? Hope you like this chapter!

Right, on to chapter two. Thanks go to Anniiyy and Kristen for helping me out with the chapter!

Enjoy!

Chapter Two

I stare at this strange, intriguing, beautiful man for a good minute, not saying a word. I'm not nervous anymore, because I notice that I've stopped wringing my hands together. However, what I am feeling is incredibly confused.

This man wants me to go to dinner with him?

I can feel my mouth wanting to drop open, but I fight against it and luckily for me, it stays closed. I'm sure I already look stupid enough, just standing there gawking at him.

I don't think I've heard him right. I decide I should stop staring, so I move my eyes away from him and gaze confusedly down at the very interesting floor while I try to process what he's just said. Seriously, I think I must be trapped in some parallel universe because this man should not be interested in someone like me.

I cast my eyes extremely cautiously over to him again and notice that he still has that stupid but oh so sexy smirk spread right across his gorgeously perfect face.

And I frown.

I go through a checklist in my head, running through all of the reasons as to why this man should not be asking me out to dinner with him.

I am a klutz.

I have proved this point no less than four times this evening alone, each time in front of said gorgeous man. I have tripped over his feet, tripped over my apron straps and ended up assaulting his crotch. I have spilt wine all over his cell phone and broken it. I have walked into a damn wall. And then to top it all off, I walked into him with a plate of warm sticky chocolate cake and ruined his very expensive looking shirt.

I actually think that I've listed more than four things there that prove I am a klutz… which means I probably take the very impressive title of Super Klutz. Lucky me. Before I depress myself over my inability to move like a normal human being, I move on to reason number two.

I am a waitress.

I, Haley James, work in this ostentatious restaurant, which charges unbelievable prices for not very much food but pays its staff extremely little. Basically, I'm poor. I actually think I may even live below the poverty line, but I don't want to think about that right now, because if I do, that thought, combined with my inability to move properly, might sink me into such a deep depression I may need to be sectioned.

It is clear, from the look of this man's expensive clothing and pristine looks, that he is from a completely different world to the one I currently live in. I actually think his shirt may cost more than the entire range of clothes I have in my wardrobe. But again, thinking about the fact that I have to shop for clothes in hypermarkets instead of normal stores may depress me even further, so I move on to yet another reason.

He is gorgeous.

Now, I don't exactly think I'm ugly, but I am a firm believer in the hierarchy of looks. Everyone has a number, right? Well, I move my gaze over his face and realise that without even looking at anything other than his eyes, I know this man is a ten. As in ten out of ten. He is perfect. I'd say I'm about a six or a seven. If you're a six or a seven, you don't get to date a ten. I don't moan about it, I just know that this is the way the world works. Yes it's shallow and probably shouldn't be that way, but in my experience, it is, and I just deal with it.

So, those are my reasons as to why this man should not be asking me out to dinner. I'm a klutz (read Super Klutz), I'm a waitress (read poor) and he is gorgeous (read out of my league).

I decide that I may be being a little harsh on myself. I want to find something to criticize about him, because it's not really fair that I put him up on this pedestal of perfection.

I squint my eyes at him, trying to spot if there's any imperfection on him. My eyes roam intently around his face, and I see that eyebrow of his rise up in question, but I ignore the stupid eyebrow, because even that is perfect.

Damn it! There is absolutely nothing that isn't perfect about his face. I move my gaze down to his shirt, which of course isn't perfect because I've ruined it with the huge chocolate stain, so I can't even really use that against him because it's my fault it's not perfect.

The rest of his body is blocked by the table, so I can't really see anymore. But if the top half of him is perfect, it's highly likely that the bottom half is too.

I've also already had my mouth pressed up against his crotch and, from what I managed to get a feel of, I think it's fair to say he's pretty well endowed. In fact, I wouldn't mind setting up residence down there.

Before I lose myself completely in daydreams about a cock I've felt but not seen, I move my thoughts onto something else.

Only there isn't anything else.

I frown in indignation, not ready to concede defeat so easily.

There has to be something about him which isn't perfect…

And then, I have a light bulb moment.

He is a restaurant critic!

Who wants to go out to dinner with a restaurant critic? Surely they'd be constantly criticizing every last bit of whatever restaurant they chose to take you to. I smile in victory, and also because I think of that 'Friends' episode when Phoebe goes out with that Health Inspector guy and inevitably ends up getting really pissed off with him. I actually enjoy eating out, once in a blue moon when I can afford it, and wouldn't want my rare experience to be tainted by a man moaning about service, or the taste and texture of food, or the balance of the ambience and all that stuff I don't really care about. And let's face it, I don't think he'd be impressed with my favourite and desired choice for a date, Tony's Pizza Place, which is just round the corner from my studio.

So there, Mr Perfect, you aren't so perfect after all.

Except that he is.

Because I now notice that he's smiling back at me.

Damn him and his sexiness.

So, after all that, I'm back to square one.

I nearly scoff at myself because I'm acting like it's been a chore, staring at him for however long I've been staring at him. It's certainly not a chore gazing into those endless blue eyes.

But I still don't think I have heard him right. Really I should ask him to clarify what he has just said. However, I'm well aware of the fact that I am currently standing at a table with a number of suited and booted men, who must at least be acquaintances, if not friends, of this infuriating man, and I'm far too embarrassed to ask him to repeat himself, just in case I really did hear him wrong.

"I'll assume your silence is agreement to my request for dinner," he states.

And then my mouth really does drop open.

I try desperately to wrap my head around what has just happened. He's just asked me out and then hasn't even allowed me to respond, just arrogantly presuming that I've said yes, when I really haven't. I move my hand to my hip in complete annoyance at his brazen attitude and wonder who the hell this man thinks he is.

I manage to close my mouth and give this man my best bitch scowl, which I've been told is very scary.

Only it doesn't seem to work on him.

His eyes light up with amusement as they wander over my now defensive form, and the smirk plays at the corners of his mouth once more. I'm silently daring him to smirk at me again so I can react to it, but he must hear my silent thoughts because he manages to contain the smirk, so thankfully I don't need to slap the pretty face. Eventually, his eyes land on my face, and he folds his arms over his chest, the bulging muscles of his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt.

My fingers itch to touch those powerful, huge arms of his.

"Or not?" he questions playfully.

I shake my head in complete exasperation at this cocky man, who, I now decide, has a chocolate stain on his shirt because he should have been looking where he was going, not because it was my fault.

"Yes-" I start, but I'm immediately interrupted by him.

"Excellent!" the man says in a delighted tone, and then turns his attention back to the table.

I'm actually flabbergasted. And once again, my mouth drops open. I figure I should close it before I start collecting a vast number of flies, but I literally cannot believe the incredulity of this man. I feel like I have to say no to his dinner invitation now, because I won't allow his attitude to wash with me. He's far too smug for his own good. And of course, I was going to say no to him anyway… yes, I absolutely was going to say no.

"Excuse me!" I huff and then wait for him to turn his attention back to me. I muster all the anger I can inside of me, ready to unleash the whole load on him. He needs to understand that you can't go through life expecting everything to happen just as you wish it to, and I'm going to be incredibly happy to be probably the first person ever to show him that fact.

Oh God, those eyes really are going to be the death of me.

And suddenly I feel the fury I had gathered begin to fade away.

He raises that eyebrow of his again, as if he's wondering why I'm still here and haven't fluttered off to do whatever the hell it is that waitresses do when they aren't taking orders or delivering items to the table.

I take a deep breath, because the raised eyebrow, although it looks great on him, is starting to really piss me off.

"I never said yes," I respond, choosing to raise my own eyebrow back at him, just to see how he likes it.

He shakes his head at me humorously and that eyebrow of his lowers itself down to its normal position.

"Yes, you did," he states and turns his body to the right a little, so that he's properly facing me.

"I did not," I reply indignantly.

He laughs. I think it's the first time I've heard him laugh all evening. Of course, his laugh sounds ridiculously sexy, and it kind of makes me want to strip down to my underwear and crawl into that very inviting lap of his.

However, I fight the temptation to begin undressing and choose to stare at him again instead.

"You didn't let me finish what I was about to say," I state.

"But you said 'yes'. There wasn't anything else I needed to hear," he responds.

I sigh and shake my head at him in annoyance. "I said 'yes' in response to your 'or not' comment, not to your invitation to dinner."

"I see," he says, and bizarrely he still has that smirk on his face. I briefly wonder what I need to do or say to make him stop smirking, but then realise that I do rather like the smirk anyway.

I nod my head at him, happy that we've cleared that one up. And then I feel stupid because he is still smirking and I'm just standing here, unsure of what it is that I need to be doing. "Well, I'm glad we sorted that out," I say, and then I begin to reach forward to collect some of the empty glasses which are sitting on the table, only so that I look like I actually have something I need to be doing.

"Do you like cardboard?" he asks as he unfolds his arms and rests his hands on the table.

I stop reaching for the glass, blinking rapidly because I can feel my brain conjuring up thoughts of what I want those fingers to be doing to me. I shake my head quickly, dispelling those thoughts from my head and glance up at him with a curious expression plastered all over my face. "I'm sorry?" I enquire, wondering why he is asking me such a silly question. Who on this planet has a 'like' of cardboard? I mean, it's just cardboard, there's nothing special about it at all. What a strange question to ask.

"Cardboard. Do you like it?" he questions me again.

My eyebrows knit together. I'm really confused as to the bizarre path our conversation has taken. I decide to humour him, because it's clear that he's a little bit crazy. "Erm… no, I don't particularly like cardboard," I say. My response sounds more like a question, as if I'm asking him whether that was the right answer to his enquiry or not. I don't like not feeling sure of myself and mentally curse him for making me feel stupid.

"That's a shame then, isn't it?" he says with a forced sigh, and he has a serious expression on his face. It's almost, but not quite, like he is feeling sorry for me.

Once again, I decide to humour him. "And why is that?"

"Well, if the severe case of mumble rubbish which came out of your mouth when you were asking me to not tell you boss about your misdemeanours from before is true, you're going to have to acquaint yourself with a cardboard box pretty soon, aren't you?"

Mumble rubbish?

I'm incredibly outraged and actually slightly disgusted that he would have the audacity to suggest that something I said was just 'mumble rubbish'. I decide that this man is far too high on his horse and desperately needs taking down a peg or two.

When did I ever say anything which could be labelled as 'mumble rubbish'?

And then I remember.

Oh, God. I'd completely forgotten about the whole cardboard box scenario, because I have evidently been blinded by this man's incredible good looks and the fact that he is far too cocky for his own good. My need to wrap my head around the curveball he threw my way has meant that all my attention has been focussed on that instead of making sure that I didn't get fired. The whole evening comes rushing back to the forefront of my brain, and once again I nearly die of humiliation.

His smirk grows wider. "I have to say I'm mildly offended that you'd choose a cardboard box over a simple dinner with me."

I scowl at him again, because that's just how I roll. However, I stop scowling when I realise that he is actually offering me a chance to change my mind. He has that questioning, smug look on his face, as if he's expecting me to simply throw my hands up in the air and profess my love for him. And of course say yes to his dinner invitation.

But I don't throw my hands up in the air, because I'd probably slap him around the face with my tea towel or something else equally as humiliating. And then he'd have one more thing to use against me in his quest for my company at dinner tomorrow night.

Instead, I stumble over my response. I have to quickly weigh up my options, which suck either way I look at this situation.

Option one. I lose my job, because he will tell VV how awful I have been and will then give the restaurant the most scathing review known to man. I will have to move out of my apartment and live in a cardboard box. I'm not very streetwise, so I'll probably have my cardboard box stolen from me by another homeless person, and then I really will have nothing.

Option two. I say yes and have dinner with this arrogant, persistent, cocky but beautiful man. I don't want to say yes to dinner, because although this does look like the more favourable option, I feel like right now, I'm making a point for all womankind. We will not be badgered into having dinner when we haven't even agreed to it. Men like him cannot just walk around thinking that they are God's gift.

And besides, he's clearly immoral, because what he is doing now is blackmailing me.

And that's just not a very nice thing to do.

I'm still debating with myself. Cardboard or dinner. Dinner or cardboard…

"Good evening again, Sir. I trust that everything has been to your satisfaction this evening, other than the incident earlier on, of course?"

I jump as I hear VV address the man and notice that she is now standing right next to me. I refocus my gaze on the man who is looking at me pointedly. I can see that my time is up and I know that this is it. It's decision time. But I haven't made up my fricking mind yet.

Dinner or cardboard.

Cardboard or dinner.

He raises that damn eyebrow of his, and I want to force it back down with my finger. I glance over at VV who looks like she might have a stroke at any given moment if the man doesn't confirm that everything has been to his satisfaction, other than the incident earlier on, of course, in the next five seconds. She glares at me and I feel the blood begin to drain from my body.

I start to feel dizzy, because she is going to kill me, I'm sure of it. I already feel half-dead and that's just from a look she has given me. I feel the pain she has planned for me in her eyes and know I really don't want that bestowed on me.

So, despite my better judgement, or lack of judgement really, because I couldn't come to a decision by myself, I nod my head in resignation.

I think his smile is bright enough to light the whole of America during a mass black out.

"Everything has been perfect. The service from this young lady in particular has been remarkable and most certainly memorable," he says with enthusiasm.

I scowl at him. I have to, because he is blatantly teasing me.

I don't like being teased.

But then I realise that VV is looking at me with surprise and, dare I say it, happiness. So I quickly remove the scowl from my face and smile at her.

"Well, Haley here is one of our best," VV says and wraps her arm around me, pulling me into her shoulder for a semi-hug. She's clearly not comfortable with the contact because as soon as I touch her shoulder she practically throws me off her body, and I stumble a little as I try to stand upright and not fall onto the floor for the third time this evening.

"Well I can see why," he says, his eyes dancing with amusement because he clearly caught the fact that I nearly fell over.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" VV asks sweetly.

He moves his gaze from me to her and smiles at her. "No, I think we're just about done here. The check would be much appreciated."

I want to mouth the word 'bastard' at him, because he looks smugger than I've ever seen him look all night. And I didn't think that was at all possible. But I don't have the guts to do it with VV standing right beside me.

"Of course, Haley will get that for you right away. Well, I'll leave you all in her capable hands. I'm so pleased that everything has been to your satisfaction," VV says with a beaming smile and then turns on her incredibly high heel and wanders back to the main counter in the middle of the restaurant.

I'm now really pissed off because I feel like I have been conned into having dinner with this man. So I turn on my heel, only I'm wearing flat shoes because I can't walk in heels for a second, let alone move on them for my entire seven hour shift. Actually, I can't walk in my flat shoes either, as tonight has showcased marvellously.

I make my way hastily over to the smaller counter and press the various buttons on the screen to get the bill for the table printed. I'm absolutely furious, but I figure the sooner I get him the check, the sooner he will be out of the restaurant.

Once the machine has printed the check out, I make my way back over to the table and resist the temptation to throw the flimsy piece of paper at him.

It wouldn't have done much damage.

In fact, I don't even look at him. I have to force myself not to, because my eyes want to take another look at the pretty, but I remain strong and leave him alone to pay the bill, while I go over to the bar and wait for them to leave the restaurant so I can clear their table.

It's a shame I can't clear my mind too, but I don't think the Men in Black mind zapper thing has actually been invented yet.

I actually cannot believe that I have to have dinner with him tomorrow. I'm furious at myself for getting into this stupid situation and even angrier at him for forcing me to accept his silly invitation.

I'm jolted out of my thoughts by a hand which appears in front of me, dropping a leather wallet which is bulging with dollar bills in front of me. Before I even have the chance to spin around, I watch as this hand flattens out against the marble bar and then feel something tickle my neck.

"Thank you for a very entertaining evening," he says, directly into my ear.

I actually shiver. I can't believe I do, because it gives away too much. But his voice and the feel of his breath on my skin makes my entire body tingle. I also find myself completely immobile, because as much as I want to turn around and tell him what a pig I think he is, even though he clearly is an extremely good looking pig, I can't actually move. I'm also acutely aware of how close he is standing behind me, and have to fight the temptation to lean backwards into his muscular frame.

Instead I just imagine how hard his muscular body would feel against my back. And then I start thinking about other hard bits of his anatomy.

I have to cling onto the bar because I suddenly feel faint.

"Someone will call you tomorrow to arrange our dinner date."

I don't even have a second to process what he's saying before the warmth that has been radiating from the close proximity of his body to mine is gone, leaving me feeling rather chilly.

I stay rooted in the spot for a good few minutes before I jolt myself out of my haze. I turn around eventually and realise that he's now left the restaurant, which is good because I can now continue the night without worrying about blinding him with alcohol or stabbing him with a knife.

I shake my head at the bizarre night I've just encountered and walk over to the table they have just vacated. I clear up the glasses and plates and take them into the kitchen to be washed. Then I wipe down the table.

All the while I'm humming to myself. I'm humming a really complicated tune because if I don't concentrate on that then I'll just think about him and find myself in a puddle on the floor.

And I think I've seen enough of the floor this evening.

VV comes over as I'm doing this, and I stiffen because I have no idea what she's going to say to me.

"Nice save, Haley. You can take the rest of the night off once you've finished setting the table."

I breathe a sigh of relief and quickly set the table. Once that is done, I rush back to the staffroom, untying my apron as I move, eager to get out of here as quickly as I can.

About thirty minutes later, I slam the door shut to my apartment. I flick the lights on, only it doesn't really help lighten my dark apartment, because I've still not got round to changing two of the light bulbs from the fitting, so only one is working. I throw my bag onto the bed before slumping down on the sofa.

I recall the night's events and wonder how I manage to get myself in these predicaments. It's utterly ridiculous and only seems to ever happen to me.

There really must be something wrong with me. I seem to attract all the weirdos.

After all, who the hell does what he just did?

I recall the way he forced me into accepting his dinner invitation, and then that thought gets dwarfed as I remember the way my body reacted when he was standing behind me. There's no doubting the fact that I was excited by his presence. There's also absolutely no doubting that I liked the way his voice sounded in my ear and the way his breath tickled the skin of my neck.

I recollect that way he said that someone would be calling me tomorrow.

Excitement I shouldn't be feeling courses its way through my veins. He really did want to have dinner with me.

I push those feelings aside because I shouldn't be feeling this way. I should be disgusted and disturbed by his behaviour. Especially if he has a habit of forcing young women into dating him. Why would he have to do that anyway? It's not like he's not attractive enough to get a date the normal way.

I begin to wonder whether he has something majorly wrong with him.

And then I conjure up all kinds of things. Disturbing things.

I can't go to dinner with this man. I just can't. I don't know him at all. What if he turns out to be a psycho killer? A stalker?

It would be highly unwise for me to go out with him. I come to this conclusion as I bite down on my lip and feel satisfied that I've arrived at this decision. It's definitely the right one.

I'm unsure why, as I fall into bed an hour later, my decision doesn't feel all that concrete.

I surely don't want to go to dinner with this man.

But then I remember his perfection.

Would it really be that bad to have to stare at that face for an evening?

Gosh, I really can't make up my mind.

It seems I have this problem a lot when I'm thinking of anything to do with this man.

I toss and turn all night, barely getting a wink of sleep. I throw the covers off my body at some ridiculous time in the morning and grab myself a drink of water in the hope that it will make me tired. It just makes me need the toilet.

Every time I close my eyes, I see those eyes or that smirk and it's driving me crazy.

I fall into a restless sleep sometime later, and when I wake up, I find that it's already twelve in the afternoon.

I grumble when the first thing I coherently think about is that man.

This is beginning to get very old, very quickly.

I stumble out of bed and make my way into the bathroom. Once I get into the shower, I suddenly remember that the infuriatingly perfect man is meant to be calling me today to arrange our dinner date this evening.

My stomach immediately flips and I have to take a good few deep breaths to calm myself down.

I really don't want to go to dinner with a complete stranger.

I know some kung fu from my Wii Fit console, but without the weird music and the people on the screen showing me what to do, I don't think I'll be able to defend myself all too well against him. He is rather tall and has very muscular arms…

I lose myself for a second as I remember those biceps of his. Then I curse myself for thinking of them in the first place, no matter how impressive they are.

Once I'm finished washing my hair and myself, I turn off the water and step out of my shower. The water had already started to run cold, but I'm more than used to taking cold showers. The water in my building is very unpredictable.

I then sit myself down on my sofa, wondering how I'm going to turn this man down without having him run right back to VV and revealing to her how rubbish a waitress I am, as well as have him write a damning review of the restaurant.

I look around my studio. I know it's not much, but it's my home. I don't want to have to move and live in a damn cardboard box. He's just going to have to accept my apologies and forget about me. I'm pretty easy to forget, I think. It shouldn't be too hard for him.

I stare at my ancient cell phone which is sat on my cheap coffee table. I feel like I'm waiting for it to jump up and bite me or something.

I scowl at my phone, because this really is torturous and pull my towel tighter around my body.

Then I suddenly realise that he doesn't even have my number. Hell, he doesn't even know my last name. There's no way he can call me to arrange this silly little dinner!

I grin, because it seems I have inadvertently beaten this cocky man, and then I jump up onto my sofa and proceed to jump up and down on it repeatedly.

I jump because I won't have to embarrass myself with my Wii Fit style kung fu.

I jump because I don't have to go out for dinner with this incredibly infuriating man.

I jump because I have won the battle of the sexes, proving that you can't just expect women to fall at your feet, even if you do look like you've just walked out of a GQ shoot.

I stop jumping when my cell phone rings.

In fact, I stand incredibly still and regard the device like it really is a wild animal.

I manage to successfully lower myself down onto the carpet without falling over. I take two very cautious steps towards my ringing phone and then lean over the table, seeing a private number flash on the screen.

It can't be…

But what if it is?

No, it absolutely is not. I just concluded that he can't contact me.

Because I'm so convinced of this fact, I pick up my phone and press the 'connect' button, which is so warn you can't even tell it was green once upon a time now. Then I hold the phone up to my ear, saying nothing.

"Hello, is this Haley James? This is Rachel calling from Mr Scott's office to arrange an appointment for dinner with you this evening."

And then, because I cannot believe he, or rather Rachel at his office, has called me, I actually throw my phone across my small studio apartment.

A thousand and one thoughts rush through my mind.

Only one is running through my head on a loop though.

How the hell did he get my number?

AN – How did Nathan get her number I wonder?

Let me know what you thought of chapter two by dropping me a review.

If you'd like a teaser for the next chapter then just let me know in a review and I'll send you one as soon as I have it ready!