Two days later, Lila sat across from Marissa Gold at a fancy little rooftop café, fiddling nervously with her water glass.
Marissa was stunning in a way that looked effortless — sleek hair, designer dress, the kind of confidence that came from being born into old money.
"So," Marissa said, tilting her head, amused.
"You're setting me up with Damon Cross."
Lila nodded eagerly.
"I really think you two could be a good match."
Marissa raised a perfectly sculpted brow.
"Isn't he... cold? Ruthless? I've heard rumors."
Lila smiled.
"He's intense, sure. And scary when he wants to be. But he's also smart, disciplined, loyal to the people he cares about. He just doesn't let many people get close."
Marissa studied her for a long moment, then asked, casually:
"If he's so great, why aren't you interested?"
Lila nearly choked on her drink.
She coughed, cheeks heating.
"Oh, no, no, no."
Marissa's smile sharpened.
"Come on. He's gorgeous. Power suits. Money. Ice king vibes. You're telling me you don't want a piece of that?"
Lila laughed, honest and unbothered.
"Girl, listen — bro is handsome for sure. I'm not blind. But he isn't my type."
Marissa leaned in, playful.
"And what's your type?"
Lila shrugged, grinning.
"Someone who doesn't make me want to punch a wall every five minutes."
Marissa laughed — a rich, surprised sound.
"And besides," Lila added, more seriously, "I'm definitely not his type either. He likes polished, perfect women who can play the society games. Me?"
She gestured at herself — jeans, messy bun, a coffee stain on her sleeve.
"I'd rather eat tacos on the couch and binge horror movies."
Marissa smiled, a little softer now.
"You're refreshing."
"And you," Lila said with a wink, "are perfect for him."
Marissa laughed again and leaned back in her chair.
"Alright, Matchmaker. Set it up. I'm curious to meet your ice king."
Saturday evening.
The restaurant was five-star, the table reserved in a prime spot overlooking the city skyline.
Everything was perfect — on paper.
Lila watched nervously from the far side of the restaurant, pretending to sip her overpriced lemonade.
She wasn't spying, exactly.
She was... supervising.
Just making sure nothing exploded.
At the center table, Marissa Gold sat poised and elegant, looking like a living magazine cover.
Across from her, Damon Cross lounged in his chair like he was attending a business negotiation he had already decided to crush.
His arms were crossed. His mouth was a thin, unimpressed line. His entire body screamed "I hate this."
Lila silently begged him to behave.
Please just smile once. Or maybe ask her a nice question? You're not negotiating a merger, Damon, you're on a DATE.
Marissa, bless her, tried her best.
"So, Damon," she said with a charming smile. "What do you do when you're not running empires?"
Damon arched a brow.
"Sleep."
Marissa laughed lightly, assuming he was joking.
He wasn't.
"And hobbies?" she pressed.
"I find them inefficient," he said smoothly, reaching for his wine.
"Time wasted on pointless activities is time my competitors use to get ahead."
Marissa's smile dimmed slightly.
From across the room, Lila facepalmed into her drink.
Abort mission. Abort mission!
Marissa rallied gamely.
"Well," she said, swirling her wine, "sometimes inefficiency is the point. Relaxing. Having fun."
Damon gave her a look usually reserved for underperforming executives.
"I don't find fun... useful."
Marissa blinked.
And Lila, watching helplessly, actually texted him under the table.
Lila [text]:
Smile. Compliment her. Ask about her interests. BASIC HUMAN STUFF.
Damon glanced at his phone, one corner of his mouth twitching.
When he looked up, he gave Marissa a very fake, very cold smile that made him look mildly homicidal.
"So," he said blandly.
"Do you enjoy wasting time?"
Marissa stared at him.
Across the restaurant, Lila groaned.
Bro. BRO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING.
---
Twenty painful minutes later, the date ended.
Marissa politely excused herself, promising to "stay in touch," her voice tight with barely concealed relief.
Lila practically sprinted across the restaurant after Damon as he walked out like he hadn't just napalmed a perfectly good romantic opportunity.
She caught up with him outside, panting.
"You did that on purpose!" she accused, poking his arm.
Damon looked down at her, all amused indifference.
"Did I?"
"You were impossible!"
"I was myself," he said smoothly.
"Isn't that what you wanted, Matchmaker?"
Lila sputtered.
"I wanted you to make an effort! To act like a human being for five minutes!"
He shrugged, looking absurdly handsome under the streetlights, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.
"Maybe I'm not built for this," he said, voice low and almost — almost — teasing.
"Maybe I'm just... unlovable."
Lila opened her mouth — then closed it.
Because for a split second, something flickered behind his mocking eyes.
Something raw. Something real.
But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual cool smirk.
"Better luck next time," he said lightly, turning to leave.
Lila watched him walk away, frustration boiling in her chest.
You're not unlovable, she thought fiercely.
You're just... impossible.
And dammit, she wasn't giving up.
Not yet.