She Sat At The Wrong Table On A Blind Date — But The Billionaire Refused To Let Her Leave
Gardens in the Sky
The car stopped at a building in lower Manhattan, one of those glass and steel towers that seemed to stretch forever into the sky. Marcus led her through a private entrance, past a security guard who simply nodded, and into an elevator that required a special key.
“The penthouse?”
Grace guessed.
“The roof.”
The elevator opened onto a garden that took Grace’s breath away. It wasn’t just a roof; it was an oasis floating above the city.
Trees and flowering plants created winding paths, water features provided gentle background music, and scattered throughout were benches and hidden alcoves. String lights created a canopy of stars to rival the real ones hidden by city lights.
“This is impossible,”
Grace breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.
“This is what I really do,”
Marcus said, watching her reaction with obvious pleasure.
“Every building I create has one of these secret gardens in the sky. Most of the tenants don’t even know they exist.”
“Why keep them secret?”
“Because the moment they become amenities, they become status symbols. But then they’re not gardens anymore; they’re just another thing to own, to show off. This way, they’re discoveries—gifts for people who bother to explore.”
Grace ran her fingers along a jasmine vine, releasing its sweet scent into the night air.
“Your mother would have loved this too.”
“She designed it, actually. Well, the concept.”
He explained she drew it out on a napkin one day when she was going through chemo. She said if she had to be stuck in the city for treatment, she wanted to take a piece of the countryside with her.
Marcus’s voice caught slightly.
“This was the first one I built. Every garden since has been a variation of her original design.”
“How many are there?”
“43 in New York. Another hundred or so scattered around the world.”
Grace turned to look at him, really look at him. In the soft light of the garden, with vulnerability written across his features, he looked nothing like the billionaire she’d read about in magazines.
He looked like a son who missed his mother, a man who built gardens in the sky because someone he loved had drawn them on a napkin.
“Why are you showing me this?”
she asked softly.
Marcus moved closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“Because something tells me you’re the kind of person who can appreciate a secret garden. Because you thank the hostess three times. Because you use your own money to buy supplies for kids who aren’t yours. Because you tried to leave when you found out who I was.”
“That’s a lot of becauses.”
“I could keep going.”
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
“Because you have paint under your fingernails from what I’m guessing was today’s art project. Because you’ve checked your phone exactly once all evening, and that was to turn it to silent. Because when you smile, it reaches your eyes.”
Grace’s heart was racing now, her skin tingling where he touched her.
“Marcus—”
“I know this is crazy,”
he said.
“I know we just met, that you came here for someone else, that I’m probably completely wrong for you in every possible way. But I haven’t felt this alive in years, Grace. Not since—”
He stopped, shaking his head.
“Not since what?”
“Not since before everything became about money and mergers and maintaining an empire I’m not even sure I want anymore.”
A Collision of Worlds
The confession hung between them, raw and honest. Grace could see the weight of it on his shoulders—the exhaustion of being Marcus Sterling, billionaire, rather than just Marcus.
“What do you want?”
she asked.
Instead of answering with words, he kissed her. The kiss was everything a first kiss should be: soft, tentative, a question rather than a statement.
When Marcus pulled back, Grace’s eyes remained closed for a heartbeat longer, savoring the moment before reality crashed back in.
“I should go,”
she whispered, even as her body swayed toward him.
“Should and want are very different things,”
Marcus murmured, his hands still framing her face.
Before Grace could respond, his phone rang, sharp and intrusive in the garden’s tranquility. Marcus ignored it, but it rang again immediately, then again.
“You should answer that,”
Grace said, stepping back with obvious reluctance.
Marcus pulled out his phone; his expression darkened as he looked at the screen.
“It’s my father. I have to take it.”
Grace said:
“I’ll be over by the fountain.”
She walked away to give him privacy, but his voice carried in the quiet night air.
“What do you mean he’s threatening to pull out?”
Marcus’s tone had shifted completely. This was the billionaire businessman, not the vulnerable man who just kissed her.
“No, absolutely not. We’re not giving him another cent. I don’t care what promises were made.”
Grace tried not to listen, focusing instead on the garden’s beauty, but she could hear the tension escalating in his voice. When she glanced back, Marcus was pacing, one hand running through his hair in frustration.
“Fine. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. But this is the last time, Dad. I mean it.”
He ended the call and stood there for a moment, shoulders rigid with tension. When he turned to Grace, his expression was apologetic but determined.
“I have to go. There’s a situation with—”
He paused, seeming to weigh his words.
“My father made some promises he couldn’t keep. Again. If I don’t fix this tonight, we could lose a major development deal.”
“The Tokyo meeting you canceled?”
“Different disaster. This one’s more immediate.”
He moved toward her, taking her hands.
“Come with me.”
“To a business emergency at 11 at night?”
“To see who I really am. The good and the bad.”
His gray eyes were intense.
“Most people only want to see the success, the polished version. But if this—whatever this is between us—has any chance of being real, you should see all of it.”
Grace knew she should say no; she had to be up in 6 hours. But something in his expression, a vulnerability mixed with determination, made her nod.
