She Sat At The Wrong Table On A Blind Date — But The Billionaire Refused To Let Her Leave
A Date for Tomorrow
Grace’s heart was racing. Everything about this was insane—the speed, the intensity, the sheer impossibility of their worlds meshing.
But standing there in that empty office with the city sprawling beneath them and Marcus Sterling looking at her like she was his salvation, she felt something she hadn’t felt since her grandparents died. She felt like she belonged somewhere, with someone.
“I have to be at school at 7:30,”
she said. Marcus blinked at the apparent non-sequitur.
“Okay?”
“So if you’re going to drive me home, we should probably leave now. It’s already past midnight.”
Hope dawned in his eyes.
“You’ll let me drive you home?”
“On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“No more surprises tonight. No more exes, no more family drama, no more midnight emergencies. Just drive me home like a normal date would end.”
Marcus laughed, and it transformed his face completely.
“Grace Mitchell, nothing about tonight has been normal.”
“No,”
she agreed.
“But maybe that’s okay. Maybe normal is overrated too.”
As they walked to the elevator, Marcus’s hand found hers, natural as breathing.
“Can I ask you something?”
“After everything tonight, you think there’s something off-limits?”
“Would you really have been happy with Brian from table 12?”
Grace thought about it seriously.
“Probably not. Jennifer means well, but she doesn’t really see me. She sees a single teacher approaching 30 who should want a stable, boring accountant because that’s what makes sense on paper.”
“And what do you want?”
The elevator doors opened to the parking garage, where Marcus’s personal car—a surprisingly modest Tesla—was waiting.
“I want Sunday mornings that aren’t rushed. I want someone who understands why I spend my own money on school supplies. I want laughter that comes from somewhere real, not just politeness.”
She paused as he opened her door for her.
“I want someone who builds secret gardens just because his mother drew them on a napkin.”
Marcus went very still. Then he was kissing her again, deeper this time, with a desperation that spoke of loneliness finally ending. When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
“I know we just met,”
he said against her lips.
“I know this is crazy.”
“Completely crazy,”
she agreed.
“But I want to see you again tomorrow. Every day. I want to send your kids on those trips you dreamed about. I want to fix your classroom ceiling. I want to show you every garden I’ve ever built. I want—”
Grace silenced him with another kiss.
“One day at a time, Marcus. Let’s start with driving me home.”
The Best Mistake
The drive to Brooklyn was quiet but comfortable. Marcus held her hand over the center console, his thumb tracing patterns on her palm.
When they reached her building, a converted brownstone that had seen better days, he didn’t look appalled or surprised. He simply found a parking spot and turned to her.
“Thank you,”
he said simply.
“For staying. For seeing past all of it. For being at the wrong table.”
“Best mistake I ever made,”
Grace admitted.
She expected him to kiss her goodbye, but instead he got out and walked her to her door. Under the flickering entrance light, he looked younger, almost vulnerable.
“Can I pick you up tomorrow after school?”
“I usually stay late helping kids with homework.”
“Then I’ll help too. I was pretty good at math once upon a time.”
The image of billionaire Marcus Sterling helping third graders with multiplication tables was so absurd and wonderful that Grace laughed out loud.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely. I want to see your world, Grace. The real one, not just hear about it over expensive wine.”
She thought about what Victoria had said about Marcus’s salvation complex, about getting bored once the challenge was gone. But looking at him now—eager and sincere and slightly nervous—she decided to take the leap.
“3:30,”
she said.
“PS 158 on Prospect Avenue. Bring snacks; the kids are always hungry.”
His smile was radiant.
“It’s a date.”
As Grace climbed the stairs to her apartment, she could hear his car still idling outside, as if he was reluctant to leave. She went to her window and looked down to see him standing by the Tesla, looking up at her building.
When he saw her at the window, he waved—a simple, boyish gesture that made her heart skip.
Tomorrow would bring complications. Jennifer would demand explanations, the tabloids would eventually notice, his father would create more problems, and Victoria would scheme.
The worlds of billionaire real estate and public education would collide in ways that would probably be messy and difficult.
But tonight, Grace Mitchell had sat at the wrong table and found something unexpected and real. She’d seen past the money to the man who built secret gardens for his dead mother, who fought to save his father despite everything, and who looked at her like she was magic in a world that had become mundane.
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
“This is Marcus. I just wanted to say I’m glad you sat at table 7 instead of 12. Table 12’s view was terrible anyway. Sweet dreams, Grace.”
She smiled, typing back:
“Thank you for not letting me leave.”
His response was immediate:
“Thank you for staying.”
Grace went to bed still wearing her best dress, still smelling faintly of his cologne, still feeling the phantom pressure of his lips on hers.
Tomorrow she’d teach 28 eight-year-olds about photosynthesis and multiplication. Tomorrow Marcus Sterling would enter her world of construction paper and carpet time, lunch money and reading circles.
But tonight she’d found something extraordinary at the wrong table—a love that didn’t make sense on paper but felt absolutely right in real life.
And sometimes, Grace thought as she drifted off to sleep, the best things in life came from the most beautiful mistakes.
