BETROTHED TO THE BILLIONAIRE

Ryan’s POV

Five minutes have gone by already.

Tardiness is one of the things I detest so much. It irks the shit out of me.

If I am here for another five minutes and she isn’t here, I am leaving. The time I am spending here is going to be enough to do a lot of work in the office.

Taking a final glance at the door to the restaurant where I have been waiting for almost ten minutes, I sigh heavily, thinking about the huge amount of changes that would happen to me in the next couple of months.

I initially took it the wrong way.

Getting to know about the betrothal and the fact that I have to be married soon to inherit my grandfather’s construction company.

That old man knew I was never going to get married and he did this on purpose. My father didn’t inform me all this while and this is why I am infuriated.

No one forced me to come here. I just thought it would be a nice idea to come to see who I am going to get married to in the next couple of months.

Even though I don’t like the idea of being betrothed when I am man enough to find a woman of my choice, I need her.

She is my grandfather’s choice. Mother likes her obviously from the way she was gushing about how good of a girl she is.

Getting married to her shouldn’t be a big of a deal then. We would be married. We don’t need to be in love with each other. My parents didn’t think of this before betrothing us to each other so getting married out of love shouldn’t be a problem.

The more I find myself seated alone in this empty place, the more upset I become and the more I am becoming less interested in pulling through with this shit.

If this is just a trick to get me married, then so be it. Can’t I find someone by myself? I do not want a spoiled brat who won’t be time conscious anytime we need to get out or attend an event.

Obviously, this girl I am betrothed to is spoiled and not time conscious.

I hate that attitude already.

What exactly is the essence of this betrothal when I can be told when to be married for me to inherit the company?

I just need to find one girl out of the numerous girls on my table to be married to.

Honestly, this is bullshit!Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

With a stab of anger, I rise abruptly and pick up my phone, turning to leave when the transparent door is thrown open by the guard at the door and a lady steps in.

Ridiculous is not the word for how she looked.

This is definitely not who I am expecting. My mother described her as a sophisticated beautiful lady which is why I jumped to the conclusion that she is a spoiled brat.

Is this a f***ing tracksuit? I crease my brow in confusion as I continue to stare as she approaches me.

Who wears a matching tracksuit to a date with a man you will soon be married to?

Everything about her is absurd.

She isn’t beautiful, probably because she has the wrong accessories on and bad make-up.

Am I getting married to a clown? What the hell is this?

If I wasn’t ill-tempered, this is enough to make me ill-tempered.

“Hey”, she waves shyly at me when she is close by, jerking me out of my reverie and increasing my anger.

Probably because of my anger, I can’t seem to form a word. The look on my face showed it all.

She ignores it and it dawns on me that this is planned. The expression on my face isn’t something someone like her should overlook. She ought to come here to impress me, not otherwise and that isn’t what she is doing.

Apparently, I am not the only one upset about this betrothal. She is too and the only way she can spite her parents and me is to become a clown by dressing this way on our first date.

When I finally find my voice after blinking severally and looking up at her to be sure she is the one I came here for, I growl loudly. “What the hell is this?”

The shy smile on her face vanishes and turns into a scowl. She doesn’t look timid anymore but confident in what she is doing and what she is wearing.

“What are you talking about?” She asks back innocently but her looks say otherwise.

She isn’t innocent. She knows what I am talking about.

Instead of barking at her, and letting out my pent-up anger, I plopped to the seat, making an effort to control my nerves and keep my cool.

I need her.

Mother likes her. Father would never go against Grandfather’s wish even though the old man is long dead and gone. They all want me to get married. There is absolutely nothing I can say to them to change this.

This betrothal is really important to them.

To Grandfather. If it wasn’t, Father would never bring it up now. He would have suggested I find a girl myself.

What good will come out of getting mad at this silly girl and running to my father?

Nothing.

This just won’t do, I shake my head again. I can’t control my anger. I feel like shouting at the top of my voice. First, for coming late and not making it worthwhile but coming in a dumb dress like this.

Does she have no shame?

Before I can find an answer to the question, she drops to the seat opposite me with another smile on her face.

It is faked.

“Hi, I am Valerie Adams”, she stretches her right hand for a handshake after dropping her tiny purse on the table separating us.

My gaze does not waver from her face. She looks funny and I’m sure I would have laughed out loud if this was done by my sister or not the girl I just found out I would be getting married to.

She is doing this on purpose and this knowledge is upsetting.

Without taking her hand, I lean backward with folded arms and she drops her hand with a disappointed look on her face.

It is faked too.