Chapter 859: Date Charlotte Thompson. Virgin. On her first date. With me. No pressure. "This is too much, Peter," she finally said. But I heard what she really meant. Not too expensive or too fancy. She meant too much effort. Too much care. Too much of someone actually thinking about what would make her happy. "It’s exactly enough." I pulled out her chair for her. "Sit. Drink wine. Let me take care of you for one night." She sat. Looked up at me with those soft brown eyes—and I saw it. The wonder. The disbelief. The tiny part of her that couldn’t quite accept that someone had done this for her. "You don’t have to take care of me." "I know." I took my own seat across from her. "I want to." Her first date. The sommelier appeared moments later—a distinguished man with silver hair and the kind of accent that suggested he’d been born in a vineyard and raised by grapes. He launched into an explanation of their wine selection that was half poetry, half chemistry lecture. I let Charlotte choose. She knew wine better than I did—one of those skills that came with growing up in a world where fourteen-year-olds were expected to distinguish between a Bordeaux and a Burgundy. She chose a Château Margaux. 2010. The sommelier’s eyebrows rose in approval. "Excellent selection, mademoiselle. A wine of exceptional character." He disappeared to retrieve it. Charlotte watched him go, then turned back to me with a small smile. "You’re staring." "I’m admiring." I leaned back in my chair. "There’s a difference." "Is there?" "Staring is creepy. Admiring is appreciating art." "I’m not art." "You’re better." I grinned. "Art just hangs there. You actually do things." She laughed—a real laugh this time, full and warm, the kind that made heads turn at nearby tables. Charlotte Thompson laughing was a rare and precious thing, and I intended to make it happen as many times as possible tonight. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖 "You’re ridiculous," she said. "I prefer ’charmingly absurd.’" "Same thing." "Semantics." "You already used that one." "It’s a good word. I’m getting my money’s worth." The sommelier returned with the wine. Performed the ritual of opening—the careful cut of the foil, the precise extraction of the cork, the ceremonial pour for Charlotte’s approval. She swirled, sniffed, sipped, nodded. He filled our glasses and vanished again. I toggled on my Taboo Aura. Just a little. Let the Lust Presence seep out into the restaurant like invisible smoke. I’d missed this. The honest thoughts of strangers. The unfiltered desires of women who didn’t know me, didn’t have history with me, just responded to something primal and undeniable. The effect was immediate. The hostess at the front—mid-thirties, wedding ring, professional smile—glanced in my direction. Her thoughts hit me like a wave: {God, look at him. I’d let him bend me over this podium right now. Tell my husband I’m working late. Wouldn’t even feel guilty.} A woman at the bar—blonde, expensive dress, here with what looked like a business associate—turned on her stool. Her mind was louder: {I would literally pay him. Whatever he wanted. Empty my accounts. Just for one night. One hour. One fucking minute with those hands on me.} The waitress who’d brought our menus earlier passed by again, completely unnecessarily. Her thoughts were almost pornographic: {He could have me in the bathroom. Against the wall. On the floor. I don’t care if I get fired. I don’t care if anyone hears. Please, God, please let him look at me again.} I smiled to myself. Humans were so beautifully honest when they didn’t know anyone was listening. Charlotte took a long drink of her wine. Then another. "Easy," I said. "That’s a $2,000 bottle. At least pretend to savor it." "I am savoring it." She took another drink. "I’m just savoring it quickly." "That’s called ’chugging,’ Charlotte." "It’s called ’self-medication.’" But she set the glass down, smiled at me. "Sorry. It’s been a day." "It’s been a day," I agreed. "Which is why we’re here. No work talk. No Aurelia talk. No anything talk except whatever makes you smile." "That’s a tall order." "I’m a tall person." She laughed. Covered her mouth with her hand like she was embarrassed by the sound. "Okay," she said. "Make me smile." I leaned back in my chair, considering her. "You know what I realized about you today?" "What?" "You color-code your sticky notes by urgency level. Pink is ’end of the world,’ yellow is ’mildly catastrophic,’ and blue is ’can probably wait until after lunch.’" Charlotte blinked. "How do you know that?" "I spent an hour in your office. There’s a system. I cracked it." I tilted my head. "What I couldn’t figure out is why you have a green one on your monitor that just says ’NO’ in capital letters." She burst out laughing. "That’s my reminder not to agree to every meeting request. My assistant made me put it there." "Does it work?" "Absolutely not. I agreed to three meetings while looking directly at it this morning." "Charlotte Thompson. CEO. Worth $1.8 trillion. Defeated by her own inability to say no to a calendar invite." "It’s a sickness," she agreed, grinning now. "I see an empty slot and I think, ’well, someone might need that time.’ And then suddenly I’m in a four-hour strategy session about bathroom tile for the new building." "Bathroom tile." "A. Fucking. Bathroom tile. Peter, I have opinions about bathroom tile now. Strong opinions. Do you know what that does to a person?" "Destroys them from the inside?" "Completely. I’m hollow now. Just a shell filled with thoughts about grout patterns and water-resistant finishes." I laughed. Another wave of thoughts hit me from across the restaurant. A woman dining with her elderly mother: {I would leave right now. Walk over there and give him my number. My address. My spare key. Mom would understand. Mom would probably ask if she could watch.} I dialed the aura back slightly. "You know what your problem is?" I said. "I have so many. Which one?" "You’re too nice. You think saying no to a meeting is the same as saying no to a person. Like you’re rejecting their entire existence by protecting your calendar." Charlotte paused mid-sip. Set her glass down slowly. "That’s... uncomfortably accurate." "I pay attention." "Clearly." She studied me. "What else have you noticed?" I could see the anticipation in her eyes, she wanted me to notice something she’s been trying to show me since the office.