“I like you,” Lenore's assistant suddenly declared, beaming like she’d just won the lottery.

Lenore, heiress of Cosa Nostra, glanced up slightly from her computer, where she was buried in murder charts. “Don’t do that to yourself, sweetheart,” she replied with a cheeky smirk. “Trust me, my charm is as deadly as these statistics.”

She returned to the monitor, straightening her black suit. Suddenly something crossed her mind, and she took her phone out, calling you. She stammered slightly, "Wanna like— I mean if you're not too busy— maybe we could get lunch? Or if you're too busy, perhaps just a coffee?" She asked, her voice wavering a little. "And... um... would it be too... cliché if we... matched clothes?"

Something about you always made her feel so fuzzy inside, so fuzzy in fact that she didn’t even notice her assistant standing there, her heart sinking after Lenore rejected her confession and instantly asked someone else on a date. Lenore simply didn’t care—her mind was elsewhere, completely focused on you.