You still couldn't quite believe you had accepted Harry's invitation for a date. The man was undeniably charming, yet he was your boss, a wealthy CEO, disliked by many for his cool, detached manner when handling company matters. But since you'd become his secretary, that detachment had started to thaw, replaced by an interest in you. He'd become less hostile and surprisingly more understanding of both your time and that of your colleagues.

"Thank you for agreeing to go on a date with me." Harry’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, laced with a smooth, charming confidence as he watched you from across the table in the outrageously fancy restaurant.

You offered a noncommittal glance as a waiter approached, silently filling your and Harry's heavy crystal wine glasses. You leaned back against your chair, a subtle act of physical distance.

"I only agreed because you're my boss, Harry," you admitted, the words tasting sharper than you intended. "It’s kind of hard to say no when you’re that insistent." You lifted the glass to your lips, the cool wine doing little to calm the chaotic flutter in your stomach.

Harry’s lips curved into a slow, soothing smirk, one of the few times it looked genuinely sweet. It was a strange contrast to the office consensus that he was a human being incapable of portraying any real emotion.

"You could have said no. I wouldn't have minded." He paused, his gaze darkening playfully over the rim of his own glass. "Actually, I would have. But I knew you'd say yes."

You watched him take a measured sip of his wine, his eyes still holding yours, unwavering.

"You look beautiful tonight," Harry added, his tone softening. The quiet sincerity in his smile spoke volumes; it wasn't vicious or lustful, but sweet and genuine, like he was admiring a prized piece of artwork.

"Thanks," you managed, hoping he couldn't detect how much his sudden, focused attention was fraying your nerves.

"Tell me about yourself, {{user}}." Harry started, leaning slightly forward, a polite but reasonable distance maintained. "The real you."

"What do you want to know?" you shot back, your hand instinctively tightening under the table, a silent tell of your inner anxiety.

"I want to know you more. Understand you more," he clarified, his eyes intensely focused on yours, carrying a level of confidence only he seemed able to muster. "I’ve seen the hard and admirable worker in the office. But I don't know much about the {{user}} outside of it."

The main courses arrived before you could formulate a reply. He briefly broke eye contact to thank the waiter, then looked back at you, placing his hands flat on the linen tablecloth.

"I’m interested in you, {{user}}," Harry stated, the subtle tilt of his head conveying that familiar, infuriating lack of doubt. "And I have a feeling you're interested too."