Page 54 of Endless Obsession

“You should try their chicken salad.” She relaxes back in her seat, her green eyes sparkling. She’s incredibly beautiful, even like this, dressed in a button-down shirt and dark jeans with her hair up in a ponytail. My thoughts immediately shift to images of that ponytail wrapped around my hand, of her bent over a table like this one while I?—

I blink them away, clearing my throat. I need to get laid. Because the truth is, I like Charlotte for more than just how much she turns me on. It’s just that right now, it’s hard to think past the need to satisfy that with her.

“I’ll order that today, then.” I grin. “I’ll try something new.”

I emphasize the last part a little, reminding her of our conversation at dinner the other night. And I think she picks up on it, from the way her mouth twitches.

“Okay, then,” she says. “I’ll order the steak sandwich.”

“About that apple-picking date,” I start to say a few minutes later, once our orders are in, and I see her face instantly fall.

“You changed your mind, didn’t you?” She tries to cover her disappointment with a tiny laugh. “I had a feeling you’d think about it and decide that wasn’t your thing.”

I feel a jolt of anger at that. Not towards her—but because clearly, she’s had that done to her before. Promises broken, because some guy decided that his fun was more important than hers, always. Disappointment over her desires never being prioritized. It’s clear she’s been let down more than once.

That stops now.

“Not at all,” I assure her, and I see her eyes brighten instantly. “I just wanted to tell you that I do have plans Friday night. Something I can’t really get out of. So I was going to ask if you were free on Saturday for our date. Apple-picking, pie-baking, a movie at a sticky theater, the works.”

Charlotte laughs, picking up a napkin and throwing it at me. “Just because it’s a normal movie theater doesn’t mean you have to make it sound so gross. Have you ever even been to a movie theater before?”

“Of course I have.” I grin at her. “I’m rich, but I’m not some kind of shut-in. Or a celebrity that can’t be seen out in public.”

It’s actually been a long time since I’ve been to the movies. What I can’t tell Charlotte is that I haven’t been since I was a kid, when I’d use my allowance to sneak out and go hide at the theater for an entire day, watching movie after movie so I could avoid my stepmother’s cold disapproval and my brothers’ abuse. I can’t tell her that the smell of old upholstery and buttered popcorn feels a little like a haven to me.

But what startles me is that I’d like to. For the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to open up to her completely. To show her all the dark corners of myself that I’ve kept hidden all these years. I want to do more than unravel her entirely, so that I know her better than anyone else ever has—I want her to unravel me, too. And that terrifies me, enough that I almost stand up and call it all off.

Obsessing over Charlotte is dangerous enough. Falling for her like that would be catastrophic to us both.

The server brings our sandwiches, and Charlotte smiles, reaching for half of hers. My stomach growls a little—steak, aioli, blue cheese, and avocado with a generous helping of au jus is exactly what I wanted today. But the spontaneous fun of switching our orders is better than that.

It’s helping to break Charlotte out of her shell.

“Oh god, that’s really good,” she admits as she takes a bite. “You’re right. It is the best steak sandwich I’ve ever had.”

“Told you.” I grin, taking a bite of my own sandwich. To my surprise, it’s equally good, rich and creamy, a perfect mix of savory and sweet. “That’s really good, too.”

Charlotte nods, reaching for her napkin. There’s a drop of juice on her lip, and I swallow hard, forcing back the urge to lean across the table and thumb it away. “As for the Saturday date,” she adds, “that’s perfect. I have Friday night plans that I can’t get out of, too, so that works out great, honestly.”

Instantly, jealousy floods me. I haven’t seen anything from her phone to suggest that she’s on dating apps or that she’s been texting any other men—other than her asshole ex, who speaks to her in ways that make me seriously consider murder—but that’s not the only way to meet someone. She could have met someone in person, maybe at work, and made plans that way. My thoughts instantly spiral, heading down a path of a dozen different ways that I can figure out how to stop this in its tracks. No one is taking her out on a date except for me.

“Oh?” I try to say it as casually as possible. She was clear that she didn’t want exclusivity yet, and on the surface, at least, I agreed to it. So I can’t let her see that I’m jealous. If I do, she’ll break things off immediately, and I’ll lose her. “A hot date?” I smirk at her, forcing my tone into something resembling playfulness.

“If you count my friend Sarah as a hot date—which most men would, I think, then yes,” she says with a laugh. “She’s on the board of this charity—” Charlotte bites into her sandwich, letting me squirm for a moment before she finishes her sentence. I’m half-wondering if she has a date with this friend Sarah, and trying to decide how that makes me feel, before she puts me out of my misery.

“They’re throwing this gala, Friday night. She just went through a breakup a few months ago, and she asked me if I’d be her date for it. It’s not exactly my idea of a wonderful Friday night out, but I told her yes, because I could tell it meant a lot to her.” Charlotte shrugs, taking another bite of her sandwich. “And it could be fun, right? In between all the stuffy speeches from politicians or whatever, I’ll get to eat an expensive dinner, and Sarah and I will dance and play it up just to get all the millionaires hot and bothered, and then I’ll go home and crash.”

She grins, clearly enjoying the idea of the plans she and her friend have made, but inwardly, I’m panicking. I’m well aware of what gala she’s going to—because it’s the same one I’m supposed to accompany Sabrina Petrov to.

The same one where my father’s men are planning to abduct Sabrina, to sell her off later to the highest bidder.

There are any number of reasons why I don’t want Charlotte at that gala—I don’t want her within a hundred miles of men who are part of my father’s human trafficking ring. I also don’t want her anywhere near anything to do with my family. I don’t want them to know about her, and I don’t want her to get even the slightest whiff of my association with the Bratva.

All of those things should be the primary concerns that I’m thinking about right now, but instead, the one that comes to the forefront of my mind is that if Charlotte is at the gala, she’ll see me with another woman.

After what she’s just been through, the last thing I want is for her to think that I’m seeing someone else. Even if she’s insisted she doesn’t want to be exclusive, and there’s nothing technically wrong with that, the idea that she might believe that my interest is anything but entirely wrapped up in her makes me feel like I’m going slightly crazy. Because the truth is, I can’t think of anyone but her.

I start to open my mouth to tell her something about it, just so she’s forewarned that I’ll both be there and that I’ll have a ‘date,’ but Charlotte suddenly holds up a finger, giving me an apologetic look as she answers her phone.

---