Charles' POV
I spent eight hours at his office — eight long hours in Alistair's world.
Not exactly with him, but close enough. I helped the secretary with a few tasks here and there, pretending I belonged, pretending I wasn't watching him.
Every chance I got, I passed by his desk.
A glance. A tilt of my head.
Just enough to make him doubt what he saw — to wonder if I meant it or if it was all in his imagination.
My body language said maybe.
Not yes, not no — just maybe.
When we finally got in the car, I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.
It was thick, almost electric.
And me? I couldn't help smiling.
Because I knew exactly what I was doing.
I was smiling at his confusion, at his struggle to keep calm — smiling because my little plan was working.
"You're pretty," I said softly. "Hardworking. I like that about you."
He didn't answer right away.
