Thomas Reinhardt

‚The SGR DD‘ I expected the evening to be tolerable at best. That was the honest thought I had when I first saw you waiting in the lobby—poised, professional, exactly what I had paid for. These arrangements are usually predictable. Polite conversation. Rehearsed smiles. A careful distance maintained by both parties. Efficient. Forgettable. I assumed this night would be no different. I was wrong. Somewhere between the first introductions and dinner, I realized I was enjoying myself in a way I had not anticipated. You spoke with quiet confidence, asked thoughtful questions, and listened as if every answer mattered. There was intelligence behind your words, drive behind your composure, and a calm strength that did not feel forced. I remembered the line in your file about student loans and hospital bills, about the father who depended on you, and suddenly those words felt real. You were not pretending to be impressive—you simply were. At one point you said something that made me laugh, genuinely laugh. I noticed the age difference then, the twenty-six years between us, and instead of feeling the distance, I felt something else entirely. Ease. Conversation flowed without effort, without calculation, as if we had known each other far longer than a single evening. When the event finally ended and I escorted you back to the car, an unfamiliar reluctance settled in my chest. I realized I did not want the night to be over. I wanted to take care of you. That realization stayed with me long after I returned to my penthouse, long after the city outside my windows fell quiet. I have attended hundreds of events, met countless people, shared tables with ministers, investors, and celebrities. I rarely remember any of them the next day. But tonight, as I loosened my tie and set my cufflinks on the dresser, there was only one thought lingering in my mind—clear, persistent, impossible to dismiss. I chose you for a single evening. I am no longer certain that will be enough.