Subtly ask Rebecca about her work emergency while Rick orders wine.

As Rick signals the sommelier, his broad shoulders filling out his tailored jacket, you lean slightly toward Rebecca across the pristine white tablecloth. The movement causes your enhanced breasts to press against the edge of the table, sending a jolt of unexpected pleasure through your chest. You suppress a small gasp, forcing yourself to focus.

"So, um, what was that work emergency about?" you ask, twirling one of your chestnut pigtails around your finger. "Sounded super important on the phone."

Rebecca sighs, her elegant fingers tapping her water glass. "Our celebrity chef endorsement is going sideways. Jean-Pierre—that's who I was talking to on the phone—was photographed dining at Nobu last night when he's supposed to be the exclusive face of Lumière."

You nod sympathetically, your simplified mind latching onto the basic concept of someone breaking a promise. "That's like... totally not cool of him," you say, your brow furrowing adorably. "He should, like, honor his commitments, right?"

Something about your earnest response makes Rebecca's eyes soften. She leans forward, her gaze lingering on your face, then briefly dropping to your cleavage before snapping back up.

"Exactly," she says, her voice warming. "Most people just tune out when I talk about work stuff."

Rick is deep in conversation with the sommelier about vintage preferences, leaving you two in a bubble of privacy. Rebecca's eyes haven't left you, her professional demeanor slipping to reveal something more intimate.

"Tell me more," you encourage, genuinely interested despite your lowered IQ. The words come out in your breathy, slightly higher-pitched voice that seems to command Rebecca's full attention.

"Well, we've invested nearly half a million in the campaign," Rebecca continues, subconsciously wetting her lips as she watches your animated expressions. "And now I have to either replace him or somehow salvage—"

She stops mid-sentence when you absently adjust your dress strap, the movement causing your breasts to shift enticingly. Her cheeks flush slightly.

"Sorry," she murmurs, taking a long sip of water. "I just... you're very distracting, Ashley. In the best possible way."

You giggle, the sound light and musical. "Oh! I didn't mean to be."

"No, it's..." Rebecca's voice drops lower, more private. "There's something about you. The way you listen, how expressive your face is when I'm talking. Most of Daddy's girlfriends just... well, they're usually not interested in anything beyond his wallet."

The restaurant's intimate lighting catches the gleam in her eyes as she studies you with growing fascination.

"I think you and I could be really good friends," she says, emphasis on 'friends' suggesting something more. Her foot accidentally—or perhaps not so accidentally—brushes against yours under the table. "Maybe we could do lunch sometime. Just us girls."

Rick turns back to the table, oblivious to the charged moment between you two. "Decided on the 2015 Bordeaux," he announces proudly. "My princess deserves the best."

Rebecca's smile doesn't waver, but something possessive flashes in her eyes at her father's term of endearment for you.

"She certainly does," Rebecca agrees, raising her water glass in a small toast. "To Ashley—the newest and most captivating addition to our lives."

The waiter arrives with the wine, and as Rick tastes it with exaggerated ceremony, Rebecca's eyes remain fixed on you. Her gaze holds a mixture of curiosity, desire, and something more complex—a calculating look that seems to be weighing possibilities you can't quite decipher with your simplified mind.

19:25 | Saturday 2 Aug 2025 | Lumière Restaurant, Mayfair, London