The evening couldn't have been going better: Paul was inching closer to getting some of his toughest targets ... and getting Kat at the same time.  Oh, sure, he didn't know the beauty well enough to know whether she was the [i]fuck on the first date type;[/i] and hell, he didn't even know her enough to know if she was the [i]fuck before marriage type.[/i]  During his investigation of [i]female types[/i] within the Syndicate that might get him closer to his intendeds, Paul had, of course, investigated her deeply: he'd poured over her own social media, and had searched for any mention of her in the public media; and [i]Tweedle Do[/i] had hacked into her personal and office voice mails while [i]Tweedle Did[/i] got access to some but not all of her financial data, including the [i]known[/i] bank accounts that Kat [i]herself[/i] had opened in her name and the [i]unknown[/i] accounts that her [i]Grandda[/i] had opened in her name, to assure her future should anything untoward happen to him (which, of course, Paul intended to come to fruition).

And while there had been a great deal of information through which to sift and use to and use to build a profile of Kat, there had been a surprisingly lack of information about her dating habits.  Paul was on Facebook and LinkedIn and Twitter and about a dozen other social media platforms -- under his new, fake ID, that is -- so he knew how people liked to spill out their entire lives, with every movement and thought and feeling.  So he'd been surprised when he hadn't found a free flowing, exploding-upon-the-world explanation by Kat of her romantic life ... or, at what she seemed to have just hinted, [i]lack thereof.[/i]

That was all moot now, however.  The evening was going well, and -- despite currently sporting an [i]excited member[/i] down below at the thought of spending this night with the young beauty -- Paul was in no hurry.  He had weeks, possibly months to conclude his business in Boston.  And besides, he didn't want to get tangled up in a romantic situation with Kat anyway.  Already after just 24 hours, he'd already chastised himself a dozen or more times for his thoughts about Kat.  She wasn't a future romantic party, a future lover, a future [i]significant other[/i], or ... or anything more serious than that.  She was a single woman who yearned for male company, and Paul was a hitman who needed information and had an opportunity via Kat to get it.  Oh, and he got laid in the process, so much the better.

He could keep this professional.

Couldn't he?

He had to, of course: eventually, he was going to [i]put down[/i] her grandfather, and that wasn't something Paul imagined was an easy thing to do for a man in love.  So ... professional.

At the feel of Kat's fingers upon the back of his hand, Paul's smile widened a bit.  He reached his own fingers up and over her hand, gently squeezing it for a moment.  Their waiter suddenly appeared, and -- what with this being a first date [i]and[/i] being the era of hash tags and instant reporting of anything interesting to the entire world -- Paul casually pulled his hand back as if protecting Kat's honor or something.  The man took the dessert plates, asked if there would be anything more, and -- after he'd looked to his date and gotten a thought -- Paul said, "No, I think we're done."

He'd given the hostess his credit card information upon arrival and authorized an impressive tip to ensure someone was keeping an extra eye upon them to quickly fulfill their dining needs, so once the waiter had offered his hope that the pair had enjoyed their dinner and departed, Paul again reached out to take Kat's hand before asking, "Would you walk with me...?  The Channel boardwalk is beautiful in this neighborhood."