As if by magic, our plates were whisked away as soon as I finished, and two more appeared. "A spoon of minced scallop with Greek yogurt dressing," the server explained before vanishing again.
It was a different taste revelation, complementary to the salmon toast but tart and complex.
"I didn't know that food could do this," I marveled. I considered whether it would be rude or-far worse-suggestive to put the whole bowl of the spoon in my mouth and suck off the last savory molecules of scallop.
"Think of all the other things in life you haven't had a chance to experience," Mr. Thorne said softly. "That you won't, unless you are cured."
Suddenly, I was no longer as hungry, and I set the spoon down. "And you believe that you can save me? You aren't even a doctor. Why should I trust you?"
He was doing that thing to me again, whatever it was, messing with my head. It was hard for me to confront him, to say the words that might mean the difference between life and death. I'd been my own health advocate since my first diagnosis. I'd read piles of studies, checked out mounds of medical books from the university library, even found Dr. Robeson because of her interest in T-cell leukemia. No man, however attractive, could push all that out of my brain.
But he could.
"I doubt the CEO of Merck has a medical license, either," he said. "Rest assured, I have a team of doctors at my disposal. Medical researchers, to be precise. And they have been working for years at making the outcome of our methods more reliable."
"So you do own a pharmaceutical company, then?" I asked as another course appeared before us. My Google searches for Thorne and pharmaceuticals had turned up nothing relevant.
"I own many companies. The medical research is but one endeavor, and it is not run for profit. In fact, none of the patients are charged for our services."
He took another sip of wine, and I found myself unconsciously starting to mirror him. With an effort, I put my hand in my lap instead. I needed to keep a clear head.
"So you do it out of the goodness of your heart, rescuing the terminal from their afflictions," I said, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
"There is a benefit to me, as well," he said. "But you must fully understand the scope of the risk before you make a decision."
"Is that what this"-I waved my hand- "appointment or meeting or whatever is for?"
"Precisely."
"If you're supposed to be informing me of this procedure of yours, you're doing a bad job of it," I said. "All I seem to be doing is asking questions, and you're only half-answering them. If giving an explanation was what you wanted, we could have met in your office, like we did before."