Page 144 of Obey

Dinner. 7:30.

Are you telling me or asking me, Mr. Blackwell?

Telling.

That’s funny. I don’t remember accepting your invitation.

Good thing it wasn’t an invitation.

Sounds awfully bossy.

And I know you don’t mind it.

I roll my eyes at the audacity of this man.

Would it kill him to use a question mark, just once? A single “please?” or “if you’re free?” slipped in between the bullet points of his CEO expectations?

It’d be a lot less ridiculous if I didn’t like it, but sadly I do. I stare at the text, let it needle its way further under my skin, and ignore the urge to smile.

A knock comes ten minutes later.

I don’t know why I’m shocked when I see a delivery person standing there with a garment box that has my name written across the lid in silver script.

Inside, nestled beneath black tissue paper, is a deep burgundy dress that looks deceptively simple until I lift it free. Long sleeves. A high choker neckline. A wide cutout across the upper chest that leaves just enough skin exposed to make the whole thing dangerous.

The skirt is short. Very short. And fitted enough that I already know Nate chose it with absolutely no concern for my peace.

Beneath it sits a pair of strappy gold heels and a small jewelry box. I stare at them for a full five seconds before grabbing my phone.

Nate. Explain.

A dress.

This is not a dress. This is a threat.

Then consider my life in danger because I expect to see you in it tonight.

You sent six-inch heels.

Wear them.

Bossy.

Good girl. 7:30.

Nathaniel is already out of the car by the time I walk out of Trey’s apartment. His silver gaze crawls up from my heels, slowly tracing the line of the dress.

“You look beautiful,” he says, holding out his hand to help me down the steps. The simple sincerity in his voice leaves every sarcastic response I'd prepared on the way down sitting uselessly in my mouth.

"You were supposed to tell me the dress looked efficient," I mumble, trying to force my thoughts to connect.

His mouth quirks in a half-smile. "Somehow, I don’t think the word fits in this scenario.”

My knees give out at his words, and Nate’s hand finds my waist, steadying me with a touch so light it shouldn’t feel like being branded.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice deepening to that register that makes my body clench as he offers me his hand. "Shall we?"

The driver opens the door, and I take Nate’s hand as I slide inside.