Page 146 of Obey

I lean closer to Nate. “How long ago did you make this reservation?”

“They have that Grand Marnier soufflé you've been dying to try.”

I narrow my eyes as his hand settles at the small of my back. “That sounds suspiciously like avoidance.”

“That's because it is.”

Before I can interrogate him further, the hostess stops beside a curved booth tucked into a quieter corner of the dining room. It isn’t hidden, exactly, but whoever designed the place clearly understood rich people’s need to be seen without having to interact with anyone they didn’t personally approve.

Nate waits until I’m seated before sliding in beside me rather than taking the opposite side. I glance at the empty place setting across from us.

“You know there’s an entire other side of the table.”

“I’m aware. I prefer this one.”

The waiter appears before I can answer and launches into a description of the wine list that sounds like it requires a minor in viticulture to understand. Nate listens, asks two questions I don’t even pretend to follow, then orders something French whose name I immediately forget.

Once we’re alone again, I turn toward him. “You know I would’ve been perfectly happy with tacos. This is excessive.”

“You’re allowed to enjoy being spoiled, Sola.”

“Oh. I am enjoying it.” I settle deeper into the booth, batting my eyelashes at him. “If you want to financially devastate yourself buying me dinner, dresses, shoes, whatever else your controlling little heart desires, I support your journey.”

“My controlling little heart?”

“Tiny. Cold. Possibly mechanical.”

He turns my hand over and presses a kiss to the center of my palm. “And yet you seem quite attached to it.”

The teasing dies before it reaches my tongue. There are times when Nate says things like that with his usual dry arrogance, knowing exactly what they’ll do to me.

This isn’t one of them.

His thumb moves once across my palm before he releases me, and I find myself looking at him differently. Not Nathaniel Blackwell, CEO. Not the man who can reduce a boardroom to silence with one stare.

Just Nate.

Tired Nate, who has been carrying whatever is happening at SOLAÉ alone because somewhere in that overengineered brain of his, protection and isolation got filed under the same category.

“You know you don’t have to do that with me, right?”

His gaze sharpens. “Do what?”

“Make everything perfect before I’m allowed to see it.”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

I continue before he can deflect. “You keep saying you’re supposed to have everything under control, but I don’t need you polished twenty-four seven. I just need you here.”

His eyes stay on mine for several seconds. “I’m working on it.”

For Nate, that might as well be a blood oath.

“Good.”

The waiter returns with wine and saves him from whatever else I might’ve said. Nate tastes it because apparently that is a real thing people still do, gives a small nod, and the poor man visibly relaxes before filling both glasses.

“Oh.” I say, after taking a sip.