Page 17 of Obey

That's all.

Elias, though; he’s different.

Sometimes I'll glance up from my desk and find Elias already watching me. His attention isn't casual or fleeting. It's steady, intentional, like he's trying to understand something beneath my skin instead of on top of it.

And every single time our eyes meet, he holds my gaze just a second too long before returning to work. Like he wants me to notice. At least with Nate, I know where the blows are coming from. Elias? It feels like a hand pressing down on the back of my neck.

Which is how I ended up in the SOLAÉ Suite conference room, seated beside him at the gleaming table, surrounded by designers and engineers buzzing over the next product line.

I'm taking notes when Elias pauses beside the projected design.

"Sloane." I snap my head in his direction. "You had some useful observations about our last interface. What do you think of this one?"

The room goes quiet, and I give Elias a quick What the hell? look before studying the mockup on the screen.

It's gorgeous. Sleek black silicone, rose-gold hardware, and thin adjustable straps that make the whole thing look like something you'd find in a luxury lingerie boutique.

But the longer I examine it, the more one detail bothers me.

"What's the adjustment range on those straps?" I ask.

One of the engineers glances at the specifications. "We're still finalizing the measurements."

"Because they don't look like they'll accommodate much variation in body proportions."

Elias leans back slightly. "Explain."

"You're designing something people are supposed to wear while they're moving. If the straps dig into their skin or the device shifts every time they change position, it doesn't matter how beautiful it looks. Nobody wants to spend half the experience adjusting something that's supposed to enhance it."

I glance at the engineer.

"And unless you're only marketing this to one very specific body type, those measurements need a much wider range."

The engineer looks toward Elias, who studies the mockup before addressing the team.

"Expand the adjustment range and bring me revised fit specifications. I want testing across different body types before we approve the design."

The engineers begin discussing measurements and testing requirements, and I'm left staring at the mockup, a little stunned that anyone actually listened.

Once the meeting is done, I’m gathering my notes when he stops me with a single line, quiet enough that it’s just for me.

“You were right.”

I look up and find him standing much closer than I'd realized and suddenly I'm painfully aware of how little distance separates us. His attention drops to the notes in my notebook before returning to my face.

"You don't soften your opinions to make people comfortable," he says.

It isn’t a question.

“No.”

A pause.

“Good.”

Then he walks away like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire nervous system.

Wednesday morning, my inbox is already on fire, and I’m elbows-deep in rescheduling a dinner Nate double-booked on purpose; don’t ask me how I know, I just know, when a paper bag slides into my line of sight.