Page 150 of Obey

Sloane furrows her brow, waiting.

“Of all the men in San Francisco, you find a sex toy billionaire.” Preston’s mouth curls, the words slick with condescension. “You finally found someone willing to fund your... problem.”

Sloane goes still beside me, and I can already see my girl coiling, waiting to strike. Preston’s companion also picks up on this and tries to withdraw her hand, but his fingers clamp tighter, holding her in place.

His gaze cuts back to her. “Congratulations.”

Sloane’s eyes narrow, ready to launch her attack, but my fingertips brush her hip once. Wait. I want to see just how far he digs this grave.

“Problem?” I ask, feigning confusion.

He offers a sympathetic tilt of the head, performance-perfect. “Her appetites. Sloane always needed… more. More attention. More reassurance. More… everything.”

I turn to Sloane, my tone cool and measured. “Is that true, darling? Are you too much?”

Her eyes meet mine, and understanding sharpens her expression. “For most men, maybe. But never for you, Sir.”

Preston scoffs; resentment flashes hot in his eyes. “Right, so now I was the problem.”

“Actually, Preston. You were.”

Sloane’s voice comes out clean and quiet, the way a blade sounds before it cuts.

“Let me be real clear for you, since clarity was never our strong suit.” She takes half a step forward. “You spent ten years convincing me I was too much because admitting you couldn't keep up would've bruised that precious ego of yours.”

Preston's mouth tightens. “That's not what happened.”

“No? Because I remember spending years wondering what was wrong with me. Trying to figure out how to be everything you wanted without asking for anything in return.” Her smile turns sharp. “And you know what I finally figured out? You didn't want a woman with needs, Preston. You wanted one who'd make you feel important without ever expecting you to put in the work.”

“You've always had a talent for rewriting history.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you. But tell me something. If I was so exhausting, so demanding, such a burden to be with, why are you still standing here worried about who's fucking me?”

Preston's face flushes. “You think I give a damn who you spread your legs for?”

“Considering you brought up my sex life completely unprovoked? Apparently, you give several.”

His companion shifts beside him, suddenly interested in something on the sidewalk.

Sloane gives him a slow once-over. “And since we're talking about what I needed, let me clear that up too. I needed a man who didn't make me feel ashamed for wanting him. Someone who understood that intimacy wasn't a favor he was doing me.” She smiles. “Turns out, that wasn't nearly as impossible to find as you made me believe. I was never too much for you, Preston. You were just never enough for me.”

Preston's jaw works, but nothing comes out.

“Now, if you're finished embarrassing yourself, I'd like to enjoy the rest of my evening.”

“Preston?”

His entire body changes at the sound of the voice coming from behind him, and the arrogance drains out of his posture before he even turns.

A silver-haired man approaches with a woman at his side, both dressed for dinner. I recognize them immediately from the photograph attached to the email my PI sent me.

Francis Lane, the Founder and CEO of Lane Capital & Development, and his wife Regina.

His wife sees Sloane first. “Oh my goodness. Sloane?” Surprise softens her face as she steps around her husband. “Look at you. Francis, doesn’t she look radiant?”

I force my body language into neutral as Regina approaches, her smile broad and genuine. Sloane accepts her embrace with obvious surprise, but when she pulls away, some of the tension has left her shoulders.

Preston’s jaw ticks.