Page 61 of Obey

My bedroom comes back into focus and I press my palms into my eyes until the apartment settles around me again.

Three years later, and Preston still knows how to ruin a perfectly good night without even being in the room.

Fuck him.

And fuck the three men who just proved I’m nowhere near as over it as I pretend to be.

fifteen

Restricted Access

It's seven o'clock in the evening, and the SOLAÉ tower feels less like an office building and more like the setting of a very expensive murder documentary.

I've traded my work clothes for a fitted crop top, high-waisted jeans, and my favorite sneakers, with a cropped hoodie thrown over everything. Comfortable, cute, and absolutely not the outfit I'd normally wear to the executive floor. But I'm off the clock, and the only reason I'm back is because I forgot one stupid file.

My laptop bag digs into my shoulder as I badge in and head toward the elevators. “Amazing, Sloane. Incredible. Love this for you.”

The report Nate needed by tomorrow is ninety percent finished, sitting pretty in my drafts folder. Unfortunately, the supporting files are locked on my work drive, and my VPN token expired an hour ago.

Which means I’m making a very unpleasant after hours trip back to the office. Hopefully I can make this quick and I won't have to see any of them.

The executive floor is almost completely dark when I step out, motion sensors slowly waking the hallway one section at a time.

I head straight for my desk, power up my work laptop, and pull the projections from the shared drive. Five minutes later, they're saved where I can access them from home. I shut the laptop, tuck it into my bag, and swing the strap over my shoulder whe a faint melody drifts through the stillness, soft strings echoing from somewhere deeper in the corridor.

Classical music.

“Oh my God,” I whisper to myself, lowering my laptop bag beside my desk. “He’s still here.”

Of course he is. Nathaniel Blackwell would work through the apocalypse if somebody gave him a laptop, wifi access, and a deadline.

I already know exactly what I’m about to walk into: jacket discarded, tie loosened, cold coffee everywhere, and not a real meal in sight. The irritation that rises in me feels automatic now.

Which is probably its own problem, but I’m going to ignore that for now.

I start toward the glow spilling from beneath Nate’s office door, already preparing my lecture.

“If this man dies from stress-induced organ failure,” I mutter, “I’m not attending the funeral.”

The sound grows clearer the closer I get. Slower. Intimate. Then… I hear laughter, causing me to slow instinctively.

Is that Jace?

That’s… weird. Usually, when Jace is here after hours, Nate’s threatening homicide within fifteen minutes. But this?

This feels different.

I round the corner to find Nate’s office empty. The melody is coming from farther down the hall. From the executive lounge. Jace laughs again, the noise catching before it deepens into a groan, a sound of pure, unshielded pleasure.

It echoes oddly, not from the open lounge but from behind the matte-black door tucked beside the shelves. My focus narrows on it instantly.

The locked one.

Jace’s grin flashes through my memory instantly. Trust me, you’re better off not knowing. Unless you enjoy Nate’s lectures on professional boundaries.

I should leave.

Every survival instinct I possess screams at me to grab my shit and mind the damn business that pays me. Then I hear Nate’s voice, relaxed in a way I’ve never heard before. So naturally, I step closer.