Page 148
“You never asked.”
“Because I assumed you hatched fully grown in a boardroom.”
That earns another laugh, quieter this time.
“My sister thinks I'm bossy. My brother learned very quickly that if he complained long enough about his chores, I would eventually do them myself because watching him do them inefficiently annoyed me more.”
I put my fork down. “You were enabling people before Jace ever came along.”
“You can say that. However, my mother would too.”
“You talk to her a lot?”
“Every Sunday.” That surprises me more than it should. Nate notices. “What?”
“Nothing. I just…” I shrug. “You don’t exactly give off calls-his-mama-every-Sunday energy.”
“Elena Blackwell would be on the first flight if I didn’t.” His smile is one I have never seen. The way he lights up as he talks about his mom is adorable. “She also insists we all come home for Christmas. No negotiations.”
“The great Nathaniel Blackwell has a mandatory Christmas?”
“The woman gave birth to me. She has leverage no one else possesses.” His attention settles on me. “Although there's an irritating little assistant at the office who's become rather influential herself.”
I press a hand to my chest. “She sounds terrible.”
“A complete menace. Unfortunately, I've become attached.”
I glance down at my plate before he can see the pleased look on my face, but Nate misses very little. His fingers tip my face back toward him.
“There you are.”
“Don't,” I whisper.
“Don't what?”
I can't explain the way he's looking at me without admitting how badly I want him to keep doing it. Nate waits, his thumb moving slowly across my lower lip, entirely too aware of the effect he has on me.
“You know what,” I mutter. His smile deepens, but he lets the matter rest and slowly withdraws his hand.
For the rest of dinner, nothing dramatic happens, and somehow, that becomes my favorite part.
No tests. No commands beyond insisting I try his dessert after I swear I don’t want anymore. No toy appearing from a pocket because Nathaniel Blackwell apparently plans sexual torture with the same forethought he applies to quarterly reports.
We just talk, and by the time Nate pays the bill, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
Outside, the temperature has dropped enough that the cold immediately finds every inch of skin the dress leaves exposed. Nate slips his jacket over my shoulders before I can complain.
I look down at the jacket swallowing my shoulders. “You know this ruins the outfit you picked.”
“I consider it an improvement.”
“Control freak.”
“Brat.”
Stretching up on my toes, I place a kiss on his jaw. “Thank you, Grumpy Daddy.”
Nate turns toward me with an expression that promises consequences, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
