Thirty-Seven
I step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around my damp hair, robe cinched at my waist, already mentally cataloging my skincare routine before I even reach the dresser.
And then I stop.
Because what in the actual hell is happening on my bed?
Nathan Calloway—corporate overlord, destroyer of boardrooms, man who makes multimillion-dollar deals in his sleep—is lounging against the headboard, one ankle crossed over the other, reading a book.
Wearing glasses.
My brain short-circuits.
Nathan wears glasses?
The man who oozes effortless dominance and control, who can strike fear into the hearts of executives with a single look—reads books in glasses?
How dare he.
I don’t know why it’s so jarring, but it is. It’s like spotting a tiger wearing a cardigan and sipping chamomile tea.
And worse? It makes him hotter.
I stare, helpless to stop it. He absently rubs his bottom lip as he turns a page, completely absorbed, completely unaware that I’m standing here practically drooling.
Finally noticing me, he glances up over the rim of his glasses, and that’s the final straw.
Because, fuck me, that is a look.
Not even a calculated one. Just casual but equally devastating.
"Feeling better?" he asks.
No.
Not even a little bit.
I nod quickly, praying he doesn’t notice the heat rushing up my neck and everywhere else. “Yeah. Good. Great.”
Shut up, Sienna.
He barely acknowledges my flustered response, just goes right back to his book, unbothered by the crisis he’s causing inside me.
I grip the edge of the dresser, needing something solid to keep me from launching myself at him like some feral creature.
How is this happening?
We just spent the last hour playing volleyball with my family. He was covered in sand and sweat. Now he looks like a hot professor who moonlights as a ruthless CEO that knows exactly how to wreck a woman in bed.
Not that I’m thinking about that.
I clear my throat and grab my face creams, anything to distract myself. “What are you reading?”
He barely glances up. “The Art of Influence.”
I frown. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s about negotiation tactics, psychology behind persuasion. How people can be unknowingly manipulated into certain decisions.”
I blink. “Jesus. Can’t you read something normal? Like a thriller? A spicy romance? Maybe a cookbook?”
He smirks, flipping a page. “I don’t cook.”
“I figured.”
He doesn’t argue. He just keeps reading.
I grab my serums and moisturizers and retreat into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we can still talk. “So, do you agree with it?”
“With some of it,”
he calls back. “But not everything.”
I apply my toner, my brain shifting back into safe territory. “Like what?”
There’s a pause, then the rustle of a page turning. “Listen to this.”
He starts reading.
Out loud.
And fuck me, I stop breathing.
No one told me that Nathan Calloway reading aloud would be the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.
His voice is low and deep and perfectly smooth, like it was designed for this exact purpose.
Every word rolls off his tongue with that clipped, precise enunciation, his cadence perfectly controlled, almost hypnotic.
I lean against the bathroom counter, pressing my thighs together like an absolute amateur.
I have never in my life been turned on by a book about corporate manipulation, but here we are.
Nathan’s voice is gravelly as he reads: “The key to true influence is not in force, but in anticipation. To understand a person’s desires before they even voice them, to meet them at the intersection of need and control…’”
Jesus Christ.
He keeps going, a verbal tease that has no right to affect me like this.
I fan my face.
I can’t let him know this is doing things to me.
Clearing my throat, I try to sound normal, which is very difficult when your whole body is actively betraying you. “Huh. So it’s basically like foreplay for businessmen.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“That’s… one way to put it.”
I peek around the doorframe, and he’s smiling.
A real one.
I swear to God, it’s almost worse than the glasses.
I groan, rubbing moisturizer a little too aggressively into my cheeks. “Well, enjoy your corporate dirty talk. I need to get dressed.”
He chuckles before flipping another page.