Page 59 of Dial L for Lawyer
"Now."
"I should change?—"
"No. Wear the dress. Put a blazer over it if you want to look professional, but I want to see you in it."
"Caleb—"
"Conference room three. Logan found a bunch of security logs. We need to go over them."
"Is this actually about the case or?—"
"Both. Always both with you." I can hear his smile. "Thirty minutes?"
"Fine."
"And Serena? Leave the underwear at home. It’s not a request."
He hangs up before I can respond.
I stare at my phone, then at my reflection. The dress suddenly feels shorter, the cashmere more sensitive against my skin. Every movement reminds me I'm bare underneath.
This is insane. I'm supposed to go to his law office, discuss my case, pretend to be professional while wearing a dress he bought me and no underwear.
I grab my black blazer, the structured one that makes me look like I know what I'm doing. With it over the dress, I almost look normal. Professional even. Like someone who wears underwear to business meetings.
The Uber ride is torture. Every bump in the road, every shift of the fabric reminds me of what I'm not wearing. By the time I reach his building, I'm wound so tight I might snap.
The receptionist smiles at me this time. "Conference room three, Ms. Morgan."
The walk down the hallway feels endless. I knock and enter to find Caleb at the table, papers spread everywhere, laptop open. He looks up and his eyes darken immediately. The way he's looking at me makes my whole body go liquid. Like he's been starving for four days and I'm the only thing on the menu.
"Lock the door," he says quietly. “And close the blinds.”
I do, my hands shaking slightly.
"Come here."
I cross to him, hyperaware of everything—the dress against my skin, the weight of the earrings, the way he's looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
"The blazer," he says. "Take it off."
I shrug out of it, draping it over a chair. The dress suddenly feels like nothing, like I might as well be naked.
"Perfect," he breathes. "You look perfect."
"You said Logan found something?"
"He did. The access logs show drift against server time and the file hashes don’t line up with the audit trail. Someone tampered with them." But he's not looking at the papers. He's looking at me. "But that can wait."
"Caleb—"
He pulls me onto his lap, hands sliding up my thighs. "Tell me you did what I asked."
"Yes."
"Tell me exactly."
"I'm not wearing underwear," I whisper.
