Page 58 of Dial L for Lawyer

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My phone rings. Caleb's name on the screen makes my pulse jump.

"You got the package," he says without preamble. His voice is rough, like he's been in meetings all day yelling at people.

"How did you know?"

"Security desk called when you signed for it."

"That's creepy."

"That's thorough." A pause. "Are you wearing it?"

I look down at the blue dress. "Maybe."

"Serena."

"Yes, I'm wearing it."

"And the earrings?"

"Those too."

I hear him exhale. "Fuck. I've been imagining you in that dress all day." His voice drops. "Tell me what you're wearing under it."

"Caleb, it isn’t even four in the afternoon."

"So?"

"So you're at work."

"In my office. Door locked. Tell me."

Heat pools low in my belly. "Nothing special. Cotton underwear. No bra—the dress has built-in support."

"Take them off."

"What?"

"The underwear. Take them off."

"I'm not having phone sex with you at 3:45 on a Tuesday."

"Then just do what I say and we'll call it instruction."

"You're insane."

"I'm motivated. There's a difference. Take them off, Serena."

Something about his voice—commanding but not demanding—makes me comply. I shimmy out of my underwear, the dress falling back into place. The cashmere feels like a whisper against my skin, soft enough to make me shiver.

"Done."

"Good girl."

Those two words shouldn't affect me like they do, but my knees actually wobble.

"Now," he continues, "I need you to come to my office."

"When?"

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