Page 15 of Fifth Avenue Devil

"Hello, Jones." Nate pats the usher's shoulder as we pass. I am pretty sure I see him pass the man a large cash tip. "Make sure that we're not disturbed, will you?"

Then he slides his arm around my waist and hurries me on, not waiting for a response.

This must be what life is to Nate; he pays, and people rush to do his bidding.

The usher closes the door as soon as we are through it. Below us are padded benches that can accommodate a dozen or so patrons. Then the box drops off and the whole stage spreads out beneath us, misty and beckoning like a Siren.

I gasp and step down to peer over the balcony edge. There, I see the orchestra warming up and the audience that spills out behind them. From our vantage point near the stage, the floor seats seem quite far away.

And to think, I was going to be one of the people populating the tightly packed floor. Every seat is occupied. The noise that rises to my ears is muffled. Like everything in this building, it is distorted somehow.

"I take you like the seats?"

I blink, then look at Nate. Somehow, I managed to completely forget him for a full five seconds.

He wears not quite a sneer on his lips as he smirks at me.

Damn him. He's so handsome, it's irritating. He is just... infuriating.

"They're fine," I say.

His lips twitch with humor. "You know what I just realized?”

I tug my wrap around myself, eyeing him. "What's that, Mr. Fordham?"

A smile appears on Nate's lips. "You're very easy to read, Kitten. You really haven't lied very much in your life, have you?"

"I'm honest, if that's what you mean." I glare at him. I’m lying through my pearly white teeth when I add, "And don't call me Kitten."

Just because you like something doesn’t mean you should make a habit of it.

Nate looks me up and down. "You need to be tutored, Annalise. You'll never make it in this business if you can't lie." He flashes me a grin.

"I think I'm doing fine," I grit out. Again, it’s not even close to the truth. But the idea of admitting something so personal to Nate makes me feel faintly sick to my stomach.

He waves a hand to the bench seat. "I don't think so. Take your coat off, Kitten. Stay a while."

My whole face must flush bright red. It has to, from the way it flames hot. I knew that he would make me take my wrap off at some point. I should've picked a much more conservative dress from my closet. I’m not entirely sure why I wore what Nate picked out. I guess I’m always doing what I’m told. That’s been my whole personality for my entire life.

It’s a hard habit to break. Plus, Nate’s taste in clothes is, unsurprisingly, very chic.

My mouth twists with distaste as I walk over to the seat he’s indicated and slowly peel my wrap off.

As I start revealing skin, I notice that his breathing hitches.

Coupled with my usual black pumps, I am wearing the beaded gold tube top and matching gold skirt he picked out for me. And honestly? The look on Nate's face right now is worth the embarrassment of wearing so little in public.

His eyes bounce to my tits, then to my belly button, then to my tightly-fitted, gold beaded skirt with a hem that is higher than any I have ever worn before.

For a moment, Nate doesn't even breathe.

For that moment, I feel like I have all the power in the world.

Then Nate seems to remember himself and forces his eyes back up to my face.

"You look good in the clothes that I picked out for you, Annalise," he purrs.

What do I say to that? If I were my dad, I would try to show no weakness. And I want Nate Fordham to view me as seriously as he views my father.

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