Page 113 of Sexting the Boss
“Lila,” she says, like we’re friends and we’ve just been busy.
I slide in across from her and rest my forearms on the table. “Sabrina.”
She looks me over. Her gaze drops for a fraction of a second, then lifts again, and I don’t miss it.
“You look…settled.” There’s something almost pleased in her voice, like she’s already decided what she’s seeing.
“I’m alive,” I answer.
She flags the server and orders two drinks without asking what I want.
“Same as last time,” she tells the server, then she looks at me like she’s doing me a favor.
“I’m pregnant,” I say, calm and flat, because letting her control the reveal makes my skin crawl.
Her smile doesn’t slip, but her eyes brighten. “Congratulations.”
The server returns with two glasses.
I don’t touch mine, and I slide it back an inch.
Sabrina notices and smiles wider, like she enjoyed the small discomfort.
“So,” she says, settling back. “Gavin got himself into trouble.”
I blink once. “Did he.”
She leans in, voice dropping. “He’s in holding, and he’s not enjoying it, and someone handed the detectives a package they didn’t have to build themselves.”
I keep my face still. “You sound informed.”
“I’m connected,” she says, like it’s a joke.
“You helped cover for him.”
“Sure,” she says. “Back when he was useful.”
“And now he isn’t.”
“Now he’s a liability.” There’s a clipped edge under the polish. “I’m not in the business of protecting idiots.”
That’s the first crack I’ve heard from her, and I store it away.
“What do you want?”
Sabrina’s smile holds, but her rhythm changes. “I want out.”
I don’t react. “Out of what.”
“Out of Victoria,” she says, and the words come faster now, like she’s trying to get ahead of her own fear. “And I want protection. I want it written, I want it recorded, and I want a path that keeps me out of prison.”
I tilt my head slightly. “You think I can offer you that.”
“I think you’re with Ethan.” She says his name like she’s tasting it. “And I think you’ll do anything to make sure your baby is born without someone hunting you.”
My fingers curl under the table, then I force them to relax, because she wants to see tension and she wants to use it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, bland and boring.
