Page 20 of Sexting the Boss
“Efficient,” I correct.
She scoffs and walks away, and I go back to my screen because I’m not playing her game.
The rest of the day runs fast and clean. I keep my head down and do my job like it’s a weapon.
At five thirty, I start packing up and my stomach knots, because the day is ending and tomorrow is coming and I still haven’t figured out what to do with Ethan. I decide to open his message.
Ethan: Have dinner with me?
My heart stutters. Across the room, Sloanne’s eyes narrow like she knowssomething, and maybe that’s why I type what I do next.
Me: Fine. Just tonight.
I keep my phone face down anyway.
At six, I clock out and ride the elevator down with my shoulders tense and my thoughts scattered, already telling myself this night is over before it begins. I walk fast, ignore the throb in my temples, and keep my head down all the way home, where I kick off my shoes and drop my bag like I’m done for the day.
I pour water, take two slow sips, and sit on the edge of the couch with my phone in my hand and my heart refusing to settle. I’m not waiting for anything, I tell myself, but I don’t put the phone down either.
The message comes at 6:24 p.m.
Ethan: Good girls keep their promises.
My breath catches and my stomach flips, but I don’t move—at least not until the next message lands with impossible timing.
Ethan: Your car’s outside.
I rise before I’ve made a decision, cross to the window, and pull the curtain back just enough to confirm he’s right. A sleek black car waits at the curb like it’s been there all day, and I stare at it long enough to give myself every possible reason to stay inside.
None of them win.
I change quickly, swipe on fresh lipstick, and step out the door with my heart pounding and my legs moving on their own. The car door opens as I approach, and the driver nods once before I slide into the back seat and let it shut behind me.
The ride is silent, smooth enough to feel expensive. I sit with my hands clasped tightly in my lap while the city blurs past, trying not to think about what happens next and failing completely.
When we pull up, the building is all glass and clean lines, the kind of place you don’t enter without a keycard and a tax bracket to match, but the driver walks me straight to the private elevator and uses a code without looking down.
My ears pop as we climb, and I can feel the blood rush in my throat as the doors open to a penthouse that smells like power and money and restraint.
I don’t wander. I follow the faint flicker of candlelight and step out onto the terrace, where everything stops.
A table set for two waits by the glass railing. Behind it, Ethan stands with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled, his eyes already on me like he never doubted I’d show.
The view behind him stretches wide enough to make the city look small, but it’s the way he looks at me that tightens my throat and steals whatever breath I had left.
4
LILA
The city glitters behind him, but it isn’t the skyline that makes me hold my breath. It’s the way Ethan stands there, sleeves rolled, collar open, eyes already on me like he knew I’d come. There’s a table set for two beneath the terrace lights, the cloth pressed smooth and the silverware gleaming beside tall wine glasses. Everything is warm and quiet, like this is normal for him.
It’s not normal for me.
“You’re late,” he says, but there’s no edge in his voice.
“You didn’t give a time.” I hope my tone sounds more composed than I feel.
He gestures toward the chair and waits until I sit before taking the one across from me. A bottle of red wine rests in a decanter, and he pours with the kind of ease that says he’s done this often, though probably not with assistants who live in one-bedroom apartments with leaky faucets.
