Page 1 of Sexting the Boss
1
LILA
My phone buzzes, and my stomach drops before I even look.
Overdraft Alert.
I don’t have to open the app to know what it says, and I don’t have to open my email to know what’s sitting there, either.
Rent, past due.
I exhale through my nose, lock my screen, and keep my smile on, because the receptionist desk at Cross Enterprises is basically an aquarium and I’m the fish they all get to stare at.
Eight fifty-seven a.m., Monday, and I’m already losing.
A man in a charcoal suit strides past my desk with a coffee that costs more than my groceries. He doesn’t look at me, because men like that don’t look at women like me unless they’re deciding something.
I adjust my blazer, smooth the front of my blouse, and ignore the tiny, petty voice in my head that wants to say,If I wore less fabric, would you see me then?
No. I’m not doing that today.
Today I’m going to be professional, I’m going to be efficient, and I’m going to get through eight straight hours of being Ethan Cross’s assistant without setting anything on fire.
Which is good, because if I lose this job, I’m not “between opportunities.”
I’m homeless.
My inbox is screaming. My calendar is packed. My heels are already pinching, and I’ve only taken two steps from my chair.
I click through Ethan’s schedule again, I check the boardroom reservation, I verify his car pickup, and I scan the notes I typed last night because he’d emailed me at 11:48 p.m. with one word.
Fix.
No hello. No please. No acknowledgment that I’m a human being and not a function.
Ethan Cross isn’t a warm or casual man. He’s the kind of man who looks like he was born in a suit and the suit learned manners from him.
He’s also the kind of man who makes my stupid body react even when my brain is trying to be employed.
Forty-two, give or take. Silver threaded through dark hair, sharp jaw, broad shoulders, and eyes that always look like they know what you look like in your underwear.
I’ve been working for him for eleven months, and I’ve learned two things.
One, Ethan Cross doesn’t miss meetings.
Two, Ethan Cross doesn’t tolerate mistakes.
My desk phone rings.
I answer on the first buzz. “Good morning, Cross Enterprises.”
His voice comes through the line, brief and clipped. “Where is she?”
Not “hello.”
Not “good morning.”
Not “who is this.”
