Page 175 of Sexting His Assistant

There is the smallest pause.

“This is Nina Hale,” he says. “My executive staff.”

My stomach drops.

It’s ridiculous because this is exactly what I asked for.

I said I didn’t want people thinking I was sleeping with the boss. I made the rules myself and stood there like a lawyer in heels while explaining them to him.

Still, hearing it out loud feels like a slap I have no right to complain about.

My executive staff. Not my date. Not my guest. Not the woman I touched in a car five minutes before arriving.

Just… Staff.

The concierge’s expression clears immediately. He nods and checks something on the tablet. “Of course. Ms. Hale, welcome. You’re both expected in the main conservatory. Mr. Kazan, your table is near the foundation trustees.”

“Thank you,” Luka says.

I smile because I know how to do that.

I have smiled through worse things than being publicly described as exactly what I insisted on being described as.

We step inside.

The lobby is full of marble, flowers, and people pretending not to stare. A string quartet plays somewhere beyond the archway. Waiters move between groups with champagne and tiny trays of food that nobody truly wants but everyone accepts because holding something gives their hands purpose.

Luka guides me past the first cluster of guests. “You’re angry,” he says quietly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not angry. I’m slightly miffed,” I sniffle.

His mouth tightens like he wants to smile and knows better. “You asked for secrecy.”

“I know.”

“I did what you asked.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still angry.”

“Because I’m a woman, Luka. We have range.”

He looks down at me. “Do you want me to correct it?”

My head snaps toward him. “No.”

“Then what do you want?”

I want too many things.

I want the secret because I need my career intact. I want my brother not to know because he will lose his mind. I want the office to see me as competent, not available. I want Luka to understand why the word staff hurt even though I chose it. I want to be able to stand beside him and not feel like I’m borrowing a place that should belong to one of the women from the diary.

I swallow all of that. “I want a glass of champagne.”