Page 35 of Sexting His Assistant

I work on the legitimate side.

That is what I tell myself.

I’m not part of the Bratva. I don’t handle blood money. I don’t sit in smoke-filled rooms while men decide who disappears. I manage calendars, board materials, private dining rooms, investor calls, legal folders, acquisition files, travel logistics, and, because the universe hates me personally, Luka Kazan’s endless parade of beautiful women.

My job is clean. Well… clean adjacent.

Clean enough that my brother agreed to let me work here only because he trusts Luka more than he trusts oxygen, which is another problem entirely.

“You still there?” Misha asks.

I blink and realize I have been quiet too long.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Sorry. I was looking for my pen.”

“Your pen?”

“I’m a secretary, Misha,” I remind him.

“He works you too hard,” Misha says.

“Yes.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

“No,” I say too fast.

Another pause. I stare at the wall. Well done, Nina.

“No?” Misha says slowly.

“No, because then he’ll know I complained.”

“You are complaining.”

“To you. That’s different. You’re family. You’re legally required to hear me complain.”

“He should not keep you late.”

“He keeps everyone late.”

“He should keep you less late.”

“I’m very moved by your feminism.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I would never.”

“You are mocking me now.”

“I’m lovingly mocking you.”

He sighs. “I mean it, Nina.”

I soften despite myself. “I know.”

And I do know.