Page 140 of Sexting the Boss

Damien.

There’s a knock at my door. I jump.

“Miss Caldwell?” a voice calls—one of Damien’s quiet staffers, no doubt trained in the art of polite lurking.

I open the door a crack. “Yes?”

“Mr. Zaitsev has asked if you’d like dinner in the garden again this evening.”

I blink. My mouth opens, then shuts.

“Uh…tell him I have plans.”

The man blinks, nods, and walks off like I just said I’m joining a cult.

I close the door, heart pounding. I don’t even knowwhyI said it. Maybe to prove a point. Maybe to remind myself that I still have a life outside Damien’s gilded cage.

Maybe to remind him.

But as I stare down at my phone and the words7 PMflash on my screen…

…I already know this is going to blow up in my face.

Ugh.

* * *

I’m sittingcross-legged on the massive bed, stabbing aggressively at a bowl of strawberries I’m not even hungry for. The laptop is still open on the nightstand, muted on some project dashboard I gave up pretending to care about twenty minutes ago.

Every so often, I hear voices in the hallway—too far away to make out, too close to ignore. I assume Damien’s somewhere else in the house, probably pacing dramatically with his broody eyebrows and saying things like “increase surveillance” or “handle it” in that deadly calm tone of his.

Whatever. He can pace all he wants. I’m still fuming. Nina? Really? If she just happened to drop by, then I just happened to trip into Versailles and land in a five-figure bathtub.

And just as I plop another strawberry into my mouth with a growl?—

The door swings open.

No knock. No warning. Just six feet of billionaire Bratva storming into the room like he’s entitled to the air I’m breathing.

“You have plans?” Damien asks, voice low and loaded. “What plans?”

I nearly stab myself in the eye.

“Jesus—do you knock?” I hiss.

His jaw tics. “Answer the question, Sasha.”

I toss the fork into the bowl and stand. “Why? So you can approve them?”

“I just saw one of the guards. He said a car was requested.”

“Yeah,” I snap. “By me. Shocking, I know.”

He takes a step closer, arms crossed. “You’re not leaving.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

“I told you, it’s not safe?—”

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