Page 69 of Sexting the Boss

Me: It’s a good start. But I’d suggest focusing on something a little more…productive.

I see her roll her eyes, shaking her head slightly before responding.

Sasha: Like what? Writing another soul-crushing report? Organizing another spreadsheet? Let me guess—maybe I should do it with enthusiasm too?

Me: You don’t strike me as the enthusiastic type.

Sasha: Depends on the activity.

Fuck.

The way she said that—casual, teasing, completely unaware that she’s playing with fire.

I glance at the screen, watching her shift in her chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile lingering.

She has no idea that I’m watching her right now.

That I can see the way she bites her lip, the way she tugs at the hem of her blouse absentmindedly, the way her shoulders relax as she texts me.

She’s getting comfortable.

And I like it.

I decide I’ll keep this up—stretch it out longer, enjoy it bit by bit.

That’s the plan, at least until the afternoon.

By mid-afternoon, she’s nowhere to be found.

I don’t notice at first—not consciously. But as I sit in my office, flipping through reports, something feels off.

I check the cameras, instinct more than anything, expecting to see her at her desk.

Except she’s not there. Her seat is empty.

I frown. Where the fuck did she go?

I don’t like not knowing.

I try to ignore it. I have better things to do than track her every move.

Except—I don’t.

I grab the remote for my security feed, flipping through the office cameras, searching?—

And then I find her.

In the kitchen.

And she’s not alone.

My jaw tightens as I zoom in.

Ryan.

The same Ryan I transferred out.

The same Ryan who had the audacity to ask her out.

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