Page 78 of Sexting the Boss

I look up, straight into Damien Zaitsev’s eyes.

And he’s watching me.

A jolt runs through me, leaving a cold, sinking feeling in my stomach.

The texts.

They mention the meeting.

But I never told him.

I didn’t say a word about it. Not last night. Not this morning. Not even in passing.

So how does he know?

My fingers hover uselessly over my keyboard, my thoughts racing, my body wired too tight. I glance at my laptop screen as if the answer will magically appear, as if I can somehow will this away.

But it’s too late.

Because when I finally look up, Damien Zaitsev is still watching me.

A slow, almost amused smirk tugs at his lips, like he’s waiting for me to catch up. Like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind right now and is enjoying every second of it.

Oh God.

Oh God.

It’s him.

It’s been him this whole time.

The man I’ve been texting, the man who has been driving me insane every night with his filthy words, the man who has been inside my head and under my skin in ways I don’t even want to admit?—

He’s sitting right in front of me.

And he knows that I know.

I can barely breathe.

Heat rushes up my neck, my skin tingling with awareness, every part of me locked in place like a deer caught in headlights.

No. No, no, no. This has to be a mistake.

It can’t be him.

It can’t?—

My laptop screen flickers with another message.

Unknown Number: You finally figured it out, didn’t you, printsessa?

I slap my laptop shut.

The sound is too loud, echoing through the boardroom like a gunshot.

Conversations stop.

Every head turns toward me.

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