Page 87 of Sexting the Boss

Because I should be outraged.

I should be calling HR, filing a complaint, demanding answers.

But instead, I’m staring at this ridiculously beautiful dress, my fingers still buried in the soft silk, my skin flushed and warm.

I exhale slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

I stare at the phone screen, my heart still racing, my fingers still gripping the fabric of the gown.

Me: Why have you sent me this dress?

I barely have time to process the absurdity of the situation before my phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: Do you like it?

I narrow my eyes, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Of course I like it.

It’s stunning.

It looks like something out of a fairy tale—except instead of a prince, I have a dangerously powerful CEO with boundary issues playing dress-up with me.

But I refuse to let him steer the conversation.

Me: First answer me.

The reply is almost instant.

Unknown Number: I’m not answerable to anyone, printsessa.

I snort.

Wow. Arrogant much?

I don’t know why I’m even surprised.

I roll my eyes so hard I almost see my own brain.

Me: Wow. That must be nice. Just walking around doing whatever the hell you want.

His response comes instantly, like he was waiting for me.

Unknown Number: It is, actually.

Oh my God.

Me: I hope one day someone tells you no just to see if you explode.

Unknown Number: Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried.

I smirk despite myself, tucking my legs up under me.

I don’t know why I’m still talking to him.

Why I keep responding when I should be blocking his number, demanding to know why he’s messing with me.

---