Page 54 of Sexting the Billionaire

All good, just a processing delay. Should clear by Monday.

"Mia?" Olivia guesses.

"Tuition payment issue." I set my phone down, anxiety creeping back. "One more reason I can't mess up this job. She's counting on me."

Olivia reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "Hey, I might tease, but I'm on your side. Whatever happens with Roman, we'll figure it out."

Her reassurance is interrupted by a familiar voice nearby. "Ms. Monroe? What a pleasant surprise."

I look up to find Zara, Roman's executive assistant, standing beside our table with a takeout bag in hand. My heart performs a gymnastics routine that would impress Olympic judges.

"Zara," I manage, my voice unnaturally high. "Picking up brunch?"

"Mr. Kade requested some items for a working lunch," she says, her gaze uncomfortably penetrating. "He's preparing for the board meeting tomorrow."

"Of course. Very efficient of you." I'm babbling now, painfully aware that I probably still smell like Roman's cologne.

"I'll let him know I ran into you," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear you're enjoying your weekend."

Before I can respond, she's gliding away, leaving me with the distinct impression that she knows exactly where I spent last night.

"Well, that was terrifying," Olivia comments once Zara is safely out of earshot. "Does she always look at people like she's calculating the most efficient way to dispose of their bodies?"

"Pretty much." I drain my third mimosa in one gulp. "Do you think she knows?"

"Hard to say. She definitely suspects something." Olivia frowns thoughtfully. "Does Roman trust her?"

"I assume so. She's been his assistant for years."

"Then maybe she's used to his... arrangements."

The thought sends an unexpected pang through me. "I guess I hadn't considered that."

"Oh no, that face," Olivia says, pointing accusingly. "That's jealousy face. You're already getting attached."

"I am not jealous," I protest, even as my mind unhelpfully conjures images of other women in Roman's penthouse, wearing his shirt, eating his omelets. "I'm just... processing."

"Processing jealousy."

"It's not—we're not—" I struggle to articulate exactly what we are. "It's just sex."

Even as I say it, I know it's not true. The texts, the conversations, the surprising vulnerability I'd glimpsed in Roman's eyes this morning—it's already more than just physical.

"Listen," Olivia says, her voice gentler now. "I know you don't want to hear this, but be careful. Not just professionally, but emotionally. Men like Roman Kade are used to getting what they want on their terms."

"He's not like that," I say automatically, then catch myself. "At least, not with me."

"I hope you're right." She doesn't look convinced. "Just remember, if it all goes sideways, my couch is always available. As are my emergency ice cream reserves."

My phone buzzes again, and I know without looking that it's from Roman. Something in my expression must give me away because Olivia rolls her eyes.

"Go ahead, check it. Your face is doing that thing again."

I pick up my phone, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile as I read his message:

Zara mentioned running into you at brunch. Is she interrogating you about work on weekends now too?

"What does Lover Boy want?" Olivia asks, signaling for the check.

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