Accidental Sext

When you loathe your silver fox boss, you don’t quit—you send him a sext.

Accidentally.

“I can’t stop thinking about him bending me over his desk.”

That was the text I sent to my boss.

Instead of my best friend.

His reply?

“Come in early tomorrow. 7:30.”

Mr. Voss.

Six-feet-whatever of cold, silver-haired disapproval in a charcoal suit.

A stare that strips me bare without ever touching me.

Hands that look far too capable of undoing me… completely.

I expect him to fire me.

But he calls me into his office, shuts the door, and makes me an offer.

More like an ultimatum.