Page 118 of Sexting His Assistant

But she kissed me.

She kissed me like she was angry enough to hurt me and hungry enough to forgive me at the same time.

I close my eyes for one second.

Bad idea.

All I see is her.

Nina in that oversized sweater, hair wild, mouth swollen, eyes too honest for my life. Nina standing at the foot of the bed with a plate in her hands, telling me to shut up for a minute because she had brought breakfast. Nina scrolling through Alina Karelin’s Instagram while pretending she was doing nothing more serious than stalking a woman she disliked.

Then the video.

Alina laughing, Roman Karpov beside her.

My hand tightens around my phone.

The elevator doors open.

I step into the lobby and the spell breaks.

The building is ordinary in the morning. Someone’s child has left a sticker on the wall near the mailboxes. The concierge is half-asleep behind the desk. A delivery boy waits near the entrance with a stack of paper bags and an expression of deep resentment toward all humanity.

No one looks at me too closely.

I cross the small stretch of pavement toward my car.

The black car waits where I left it, tucked near the curb beneath a goldmohur tree, too sleek and too expensive for Nina’s apartment block.

I unlock it and slide into the driver’s seat carefully.

The second I sit down, the pain in my shoulder flares again. I breathe through it, close the door, and rest my head back for one moment.

One moment only.

My hand tightens on the steering wheel.

Her scent is still on me.

Her shampoo. Her skin. The coffee she forced into my hand this morning. The cheap soap from her bathroom. The fact that my mouth still remembers the softness of hers when she kissed me goodbye like she was trying not to mean it.

Nina Hale is going to be a problem.

No. She already is one.

My phone vibrates before I can start the car.

For one stupid second, I think it might be her.

It is.

Nina: You left your tie.

I look down.

She is right.

My tie is not around my neck. I do not remember taking it off. I remember her hands on my shirt. I remember her mouth against mine. I remember her thighs opening around me on that small bed while she tried to pretend she was not as desperate as I was.