Page 12 of Sexting His Assistant

Luka gestures for me to walk ahead. “After you.”

I step out first because refusing would be childish and because I can feel his gaze between my shoulder blades. The lobby staff all suddenly discover a keen interest in looking elsewhere. Sensible people.

Survival-minded people.

Outside, his car is waiting at the curb, sleek and black and quiet as a threat.

The driver opens the back door, but Luka says, “I’ll drive.”

The driver nods immediately and hands over the keys.

I pause by the car. “You drive?”

Luka gives me a look. “On occasion.”

“That feels unsafe for the public.”

“For the public, yes.”

He opens the passenger door for me.

I stare at him. He waits.

Finally, I get in.

The door shuts with a heavy, expensive sound, and a moment later he slides into the driver’s seat. The car smells like leather and his cologne and winter air.

I hate enclosed spaces with him. I hate them because I notice everything.

The shape of his hands on the wheel.

The faint shadow of evening at his jaw. The fact that he looks less like a businessman now and more like the kind of man mothers warn their daughters about in lowered voices.

My phone buzzes again. I look down before I can stop myself.

Daniil: So that’s a yes to jealousy.

I type back, In your dreams.

Beside me, Luka starts the engine.

He glances once at the screen in my hand, then back to the road.

“You’re popular tonight,” he says.

I smile at my phone because I know exactly how petty I’m being. “Apparently.”

“With whom?”

I lock the screen. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who hates personal conversation.”

“I hate unnecessary conversation.”

“And this feels necessary?”

“Yes,” Luka says.

I laugh softly and turn toward the window. City lights slide across the glass. “You’re unbelievable.”