Page 132 of Sexting His Assistant

He looks back sharply. “Don’t.”

I go quiet.

He exhales, then softer, “Not now.”

That’s the closest thing to an admission I’m going to get. For now.

I nod, even though every part of me hates it.

He looks guilty for half a second, which is rare enough that I almost soften.

Then his eyes go to my scarf again.

“No,” I say immediately.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“Why are you wearing⁠—”

“Finish that question and you sleep in the hallway.”

He lifts both hands.

Smart man.

I make coffee because apparently my apartment has become a safe house

Misha sits at the small table and watches me like he used to when I was sixteen and had stayed out too late with friends from college.

It’s deeply unfair that big brothers can make you feel guilty while doing nothing.

“How are the job applications going?” he asks.

I nearly drop the spoon. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you. I just didn’t like it.”

He leans back. “You said you would start applying.”

“I did start.”

“Where?”

“Places.”

“What places?”

“Job places.”

“Nina.”

I slam the coffee jar down. “Don’t interrogate me before caffeine. It’s rude, brother.”

“You had enough time.”