Page 140 of Sexting His Assistant

She tries to hide it by lifting the glass to her mouth, but her hand is shaking now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

She looks toward the window. Again. Same direction.

“Are you expecting someone?” I ask.

“No.”

“You keep looking outside.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Because of me?”

Her laugh is short and false. “You are a frightening man.”

“Yes,” I say. “But you knew that before lunch.”

Her fingers rub at the stem of the glass.

“I mean what I said, regardless of who’s involved.” I let my tone soften by one degree. “Alina, if you are pregnant, you will receive medical care and protection. I meant that. I will not punish a child for whatever this is.”

Her eyes flick back to mine.

“But,” I say, “you will talk to my lawyers first.”

By the time I step out of the conference room, my shoulder is burning, my patience is thin, and all I can think about is Nina.

That’s becoming inconvenient.

It has always been inconvenient, but now it is also impossible to ignore. Last night changed the shape of everything. There is before her apartment and after it. Before her hands in my hair and after. Before that soft, angry goodbye kiss and after.

I cross the executive floor, phone in one hand, reading Pavel’s update about the temporary maintenance credential used before the garage attack.

The credential was created through a facilities account. The account belongs to a man who has worked in the building for seven years, which either means he is stupid, compromised, or dead and I have not been told yet. Pavel is still pulling movement logs. Two cameras from the service corridor are damaged.

Convenient.

I’m halfway to my office when Nina comes out of the side corridor with a file against her chest.

She stops when she sees me.

For one second, she forgets to guard her face.

Not my assistant with polite eyes and a corporate voice. Not Misha’s sister. Not the woman who tried to resign and then argued with me in her apartment like she had every right to call me vile.

Just Nina.

Hair tied back badly, mouth pressed into a line, skin still faintly flushed in a way I shouldn’t notice at work and notice anyway.

Then she remembers where we are.

Her face cools.

Mine probably does the opposite. I step toward her.

An analyst comes around the corner, looking down at a tablet, heading straight into her. I move before thinking and put my hand on her waist, guiding her closer to me and out of his path.