Page 186 of Sexting His Assistant

“Roman Karpov put his hands on you in a room full of my security.”

“He danced with me.”

“He approached you when I was pulled away.”

“Yes, and I’m not a child who got lured into a van with candy.”

My jaw tightens. “This is not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“What did he say?”

She exhales, annoyed. “I told you. He talked about Alina.”

“You’re lying.”

Her face changes instantly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not telling me everything.”

“I told you what matters.”

“That is not the same.”

Her eyes narrow. “Careful. I know you don’t trust people so easily, but I’m not the enemy here.”

I step closer before I remember where we are. She looks up at me, angry now, not frightened, and that makes it both better and worse.

“If Karpov spoke to you, everything matters,” I say.

“You don’t get to interrogate me in the middle of a gala because your rival asked me to dance.”

“He’s not simply my rival.”

“Then maybe you should’ve told me that before bringing me here.”

“I told you to stay near me.”

Her laugh is short and disbelieving. “You told me. You instructed me. You gave me orders wrapped as concern, and now you’re angry that I didn’t behave exactly how you wanted? Except you’re the one who walked away, leaving me unattended.”

I ignore the jab of guilt. “He’s dangerous.”

“So are you,” she scoffs.

A few people pass close enough that I lower my voice. “I have never lied to you about that.”

“No, you just leave out the parts that would help me understand what is happening.”

That stings because it is partly true, and I dislike truths that arrive from people I cannot dismiss.

“You know enough to understand you should not trust him,” I say.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Then why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not protecting him.”