Page 233 of Sexting His Assistant

“I did not say you were,” Luka says.

“You thought it in a suit,” I say.

His eyes warm a little, and for a moment everything between us feels almost normal.

After breakfast, I take my laptop to the small sitting room attached to my bedroom. Mirov said limited screen time, so I set a timer, which feels ridiculous but also makes Luka less likely to stand in the doorway and accuse me of harming my brain.

I start transferring files to Meredith. At first, it’s simple.

Calendar exports. Vendor sheets. Meeting notes. Contact lists. Hotel preferences. Investor briefing decks. Procurement timelines. Confidential routing notes. Gala follow-up. Legal correspondence flags. Board materials. Car schedules. Security-adjacent instructions that I was never supposed to call security-adjacent. Flowers, gifts, seating, apologies, coded reminders for Luka’s temper, and tiny notes about which people should never be allowed near each other without someone from legal present.

Then I keep going.

And going.

By the time I reach the third folder, I start to understand what Meredith meant.

I was doing too much.

Some of it was my fault. I liked being useful. I liked knowing things before other people did. I liked being the person who could make chaos behave. I liked that Luka depended on me, even when I pretended I hated it.

That last thought is dangerous, so I push it away.

Luka comes in just as I’m attaching another file.

“You have been on that for forty minutes,” Luka says.

I say, “Mirov said an hour.”

“I say forty minutes is enough,” Luka says.

I look at him over the laptop screen. “Mirov outranks you medically.”

“I outrank him in this house,” Luka says.

“That’s not how healthcare works,” I say.

He walks closer and looks at the open folder list. His face changes slightly.

“What?” I ask.

He says, “Meredith was right.”

I look back at the screen. “About what?”

“You were doing the work of four people,” Luka says.

I shut the laptop halfway. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?” Luka asks.

“The face where you realize something and decide to fix it with money, force, or a meeting,” I say.

He says, “All three are useful.”

I say, “Luka.”

He sits across from me, careful with his shoulder. “Why did you not tell me?”