Page 3 of Sexting His Assistant

“I still remembered.”

I laugh once. “That’s an insane defense.”

He finally sits, which somehow makes him more imposing, not less. He leans back in his chair and watches me with that same calm, infuriating focus that makes grown men confess things they never planned to say.

“You are paid well,” he says.

“I’m underpaid for the emotional range this job requires,” I sniff.

“You like the job.”

I narrow my eyes. “Parts of it.”

“Which parts?”

“The parts that don’t involve all your girlfriends.”

“They are not my girlfriends.”

I give him a long look. “Of course. Silly me. They’re just women you fly across countries and disappoint in luxury settings.”

A flicker passes through his eyes. Not quite amusement. Not quite warning. With Luka, the line between the two is always thinner than it should be.

“Watch your mouth, Nina,” he says.

“My mouth is not the problem in this office.”

I feel it immediately—the shift in the air, the tiny tightening at the corners of his eyes, the dangerous stillness that settles over him when something has caught his attention in a way he doesn’t like.

Or likes too much.

I straighten my spine. “What do you need tonight?”

Luka’s voice is even when he answers. “There’s a dinner.”

“I gathered that.”

“You’ll sit in.”

“At a dinner?”

“At the restaurant before the dinner,” he says. “Then you’ll leave.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s work.”

“That is the second least convincing thing you’ve said today.”

He rests one hand on the desk. “You’ll be there to take notes.”

“For dinner.”

“For the meeting before dinner.”

I study him. “And the date after?”

“You’ll make sure she’s handled.”