Page 9 of Sexting His Assistant

I slip the phone face down on my desk and force myself back into work.

At six-thirty, I leave the office and go home to change.

Home is a one-bedroom apartment ten minutes from Kazan Tower if traffic is kind and twenty-five if Los Angeles decides to punish everybody at once. I picked it because it’s close to work and because the doorman minds his business, which in my life counts as luxury.

The second I step inside, I kick off my heels and stand in the middle of the living room, staring at my closet like it’s personally betrayed me.

Wear something appropriate.

I hate that he said it like that. I hate even more that I understand exactly what he meant.

Not too soft. Not too severe. Not the black dress. Not anything that looks like I’m trying. Definitely nothing that looks like I gave up.

I shower quickly, dry my hair, then change twice before landing on a navy dress.

It annoys me that he was right about the black one. The navy is simpler. Sleeker. It fits without looking desperate. It makes my skin look warmer, my waist smaller, my mouth a little too soft if I stare at myself long enough.

I stop staring.

I’m fastening one earring when my phone lights up again.

Daniil.

I answer before I can think better of it.

What are you doing? he texts.

Working, I text back.

At this hour? he replies.

I smile despite myself and type, Some of us are tragically employed.

He sends back, Do they at least appreciate you?

I snort.

No, I type. They weaponize my competence.

That gets a laughing emoji from him, then, Fair. What would you rather be doing?

I glance at the clock.

In seven minutes, Luka will either text me that he’s downstairs or send someone to tell me he’s downstairs, which is even worse. I should put the phone away. I should focus. I should stop letting Daniil serve as a convenient sedative every time Luka gets under my skin.

Instead, I type, Not going to a work dinner I don’t want to attend.

Then there is a pause.

With a date? Daniil asks.

I look at the message.

And because I’m suddenly meaner than usual, mostly to myself, I type, Something like that.

My phone buzzes again before I can regret it.

Lucky guy, Daniil writes.