Page 137 of Sexting His Assistant

“Let me stay,” he says.

I nod before I can think better of it. “Okay.”

Some of the strain leaves his face.

He reaches for the coffee I made and takes a sip.

Then he grimaces. “This is terrible.”

“Deal with it,” I say, rolling my eyes.

I walk past the coffee table. That’s when his phone lights up.

It is on the edge of his desk, faceup beside a stack of legal papers, vibrating silently against the wood.

For half a second, I look down without meaning to.

Roman K.

K? Karpova? Why the hell is Luka’s enemy calling my brother?

16

LUKA

Alina asks to meet for lunch.

I agree because I need to know what she knows, and I don’t want to scare her into running to whoever sent her.

She chooses Verre, a restaurant with glass walls and too many people. That tells me she wants to be seen. Or she wants to feel safe.

Either way, it’s useful.

She arrives ten minutes late in a cream dress, one hand resting over her stomach. The gesture looks practiced. I stand when she reaches the table.

“Luka,” she says.

“Alina.”

I don’t kiss her cheek.

She notices and sits down with a tight smile.

A waiter comes over. I order coffee. She orders sparkling water and barely looks at the menu.

“I’m glad you came,” she says.

“You wanted to talk.”

“I needed to. Yesterday was… a lot.”

“You should not have come to my office like that.”

Her eyes lower. “I know. I panicked.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m scared.”