Page 156 of Sexting His Assistant

“Walk behind me.”

“I hate this.”

“No, you don’t.”

His office is empty when we enter. The legal papers from yesterday are gone. My resignation letter is gone too, since he turned it into pieces in my apartment like a lunatic with excellent tailoring.

Luka walks to the fireplace and presses a control near the mantle. Flames rise behind the glass.

I stare. “You have a working fireplace in your office?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.”

He holds the diary near the fire.

“You are not actually doing this,” I say.

“I am.”

“It contains information.”

“Information I no longer want you to maintain.”

“It also proves I was good at my job.”

He turns to me. “You don’t need that diary to prove that.”

I go quiet.

“You are good at your job because you are good,” he says. “Not because you remembered what flowers to send women I should never have asked you to manage.”

My throat tightens.

“I’m sorry, Nina,” he says.

He opens the glass.

For a second, I think I will stop him. Then I think of every name inside that notebook, every dinner, every message, every time I told myself I was only irritated when I was actually jealous.

“Fine,” I say. “Burn it.”

He drops the diary into the flames.

The cover catches first. Then the pages begin to curl. I watch my handwriting disappear, and I feel ridiculous for being emotional about a notebook. It held months of work, but it also held months of humiliation.

When the last visible page blackens, Luka closes the glass.

I say, “You just destroyed my administrative labor.”

“I’ll compensate you.”

“That was not an invoice.”

“Then come to the gala.”

I look at him. “That is not how negotiations work.”