Page 15 of Sexting His Assistant

We’re shown into a private room at the back where three men are already waiting. One I know from finance. One from legal. The third I’ve seen twice and never been introduced to, which usually means Luka doesn’t want names written down anywhere.

Luka takes the chair at the head of the table.

I move automatically to the sideboard to set out the files.

“Nina,” Luka says without looking at me.

“Yes?”

“Sit.”

I turn. “Here?”

He lifts his eyes to mine. “You were told to take notes.”

“Yes,” I say. “I assumed from the corner. Where support staff traditionally go to die quietly.”

The finance man coughs into his fist to cover a laugh.

Luka does not react. “Sit,” he repeats.

So I do. Two seats down from him, close enough to hear everything, far enough to pretend I’m invisible.

The meeting starts immediately. I take notes in neat shorthand and keep my face empty.

My phone buzzes once in my bag by my heel.

I ignore it.

Two minutes later it buzzes again.

Luka’s gaze shifts to the bag just for a second, and then back to the man from legal.

I stare very hard at my notes.

The meeting runs forty-three minutes. I know because I count every single one. By minute thirty-two I’ve worked out that Luka is irritated with legal, unimpressed with finance, and deliberately not looking at me for longer than necessary. By minute forty-one, I’ve also become painfully aware of his forearms when he rolls his sleeves back once and reaches for the water glass.

This is not useful information.

At forty-three minutes, the third man closes his folder and says, “It’ll be handled.”

Luka nods once. “Tonight.”

The man says, “Understood.”

That’s the end of the meeting.

No one wastes words. No one shakes hands.

The three men rise, and I do too, gathering the pages before anyone can leave fingerprints or coffee rings or whatever else men like this leave behind. The finance man mutters good night. Legal gives me a look that says he’s sorry for my employment situation. And then they’re gone.

The door shuts.

Silence settles over the room.

I keep stacking papers because it feels safer than looking at him.

“Your phone,” Luka says.