Page 19 of Sexting His Assistant

Luka’s gaze leaves mine.

Just like that, the room cools.

He turns to the door. “Bring her in.”

The hostess nods and disappears.

I hate how quickly I miss his attention. I hate even more that I’m relieved to lose it.

Alina Karelin enters a moment later looking like she’s never once in her life had to rush for anything. Dark hair, impossible cheekbones, cream silk, long earrings. She kisses the air near Luka’s cheek like they’re in a film with a terrible ending.

He takes her hand, courteous and distant.

He doesn’t look at her the way he looked at me three seconds ago.

“Nina,” Luka says, not turning. “We’re done.”

Of course. Dismissed before the date can begin.

I tuck the tablet under my arm and head for the door. Alina gives me a quick once-over, polite but dismissive, the way beautiful women sometimes look at women they assume are staff and therefore harmless.

She’s not wrong. Mostly.

I make it to the hallway before I realize I’m furious for no sane reason. I walk out of Maison, get into the back of the second car Luka arranged for me, and spend the entire ride home answering Daniil out of pure spite.

He sends me a photograph of his dinner. I tell him it looks like a lecture in beige. He tells me I’m impossible. I tell him he likes impossible because it gives him something to discuss between documentaries.

By the time I get home, I’m not calmer, just meaner.

At eight the next morning, I’m back at Kazan Tower with coffee in one hand and a headache behind my left eye.

By eight-fifteen, I’ve already received two calendar changes, one message from a florist, and one deeply sincere apology from Alina Karelin’s assistant for “last night’s emotional tone.”

I don’t ask. I just add it to the diary.

At eight-thirty, Luka walks out of the elevator and the entire floor changes shape around him.

He’s back in full armor today. Black suit. White shirt. Dark tie. Cuff links. Face unreadable.

No sign whatsoever that last night ended badly, or well, or at all.

He stops at my desk.

I don’t look up immediately because I have dignity.

“Nina,” he says.

I glance at him. “Mr. Kazan.”

His eyes rest on my face. “Boardroom in ten.”

“I’m aware.”

“Bring the acquisition folder.”

“I was planning to bring balloons, but sure.”

His gaze drops to the coffee in my hand. “That your first?”