Page 196 of Sexting His Assistant

I type again.

He says no.

Three dots appear immediately, then vanish, then appear again.

I put the phone back in my purse before I start feeling bad for them. After another two turns, the security car is gone.

I look out of the window and realize I don’t recognize this road. “Where are we going?”

Luka says, “Nowhere.”

I turn to him. “That’s concerning.”

Luka says, “You wanted honesty.”

I roll my eyes. “This is highly concerning. Are you sure you’re not having a mental breakdown?”

He glances at me, and his eyes are warmer now. “There’s a park ahead. We can walk for ten minutes.”

“In this dress?” I ask.

“You can walk in that dress,” he says.

“You don’t know that,” I say.

“I watched you cross an entire ballroom in it while making half the room forget what they were saying,” Luka says.

That makes me go quiet.

He turns into a narrow road beside a park, then pulls into a small parking area near an old wrought-iron gate. The place is almost empty. There are a few food trucks, but not many customers.

Lamps line the path inside the park, and beyond them, trees stand dark against the sky.

Luka switches off the engine.

I look at him. “You realize this is how scandals happen.”

Luka says, “I have survived worse.”

“That’s not comforting,” I say.

Luka says, “I’m not trying to comfort you.”

“What are you trying to do?” I ask.

He turns in his seat, and because the car is dark except for the weak glow from the streetlamp outside, his face looks less controlled than it did at the gala. He looks tired. Handsome, still, unfairly, but tired in a way I don’t think many people get to see.

Luka says, “I didn’t want to drop you home while you were still angry and silent.”

My chest tightens, and I look down at my hands. “I wasn’t only angry.”

“I know,” Luka says.

“Do you?” I ask.

Luka says, “No. Not all of it.”

At least that is honest.