Page 2 of Sexting His Assistant

My own little book of horrors.

Name. Age. Where he met her. How long she lasted. What flowers not to send. Which restaurant she prefers. Whether she cries, throws things, or asks for jewelry on the way out.

I used to think this part of the job was temporary. A weird favor. A one-off.

Then two women named Elena turned up at the same charity event wearing the same bracelet, and I spent forty minutes in a bathroom talking one of them down from causing a public scene.

So now there is a diary.

A leather-bound, alphabetized, color-coded record of Luka Kazan’s women.

If I ever die, I want it burned.

“Tonight,” I say, scrolling. “Dinner with Yelena Markova. Private room at Maison. She requested white roses and specifically asked whether you’d be in a good mood.”

“Cancel her.”

“Reason?”

“I’m busy.”

“She’ll ask with what.”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

“She’ll still ask.”

Luka’s gaze shifts to me, cool and unreadable. “Then tell her something believable.”

I fold my arms. “Your idea of believable and mine are not the same.”

He gives me a look. “Use yours.”

“That’s generous. Thank you.”

He says nothing.

I should probably be more respectful. He is my boss. He is also one of the most dangerous men I know, though nobody in this building would ever say that out loud. Officially, Luka Kazan is a billionaire investor with interests in shipping, energy, security, and real estate. Unofficially, though… That’s another story.

Unfortunately for both of us, I’ve known him too long to be properly intimidated every second of the day.

“Why am I clearing tonight?” I ask.

“You’ll come with me.”

I look up. “Absolutely not.”

His expression hardens by half an inch. On Luka, that’s the equivalent of most people flipping a table. “It wasn’t a request.”

“It should have been.”

“It wasn’t.”

I set the tablet down on the edge of his desk. “Luka, I already worked late twice this week. Yesterday I had to send flowers to one woman, cancel a weekend in Vienna for another, and talk a model out of leaking photographs because you forgot her birthday.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“You remembered at six in the evening.”