Page 37 of Sexting His Assistant

“Thank God,” I say, a little too sincerely.

Misha laughs softly. “He giving you trouble?”

I look around the boardroom, at the papers still scattered at the far end of the table, at my notebook, at my reflection in the glass looking flushed and guilty and alive in a way I don’t fully trust.

“No more than usual,” I say.

“Usual for Luka is not normal for anyone else.”

“That should be printed on the employee handbook.”

“He does not have an employee handbook.”

“He has one. I wrote most of it.”

“Then you should add it.”

“I’ll put it under workplace hazards.”

“Good.”

I gather my notebook from the table with one hand and try not to look at the exact spot where he put me. Impossible, of course. My eyes go there anyway. The pwood looks untouched. Smooth and innocent. As if it did not hold my shaking body ten minutes ago while Luka knelt between my thighs.

My cheeks burn.

Misha says, “Nina?”

“Yes?”

“You went quiet again.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“I’m your sister.”

“Exactly.”

I tuck the notebook against my chest and walk toward the glass wall, needing distance from the table. My reflection follows me: beige dress, hair loose, flushed mouth, eyes too bright. I smooth my palms over my waist, trying to pull myself back into shape, trying to become the Nina Hale my brother thinks he is speaking to.

The competent one. The sarcastic one.

The one who would never do something catastrophic with his best friend and then answer a family phone call before her pulse came down.

“I don’t even do real secretary work anymore,” I say, grasping for a normal complaint and finding the easiest one. “You know that, right? My title is executive assistant, but mostly I’m trying to keep his girlfriend of the week straight.”

Misha snorts. “That sounds like him.”

“It should not sound like anyone.”

“He’s always had terrible judgment with women.”

I press my lips together. Terrible judgment with women.

That seems unfair to the women and extremely relevant to me.

“Has he?” I ask and hate that I ask it.