Page 95 of Sexting His Assistant

“You left this on my desk.”

“It was not an invitation.”

“No,” he says. “It was a mistake.”

A laugh breaks out of me. “Of course. My resignation is a mistake because you didn’t approve it first?”

He opens the envelope and takes out the letter.

My stomach knots.

“What are you doing?”

He tears it in half.

I stare.

Then he tears it again.And again.

My mouth goes dry.

“You are not leaving me,” he says.

The words come low. Controlled. Absolute.

I stare at him. For a second, I cannot speak. Then I say, “I’m sorry?”

His eyes lock on mine. “You heard me.”

I laugh, but it sounds wrong. “You’re out of your mind.”

“You are not leaving me.”

“You mean the job.”

“No.”

The room goes silent. Everything in me stops.

He steps closer. I step back.

He notices. His face changes, just a fraction, but he doesn’t stop coming until there are only a few feet between us.

“You don’t get to decide my life,” I say.

“I know.”

“Then why are you standing in my apartment tearing up my resignation like some lunatic?”

“Because if I accepted it, I would be lying.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I don’t accept you walking away because of something you misunderstood.”

I almost choke on the laugh that comes out of me. “Misunderstood?”

“Yes.”