Page 121 of Sexting the Boss

“Getting there,” I mutter. “Thanks to you.”

She looks like she’s two seconds from throwing her stapler at me. “Seriously. What is this? You gonna fire me in front of everyone? Make it quick. I’d like to grab lunch after.”

I almost smirk. Almost. “I’m not firing you.”

“Great. Then why the hell?—”

“Because you blocked me.” The words come out fast, louder than I intend. Half the office gasps like they’re watching the juiciest telenovela.

Sasha’s face drains of color. “Are you seriously bringing that up here?”

“Yep.”

Her mouth opens. Shuts. She blinks. “You’re impossible.”

I lean down, low enough so only she hears me. “You’re the one who started this, printsessa. Now get. Up.”

She stares at me for a beat, breathing hard, and then finally—finally—she stands. Grabs her bag. Shoots one last deadly glare my way.

“Congratulations,” she mutters under her breath. “You’re officially the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

I grin. “I get that a lot.”

And with the entire floor watching like it’s the fucking finale of a reality show, I guide her toward the elevators.

She storms ahead of me like she’s the one draggingmeout, not the other way around. Bag slung over her shoulder, chin tilted high, hips swaying like she knows every single person is watching—and she’s right. Half the floor’s holding their breath, the other half scrambling to look busy.

I follow, not even pretending to hide the smirk pulling at my mouth.

“Stop smiling like you won,” she hisses without turning around. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m not smiling,” I lie easily.

She spins so fast I almost barrel into her. “Damien!” she snaps, cheeks flushed. “God, could you be more dramatic? You’re going to make everyone think?—”

“What? That you’re fucking the boss?” I finish for her, voice low and dangerous.

Her eyes go wide. “Exactly!” she whisper-yells, looking around like I’ve just confessed murder.

I grin. “Maybe you shouldn’t have blocked me, then.”

Her mouth drops open as we enter the elevator. “Oh my God. You areinsane.”

“And yet here you are,” I shoot back, leaning in close enough that only she hears me.

She gasps, almost trips, catches herself. “You arrogant?—”

“Careful,” I murmur, leaning down so close my breath brushes her ear. “You call me arrogant again, I might just prove it. Right here. Against this elevator wall.”

Sasha’s cheeks burn crimson. “God, you’re impossible.”

I laugh—loud, unbothered—as the doors close behind us. “What’s the plan then, printsessa? You gonna pretend none of this ever happened? That I didn’t have my mouth between your legs two nights ago?”

Her mouth drops open, scandalized. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t,” I say, grinning wider. “I missed that smart mouth. Missedyou.”

Sasha crosses her arms, refusing to look at me. “This better not be some toxic CEO power trip. Because if it is, I’ll walk right out and file a hostile work environment complaint.”

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