Page 129 of Sexting the Boss

The same striking woman I met at the charity ball, dressed now in a silk blouse and slacks, every inch of her radiating old money elegance. Her blonde hair is swept back in a low chignon, pearls gleaming at her throat. She stops short the moment she sees me, blinking once—twice.

“Oh,” she says, surprise flashing across her face before she schools it into something neutral. “I…wasn’t expecting company.”

I feel like I’m about to sink into the floor.

Damien’s jaw tightens. “It wasn’t planned.”

His mother’s eyes flick to me, sharp but not unkind. “We’ve met,” she says, like it costs her something to admit it. “At the charity gala. You’re…Sasha, yes?”

I swallow hard and nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

She studies me for a long beat. “I didn’t expect you’d be visiting here.” Her gaze cuts to Damien. “Or you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom,” he says, and she smiles and steps into his arms.

“I missed you, kiddo.”

“I’m right here,” he says, awkwardly patting her back.

“But what brings you here?” she says, turning back to me.

“It’s not a visit,” Damien says roughly. “She’s staying.”

The words hit me like a slap. Staying?

His mother arches a brow, but there’s something almost amused flickering in her eyes. “I see.” She takes a step forward, clasping her hands. “Well…welcome to the house, Sasha.”

I stare at her, throat dry. I don’t know what I expected—but politeness wasn’t it.

Damien doesn’t let the silence stretch. “We’re done for tonight.” His hand grazes my lower back, urging me forward. “Show Sasha to the guest wing.”

One of the waiting men nods, stepping forward silently.

Damien’s mother watches, eyes unreadable. “I’ll take her.”

Both Damien and I glance at her. He frowns. “You don’t have to?—”

“Nonsense, Damien.” She turns that perfectly polished smile on me. “I’d like to get to know…your guest.”

There’s something pointed in the way she saysguest.

Damien hesitates, but eventually nods, jaw tight. “Fine.”

Then, without waiting, she turns on her heel, expecting me to follow.

I shoot Damien a helpless look—he gives me nothing. Stone-cold.

Typical.

With a deep breath, I trail after his mother, heels echoing off the marble floors.

“I’m Ekaterina,” she says finally, glancing at me. “Though you probably remember that from the gala.”

“I do,” I manage. “You…looked stunning that night.”

She smiles, the barest hint of warmth in it. “Flattery won’t get you out of trouble, dear. Not in this family.”

I’m not sure what to say to that.

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