Page 132 of Sexting the Boss

Sasha gives me a quick glance—half-awkward, half-curious—but she sits down quietly.

And for a moment…it almost feels normal.

If only it were.

My mother gestures toward the spread, all calm and collected like this isn’t the most uncomfortable breakfast of my life. “Eat, Sasha. I hate wasting food, and the chef gets offended if no one touches his pastries.”

Sasha lets out a breathy laugh and reaches for a croissant, tearing a piece off. “This is…way fancier than my usual breakfast. I’m more of a gas station coffee and a granola bar kind of girl.”

My mother chuckles. “That explains why you’re so tiny.”

Sasha glances at me, cheeks pink. “Yeah, well…New York rent doesn’t exactly leave room for fancy breakfasts.”

My mother, of course, takes the silence as an invitation to keep talking. “Damien used to be just as bad,” she hums. “Wouldn’t eat. Always rushing off somewhere. Though I doubt it was rent he was worried about.”

Sasha lets out a small laugh, shooting me a look. “I can’t imagine him rushing anywhere.”

“You’d be surprised.” My mother smiles. “As a boy, he was reckless. Never told me where he was going. Always getting into fights, always thinking he could fix the world on his own.”

“Still does,” Sasha mutters, almost too quiet to catch—but I hear it.

My mother hums, pleased. “Well, it seems you’ve gotten under his skin, dear. I haven’t seen him like this…maybe ever.”

Sasha freezes mid-bite, eyes wide. “Oh, uh…I don’t…think that’s?—”

“Relax.” My mother smiles, saving her. “I mean it as a good thing.” She turns to me. “I like her.”

I grunt. “That’s new.” She never liked Nina, never liked it when I brought her around. After her, there was a girl here and there, but nothing lasted.

My mother laughs, sipping her tea. “I know when a girl’s temporary, Damien. And this one…I don’t know. She feels different.”

Sasha blinks at me, then quickly looks down at her plate. She’s flustered, chewing on a piece of croissant like it might save her life.

I lean back in my chair, watching her. Watching them.

Maybe bringing her here wasn’t the mistake I thought it was.

But it’s only a matter of time before she finds out everything.

And I don’t know what the hell I’ll do when she does.

* * *

I don’t seeSasha again till later that day.

I find her near the library, barefoot, pacing the hallway like she’s considering which window to jump out of. She’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist, and she still manages to look like a dream that wandered into the wrong castle.

The second she sees me, she stops short.

Here we go.

“You bought me clothes,” she snaps, like I handed her a knife instead of silk blouses.

“You needed them,” I say, not breaking stride.

She catches up to me, falling in step, arms folded. “They’re exactly my size.”

I glance at her. “Yes. That’s how clothes work.”

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