Page 177 of Sexting the Boss

And I hate that I’m doing this.

I hate that Damien somehow still casts a shadow over my life, even now.

But I’m scared. And right now, that’s bigger than my pride.

Barely five minutes pass before a sleek black car pulls up to the curb.

Roman.

Of course it’s Roman.

I hesitate only for a second before opening the passenger door and sliding in.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just checks the mirrors and pulls back into traffic like he’s doing a routine errand and not responding to what might be a full-blown emergency.

I buckle my seat belt. “You got here fast.”

Roman glances sideways, but his expression is unreadable. “You texted.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He shrugs. “I was nearby.”

I narrow my eyes. “How nearby?”

Another shrug. “Close enough.”

It clicks. The creeping feeling I’ve had for days—the one I’ve been chalking up to anxiety and hormones and general paranoia.

“You’ve been watching me.” I say it flatly.

Roman doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even blink.

And that silence says everything.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, leaning back in my seat. “Damien’s had your people watching me this entire time.”

Roman’s voice is calm, steady. “He wanted you safe.”

“I didn’t ask to be babysat.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t need it.”

I shoot him a look. “That’s not your call to make.”

He doesn’t reply immediately. We roll through a yellow light, the low hum of the car the only sound between us.

“I’m just doing my job,” he says finally. “And Damien’s serious about keeping you alive. Whether or not you like how he’s doing it.”

My throat tightens, anger and something softer swirling together. I’m pissed. I’m touched. I’m scared. And underneath it all…I’m exhausted.

“I don’t know who to trust anymore,” I say quietly.

Roman doesn’t give me platitudes. Doesn’t offer me comfort. Just drives.

We drive for over an hour.

Out of the city, past the suburbs, into long stretches of nothing—just highway and shadows and the occasional gas station that looks like a horror movie set. The sun’s setting now, casting streaks of red across the windshield, and I’m starting to get that feeling. The one that starts in your gut before it makes it to your brain.

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