Page 195 of Sexting the Boss

“Really? You don’t know her? Well, she seemed to know you pretty well. In fact, she’s the one who programmed your number in my phone when she dared me to send that risqué text, the one that got us talking.”

“Really?” he says, a glint in his eyes. “Well in that case, that girl is not going anywhere because she led me to the love of my life.”

My heart skips a beat. “You’re right, I’m being hormonal.”

“Nah,” he says. “But a transfer to the document control department should set her straight. People say that’s the worst department we have.”

My mouth drops open. Oh, how much I love this man.

We’re walking out of the hospital, his hand wrapped firmly around mine, when he suddenly stops near the car.

The air is cool. Crisp. My body’s tired, but my heart is still sprinting.

He opens the car door for me, but doesn’t usher me in. Instead, he looks at me like he’s weighing something—measuring every unspoken word between us.

“You don’t have to come with me,” he says quietly.

I blink. “What?”

“You can go back to your apartment. I’ll have security stationed nearby—hell, I’ll have them living under your floorboards if I have to,” he adds with a faint smile. “But this time…it’s your choice. I won’t keep you unless you want to be with me.”

My breath catches.

He’s letting me go if that’s what I want.

No pressure. No persuasion. No power moves.

Mom was right. He’s nothing like my father.

Just a man stripped bare.

A man I love. And someone who loves me back.

I glance down at my stomach. At the baby we made. At the future we’re somehow building in the ashes of all this chaos.

Then I look up at him and smile.

“I’m coming with you,” I say. “And not because you’re scary or dramatic.”

His lips twitch.

“But because I want to,” I finish.

His jaw clenches like he’s holding back something overwhelming, and I swear I catch the tiniest glint in his eyes as he reaches for me and presses his forehead to mine.

“Then let’s go home,” he says.

EPILOGUE

I waddlethrough the hallway like a bloated penguin on a mission.

The mission? Ice cream.

And maybe also pretending I didn’t just cry over a diaper ad.

I pass one of the living room windows, pausing for a second to catch my breath. The estate grounds stretch out in every direction—manicured, secure, peaceful.

Safe.

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