Page 2 of Sexting the Boss

Then silence.

The elevator dings.

The doors slide open to reveal a floor that looks nothing like the one I work on—sleek glass walls, plush leather seating, a reception desk that probably costs more than my rent.

The man steps out first, his polished shoes soundless against the floor. But just before he disappears, he pauses—just a fraction—then murmurs, low and effortless, “You should be more careful where you go,printsessa.”

Then he’s gone.

The doors close, leaving me standing in the now-empty elevator, heart pounding, skin flushed, coffee still clutched way too tight in my hands. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored wall. Wide eyes, parted lips, completely rattled.

What…just happened?

Who the hell was that?

My pulse is still thrumming in my ears when I realize?—

This is not my floor.

This isn’t even remotely close to my floor.

I stand frozen, clutching my coffee as it finally dawns on me—I’m on the top floor.

The executive level.

Oh my God.

I can feel the weight of curious, mildly judgmental stares from people who are definitely making mental notes to report me to security. My throat tightens, and I do the only thing I can.

I slam the “close doors” button like my life depends on it.

The doors glide shut, and I let out a breath and lean back against the cool elevator wall, mortified. I just made a complete fool of myself in front of—whoever that man was. A high-level exec? A board member? Maybe the CFO?

And he called meprintsessa.

The way he said it, low and smooth, lingers in my head in a way I do not appreciate.

I groan, knocking my head lightly against the mirrored wall behind me. This is why I should not be allowed in corporate spaces.

The elevator glides down, stopping at the ground floor, and I slip out as casually as possible, just in case anyone important is watching. Then I make my way across the lobby to a much more reasonable elevator—the one that takes underpaid employees like me to our designated corporate dungeon.

This time, when I step in, the only other person inside is Ryan Calloway.

Ryan, blessed with actual optimism and an annoyingly nice face, is the kind of guy who makes the office less soul-sucking. He’s dressed in the standard office casual, a button-up rolled at the sleeves, hair still a little damp like he just came from the gym.

He grins when he sees me. “Morning, Caldwell.”

I exhale and shake my head. “You will not believe what just happened to me.”

Ryan arches a brow, leaning against the elevator wall. “Oh, this sounds promising.”

I step in beside him, still gripping my coffee like it’s holding my last shred of dignity. “I just…somehow ended up on the top floor.”

His brows shoot up. “The top floor?”

“The one with real leather chairs and an actual receptionist,” I say, nodding. “I walked right in. Stood there. Made direct eye contact with very important-looking people while dressed like a peasant.”

Ryan whistles low. “Damn. How’d you even get up there?”

---