Page 21 of Sexting the Boss

Dmitry is gone now.

One more name wiped from the books.

One less traitor breathing in my city.

I close my eyes, leaning back against the headrest.

And for some fucking reason, the first thing that comes to my mind is a text.

A teasing little voice through my phone.

Oh yeah? What would you do?

The heat from earlier, from her, rushes back, unwelcome, curling into something dark and restless in my gut.

I pull my phone out of my pocket.

Stare at the screen.

Before I can talk myself out of it?—

I type back.

Me: Still awake, printsessa?

I hit send.

* * *

I’m in a bad mood.

A terrible fucking mood.

Not because of Dmitry. That was inevitable. He made his choice, and I followed through. That’s business.

No, my mood is sour because I woke up, checked my phone, and there was nothing.

No reply.

Not a single word from her.

I don’t know why the hell I care. It was a mistake, a game, some stupid little thing that meant nothing.

But I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

About her.

The way she begged. The way her words bled with need, with desperation.

And now?

Silence.

It irritates me more than it should.

I scowl at the stack of reports on my desk, my fingers tapping against the polished wood as I fight the irrational urge to check my phone again.

Then the intercom on my desk buzzes.

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