Page 22 of Sexting the Boss

“Mr. Zaitsev?” My assistant’s voice, nervous.

“Speak.”

“Uh—there’s an issue with the slide deck for your eleven o’clock. The file isn’t opening.”

I still.

The slide deck.

The one I specifically requested to be finalized last night.

I lean back, slowly, eyes narrowing. “And why not?”

A pause.

“We…don’t know, sir. The file seems to be corrupted. IT is looking into it.”

I inhale sharply through my nose. This is not the morning to test me. “Who was responsible for finalizing it?”

There’s a hesitation on the other end. “That would be…um, Sasha Caldwell, sir.”

Sasha Caldwell.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“She just recently joined as a junior analyst,” my assistant says.

I press the intercom button again. “Tell Ms. Caldwell to report to my office immediately.”

I release the button and sit back, tapping my fingers against the desk until there’s a knock on my office door.

I don’t bother looking up right away. “Enter.”

The door opens, and the moment she steps inside, the air shifts.

I look up.

And there she is.

Sasha Caldwell.

The girl from the elevator.

Her presence is disruptive, though I doubt she realizes it. Dark brown hair, slightly tousled like she ran a hand through it on the way here. Big, wide brown eyes that flick toward me before she quickly looks down—but not before I catch the flicker of something hot and nervous in them.

She’s young.

Too young.

Fresh out of college, I’d bet. One of those bright-eyed, eager hires, full of ambition that’ll get stomped out by this corporate hellhole within a year.

She’s also pretty.

Too pretty.

Which is fucking annoying.

Because I shouldn’t be noticing that.

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