Page 36 of Sexting the Boss

But I do.

And that’s the problem.

I exhale, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Me: Blush? Please. Takes more than that to fluster me.

I hit send, but my smug confidence is short-lived because?—

Unknown Number: Oh? Then tell me—what does fluster you, printsessa?

My breath catches.

It’s a stupid pet name, something he tossed out in passing.

But it does something to me.

It makes this feel more real, makes him feel like a person and not just words on a screen.

And that’s dangerous.

I don’t do things like this. I don’t get attached to people I’ve never even met.

I don’t wait for messages. I don’t crave a stranger’s attention.

But here I am, fidgeting in my seat, biting my lip, wanting to see what he’ll say next.

Me: Wouldn’t you like to know?

A pause, then?—

Unknown Number: I would, actually.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Jesus.

The room feels too warm all of a sudden.

I glance around, half expecting my coworkers to be watching me like I’ve got “I’m texting a man who is slowly ruining me” written across my forehead.

But no one notices.

Ryan is talking to someone about sales projections. Brittany is fixing her makeup in her phone camera, because of course she is. The intern is still terrified of answering the phone.

The office is the same.

I’m the one changing.

I look back down at my screen.

Unknown Number: Come on, printsessa. Tell me.

I chew my lip.

Then—because apparently, I have no sense of self-preservation—I type.

Me: I like a man who knows what he wants.

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