Page 37 of Sexting the Boss

I don’t overthink it.

I just hit send.

And I swear to God, I can feel the tension through the phone when his reply comes.

Unknown Number: Lucky for you, I always get what I want.

I let out a very undignified noise and take a very deep breath.

I am so screwed.

“Sasha.”

I jerk upright, heart slamming against my ribs.

Ryan is standing by my desk, one brow raised, eyes flicking pointedly to the phone in my hand. “Who are you texting?”

I lock the screen immediately, slipping the phone under a pile of paperwork like I’m a middle schooler hiding a note from the teacher.

Ryan’s grin widens. “That was suspicious as hell.”

“It’s—” I clear my throat, forcing casualness. “No one. Just a friend.”

“A friend,” he echoes, clearly not buying it.

I grab the nearest document, pretending to be deeply invested in a spreadsheet. “Yep. A very boring, not-at-all interesting friend.”

Ryan leans on my desk, smug as hell. “Uh-huh. That’s why you looked like you were about to combust before I walked over?”

My face burns. “I was not?—”

“You were totally blushing.”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Ryan, don’t you have, like…work to do?”

He shrugs, still smirking, but finally backs off. “For now,” he says. “But I will find out.”

I don’t dignify that with a response.

* * *

As I leavefor the day, I pull my keys out of my bag, smiling to myself.

My very own rental car.

Sure, it’s tiny. Sure, it smells like old leather and desperation, but it’s mine—at least for the next month.

A car means no more crowded subway rides, no more standing between a man who hasn’t discovered deodorant and a woman who argues on speakerphone at full volume.

I almost text my mystery man to brag about my latest achievement.

But I hesitate.

I don’t know who he is. And I don’t want him knowing too much about me, either.

So I put my phone away and keep walking toward my car.

The parking garage is quiet. The kind of quiet that settles too heavily.

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