Page 38 of Sexting the Boss

And then?—

A loud, crackling pop.

Like a gunshot.

I freeze.

My breath catches, ears ringing with silence, my heart hammering so hard it drowns out everything else.

What was that?

Another pop, then a distant grinding sound, like something metal scraping against concrete.

Every instinct screams at me to move, to get in my car, to get the hell out of here?—

But then, I collide with something solid.

Or—someone.

Large hands grip my arms, steadying me as I nearly trip forward.

I let out a startled gasp, blinking up—straight into storm-gray eyes.

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

The man from the elevator.

The CEO.

Damien Zaitsev.

Heat radiates through my thin sleeves, his face inches from mine—closer than it should be. His jaw is tight, his muscles coiled, like he was already on high alert before I crashed into him.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice low and controlled, but there’s something else underneath—something almost…dangerous.

I shake my head, speechless.

His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to assess something, like he’s deciding whether I should be here at all.

And then I realize?—

His hands are still on me.

Large, strong hands, holding me securely in place.

I swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we are, of the way my pulse flutters under his grip.

“I—” I clear my throat, forcing myself to step back, but his fingers linger for half a second too long before he lets go.

His gaze flicks around the garage, then back to me. “You shouldn’t be here alone,” he says.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a statement. A warning.

And for some reason, it sends a shiver down my spine.

I take a step back, pulse pounding, his words echoing in my head.

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