Page 40 of Sexting the Boss

A voice cuts through the thick silence.

“Sir.”

I jump, twisting toward the sound just as a man in all black strides toward us. He’s big, broad-shouldered, and moves with the kind of controlled precision that makes my stomach tighten.

Security.

Not the building’s security, though. His.

And just like that, the moment is over.

He doesn’t say anything to me, doesn’t offer an explanation. Just nods once at the man in black before turning and walking toward a sleek black car parked near the exit.

I watch him go, my breath still uneven.

The way he moves—calm, unhurried, like nothing about this moment affects him—should piss me off.

But it doesn’t.

He’s handsome. Not in a very obvious way, but there’s something about him that makes it impossible to look away.

I don’t know why I keep staring.

I just know that I do.

And then he’s gone.

His car pulls out of the garage, disappearing into the night, and I finally remember to breathe.

What the hell just happened?

* * *

I should be sleeping.

Instead, I’m lying in bed, staring at my phone, thumb hovering over my keyboard.

Because, of course, he texted.

My mystery man.

Unknown Number: Are you in bed?

I bite my lip.

Me: Maybe.

Unknown Number: That’s a yes.

A slow warmth curls in my stomach, but it’s different this time.

Because when I close my eyes, it’s not just his words I’m picturing.

It’s him.

Not my mystery texter.

Not the faceless man on the other end of the line.

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