Page 44 of Sexting the Boss

It was a warning.

Which means they’re waiting for something.

“She needs to be questioned,” Oleg continues. “The girl. The employee who ran into you. She could have seen something.”

I know who he’s talking about. The girl from the elevator. The one with the wide, dark eyes.

Sasha Caldwell.

The logical side of me knows Oleg is right. If she saw something—anything—that could give us information, it would be useful.

But something about it feels…unnecessary.

“She didn’t see anything.” I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “She was startled. That’s all.”

“She could’ve noticed details she doesn’t even realize are important.”

I glance at him. “You want to interrogate an innocent employee for what, exactly? To see if she remembers the color of the getaway car?”

Oleg’s jaw tightens. “It’s not a bad idea.”

I shake my head, already done with this conversation. “You’re getting paranoid.”

“And you’re getting careless.”

I let out a slow breath, not in the mood for this.

But he’s not wrong.

I have been distracted.

Just not by this.

Because the second I walked into my office today, I checked my phone first.

And there it was.

A new message.

From her.

Unknown Number: Tell me, do men get some kind of secret pleasure out of micromanaging women?

I had smirked, already half-invested before I even realized it.

I responded. She ranted.

And then?—

She mentioned a name.

Ryan.

I replay the conversation in my head, tapping my fingers against the desk.

Somewhere in my company, there’s a woman texting me about office supply policies and annoying coworkers—completely unaware that the man she’s sexting is the one who signs her paychecks.

It should concern me.

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