Page 45 of Sexting the Boss

Instead, I feel something else entirely.

Oleg is still talking.

I’m not listening.

Not because I don’t care—I do—but because something else has my attention.

Something small.

Something insignificant.

And yet, here I am, fixated on it anyway.

Her complaint about HR.

Unknown Number: Speaking of HR, do you know what I just learned? I’m supposed to get “manager approval” before requesting more office supplies. MANAGER. APPROVAL. FOR A PEN.

I stare at my phone, rereading the message, my jaw ticking.

What kind of bullshit is this?

I press a button on my desk phone, already impatient.

“Get me the head of HR. Now.”

Oleg goes silent.

A beat later, my assistant’s voice comes through the intercom. “Right away, sir.”

Oleg folds his arms, watching me. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing a problem.”

His brows furrow, but before he can push, there’s a knock at the door.

The HR director steps in, visibly nervous, a folder clutched in her arms. “Mr. Zaitsev. You needed me?”

“Yes.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “Why the hell do my employees need manager approval to request a damn pen?”

She blinks, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

“The supply policy. Explain it to me.”

She clears her throat, flipping through the folder like she’s buying herself time. “Well, sir, it’s a cost-control measure?—”

I hold up a hand. “Stop.”

She snaps her mouth shut.

I glance at Oleg, who looks like he’s watching an alien invasion unfold.

Then I turn back to HR. “Rescind it.”

The director freezes. “Sir?”

“You heard me.” I lean back, tapping my fingers against the desk. “No more approval process. No more supply rationing. If my employees need a pen, they get a fucking pen.”

A long, stunned pause.

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