Page 47 of Sexting the Boss

I have been distracted.

First, by the texts.

Then, by her.

The nameless woman on the other end of my phone, sending me filthy messages at night and ranting about office supplies during the day.

I tell myself it’s just curiosity.

Just amusement.

But now I’m looking through employee records for her.

I lean back in my chair, tapping a thoughtful rhythm against the desk.

Oleg watches me, his arms still crossed. “You need to focus.” His voice is low, firm. “Whoever shot at you last night is still out there. And instead of handling that, you’re—” He gestures vaguely. “Doing whatever this is. I hope this isn’t a midlife crisis.”

“I could have you killed for that,” I say.

He scoffs. “I won’t be of any use to you dead.”

I let out a slow exhale.

Oleg is right.

I should be focusing on the bigger problem.

I should be tracking down whoever took that shot at me—cutting off the threat before it becomes a real one.

Distractions get men like me killed.

So I pull my focus back to where it needs to be—on the real problem.

I shut my laptop, locking away the list of Ryans, and stand up. “Fine,” I say. “Let’s handle it.”

Oleg looks relieved, but also wary, like he doesn’t quite believe I’ve snapped out of it.

Maybe he’s right.

But for now, I push it away.

I let him drag me away from my office, but I refuse to step into the fortress of my past.

The estate is out of the question.

So we meet at my apartment instead.

It’s late when they arrive, the city glowing beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I’ve poured myself a drink by the time Roman steps inside, shrugging off his coat like he owns the place.

“You know,” he says, eyeing the darkened room, “for a man who could have anything, you live like a monk.”

I smirk, setting my glass down. “I like space.”

Roman snorts, tossing his coat over the back of a chair. “You like isolation.”

I don’t argue. Because he’s right.

My apartment is expensive, sprawling, and cold. There are no personal touches, no framed memories, nothing that hints at the man who lives here.

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