Page 79 of Sexting the Boss

I feel the blood drain from my face as my vision blurs at the edges. My pulse hammers, my ears ring, and for a second, I think I might actually pass out.

I need to get out.

My chair scrapes against the floor as I push back from the table, my movements clumsy.

“I—uh, excuse me,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.

No one stops me. No one calls me back. But I feel his gaze burning into my skin as I bolt for the door.

The moment I’m out in the hallway, I suck in a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my stomach to stop the nausea rolling through me.

It’s him.

I’ve been sexting the CEO of my company.

I force my legs forward, stumbling down the hall, desperate to find a bathroom.

The first door I see, I shove open without thinking, stepping inside and twisting the lock behind me. I brace myself against the sink, gripping the edges so hard my knuckles turn white. My chest rises and falls too fast, my breath uneven.

I reach for the faucet and splash cold water onto my face, trying to ground myself. The water drips down my cheeks, soaking into my collar, but I don’t care.

I force myself to look up, into my own wide, frantic eyes.

My reflection stares back at me, a complete mess.

My dark brown hair is disheveled, strands falling from the low bun I’d twisted it into this morning. My lipstick—subtle, neutral—looks slightly smudged, and my skin is flushed, my pupils blown too wide.

I look like I just got caught doing something sinful.

And maybe I did.

Because now I know.

And so does he.

I grip the basin tighter, trying to steady myself.

My blouse clings to my damp skin, my breathing uneven, my heart still pounding.

I need to pull it together.

I need to get through the rest of the day.

The door clicks open behind me and I freeze, my breath stilling in my chest.

I whirl around, my damp hands gripping the sink behind me as Damien Zaitsev steps inside.

The room shrinks instantly.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, his gaze locking onto me like I’ve nowhere to run.

“This is a private hallway,” he says, voice smooth and dangerous. “Accessible only to me.”

Oh God.

I shouldn’t be here.

Of course I shouldn’t.

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