Page 27 of Sexting the Billionaire

My stomach flips nervously. "Yes?"

"The walls in your office seem particularly sturdy."

And with that, he's gone, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open and my face burning.

Did he just...? Was that...?

I collapse back into my chair, heart pounding. Okay, so we're acknowledging the text situation, but in cryptic, plausibly deniable ways. Great. Fantastic. Not confusing at all.

By the time the team meeting rolls around at 9:30, I've managed to regain my composure and professional demeanor.

I present my vision for Lumière confidently, making eye contact with each team member as I outline my approach to revitalizing the brand.

The team seems receptive, even excited by my ideas. Several designers approach me afterward with concepts they'd been hesitant to share under the previous leadership.

"Mr. Kade doesn't usually attend creative meetings," one of them whispers to me as we're leaving the conference room. "But he sat in the back the whole time you were presenting. Didn't say a word, just watched."

I resist the urge to look over my shoulder. "I'm sure he wants to ensure a smooth transition."

"Maybe," she says skeptically. "But I've been here three years, and I've never seen him so interested in a new hire."

Perfect. Just what I need—office speculation about why the CEO is taking such an interest in me.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of meetings, paperwork, and getting to know my team. I'm actually starting to feel like I might pull this off when my phone buzzes with a text just as I'm packing up to leave.

Working late tonight? I've scheduled a one-on-one at 7 PM to discuss your ideas in more detail. My office. -RK

My finger hovers over the screen. Is this a legitimate meeting or something else entirely? His office message earlier suggested he wasn't above mixing business with... whatever this tension between us is. But he's also been completely professional in every interaction since.

I'll be there

I reply, keeping it simple and professional.

At 6:55 PM,I stand outside his executive suite on the 40th floor, giving myself a final pep talk. Professional. Direct. No blushing. No thinking about walls.

His assistant is gone for the day, the outer office dimly lit and silent. I knock on his door with more confidence than I feel.

"Come in," his voice calls from inside.

Roman's office is exactly what you'd expect from a billionaire CEO—spacious, minimalist, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a spectacular view of the sunset over the city. He sits behind a massive desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that should not be as distracting as they are.

"Ms. Monroe," he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Thank you for staying late."

"Of course." I sit down, spreading my portfolio on his desk. "I've prepared some initial concepts for your review."

"Always prepared," he observes, something like amusement flickering in his eyes. "But before we get to that, I think we should address the elephant in the room, don't you?"

My mouth goes dry. Here it comes.

"The text," he says simply.

"I am incredibly sorry about that," I begin, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It was unprofessional and inappropriate and completely accidental, and I promise it will never happen again, and?—"

"Cassie." He interrupts my rambling, using my first name for the first time. It stops me cold. "I'm not looking for an apology."

"You're... not?"

"No." He leans back in his chair, studying me with those intense blue eyes. "In fact, I hired you partly because of that text."

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