Page 142 of Sexting His Assistant

“You are very observant,” I say. She just gives me a small smirk.

I continue walking.

The executive coffee room is at the end of the corridor, tucked behind a frosted glass door. It is small, usually empty, and close enough to my office that most employees avoid it unless they enjoy feeling like they are trespassing.

Nina is inside.

Her back is to me.

She’s standing at the counter, stirring coffee she won’t drink. I know she won’t drink it because she hates the coffee here and has complained about it enough times to make it part of the building’s history.

I step in and close the door behind me.

The latch clicks.

She turns at once and gasps, hand flying to her chest. “What are you doing?”

“Closing the door.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?”

She rolls her eyes and turns her back to me.

“You were avoiding me.”

“I was making coffee.”

“You hate the coffee here.”

“I felt like suffering.”

“Alina is not a threat,” I say. “You have to trust me. She was just with my lawyers.”

“How romantic.”

She turns back to the counter and picks up the spoon again. “I asked where you were. I did not ask for the emotional itinerary of your pregnant ex-whatever.”

“She is not my ex.”

“Right. She’s just one of the many women I used to schedule like recurring maintenance.”

I walk closer.

She hears me. Her shoulders tense.

“She’s lying,” I say.

Nina laughs once, quietly. “Everyone keeps saying that like it makes this less messy.”

To that, I don’t say anything at all. “I’m sorry.” It’s a poor reply, but it’s all I have right now.

The coffee machine hums behind her. Someone walks past outside the door, shoes soft against the carpet. We both hear it. The office is right there.

Too many reasons not to do what I want.

Nina swallows.