Page 198 of Sexting the Boss
He sets his glass down, glances around the table, and then leans closer, his voice low in my ear. “I already bought the ring.”
My eyes snap to his. “You what?”
“Didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.”
My heart practically slams against my ribs.
My mom’s looking at us like she’s watching the last ten minutes of a K-drama.
Ekaterina? Smug as hell.
I duck my head, trying to hide my blush.
* * *
It’spast midnight when he wakes me.
His hand brushes lightly over my hip, his voice a soft murmur in the dark. “Come with me.”
I blink groggily, barely able to string a sentence together. “Is it the baby? Did I pee in my sleep again?”
Damien laughs under his breath. “No. Not this time.”
I sit up, suspicious. “Then what’s going on?”
“You’ll see. Get dressed.”
He doesn’t answer any more than that, just disappears from the bedroom with that calm authority that makes even sneaking out in the middle of the night seem like a boardroom directive.
I pull on a dress and brush my hair back, my belly stretching the fabric more than I planned, but it works. I’m too curious to care.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing at the very top of Zaitsev Tower.
The roof is cool, quiet, and endless. Above us, the stars are scattered like tiny pinholes through velvet. Below, the entire city glows. Alive. Distant. Like someone else’s dream.
He walks ahead of me, suit jacket open, hair slightly windblown, like even he is not immune to the moment.
“Why are we here?” I ask quietly.
Damien turns to me. His expression is unreadable. Then he says, “Because this is where it all started for me.”
I frown. “On the roof?”
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “In this city. In this life. Every fight, every win, every scar…it led me here. To you.”
My heart thuds.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out. A small velvet box.
Oh.
Oh.
“Sasha,” he says, voice low, steady, rough around the edges in the way that tells me he’s holding it all in. “I don’t want the big spectacle. I don’t want tuxedos or a hundred people I barely tolerate.”
I stare at him, completely frozen.
“I wantyou,” he says. “To be mine. With nothing between us. Not the company. Not my past. Not even a name like Zaitsev.”
