Under the Mistletoe with My Boss

Lyla’s POV

17 unread messages?.

My chest tightens. That’s not normal. Not unless something is wrong.

I blink hard. Most of the notifications are from work, emails, reminders, calendar alerts, and one message blinking at the top… from Alexander Sterling.

I freeze.

Why would my cold, terrifying, impeccably dressed boss be messaging me before 7 a.m.?

A prickle creeps down my spine. Something’s off.

I swipe the notification open.

Alexander:

`Ms. Anderson… we need to speak this morning. Please come directly to my office before the team meeting.`

My stomach drops through the mattress.

“What? Why?” I whisper to myself.

Did I mess something up yesterday? Did I forget to send the quarterly file? I’m exhausted enough that I could’ve.

I toss the blanket aside and sit up, rubbing my temples.

That’s when I notice the message I had sent last night… one I barely remember sending because I’d been half-asleep, too tired to take off the red lingerie under my robe after taking pictures for Ryan.

My own message sits right beneath Alexander’s name in the chat.

No.

No.

No.

My thumb shakes as I click it open.

And there it is… my worst fear.

Me.

Red lace.

Half-pose.

Stupid, sleepy smile.

I gasp, a sharp, strangled sound that echoes in the room.

“Oh my God… NO!”

My heart slams in my chest so loud it hurts. My hands fly to my face.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

I scroll up, praying for a miracle, like maybe the universe decided to spare me embarrassment for once.

Nope.

The message clearly shows ‘Delivered’ to ‘Alexander Sterling.’

Not Ryan.

I fling myself face-first into my pillow and scream.

I want the earth to swallow me whole. How much I'd love to have a time machine to go back and slap last-night me for trusting her sleepy brain with anything more complicated than breathing.

I sit up again, heart pounding, brain spiraling.

He saw it.

He totally saw it.

He’s definitely firing me.

Or worse… he’ll make me talk about it.

A violent wave of mortification crashes over me. I jump off the bed, pacing in frantic circles.

“Okay, Lyla. Think. You have to fix this. Something… Anything.”

But how do you fix accidentally sexting your boss? The man who runs an entire corporation? The man who wears suits worth more than my rent?

The man who calls me ‘Ms. Anderson’ even in emails addressed solely to me?

I check the time.

6:52 a.m.

I have thirty-eight minutes to make myself look like a functioning adult, get to the office, and somehow face Alexander Sterling without dying on the spot.

Fantastic.

~

I rush through my morning routine like someone lit a fire under me: shower, hair, makeup, and half-burnt toast clenched between my teeth.

The entire time, my mind keeps replaying the image like a cruel loop.

Red lace.

His name.

Delivered.

I nearly choke on the toast as I pull on my coat.

What must he be thinking?

What if