Page 127 of Terms of Exposure
"Understood," Damien and I said in unison.
"Fourth. These." She rested her hand on the stack of original audit documents. "I'll shred them. We'll scrub the servers."
Damien's shoulder relaxed. "Thank you."
"Fifth." Jennifer set her pen down, folding her hands over the notepad. "Emma's board seat."
"Right now, you're vulnerable," she said, looking at me. "You're new. If anyone starts connecting dots—relationship, audit, timeline—they're going to come for your seat first." She turned to Damien. "You need allies on that board. People who will defend her when the whispers start."
"I have allies."
"Then use them. Quietly. Make sure Emma's contributions are visible—documented, praised, impossible to dismiss. By the time anyone thinks to question her qualifications, the record should speak for itself."
Damien nodded. "I can do that."
"Good."
"Sixth—both of you need to stop looking so goddamn guilty all the time. You're crazy about each other. Act like it. The more natural you seem together, the less people will question how it started."
She tore the page from her notepad and slid it across the desk toward us.
A checklist. Neat. Organized. Six bullet points that might just save our careers.
"Any questions?"
I looked at Damien. He looked back.
"No," we said together.
Jennifer smiled—the first real smile I'd seen from her in a while.
"Then let's get to work."
We left Jennifer's office forty-five minutes later, the checklist folded in my pocket.
The hallway was mercifully empty—most of the team had filtered out for lunch or buried themselves in work. Damien walked beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost brushed.
The elevator doors slid open. We stepped inside, and the moment they closed, Damien folded into the wall, hand dragging down his face, the weight finally allowed to show.
"Christ," he breathed. "She's terrifying."
I grinned. "I know."
"I think I respect her more than anyone I've ever met."
"I know that too."
He turned his head, looking at me with exhaustion and tenderness warring in his eyes. "She loves you."
"She does."
"Good." He reached out, catching my hand and threading his fingers through mine. "You deserve people who love you like that."
The elevator hummed around us, carrying us down toward the lobby, toward the car, toward whatever came next.
"Damien?"
"Mm?"
