Page 15 of Terms of Exposure
Damien
Frustration hummed beneath my skin.
Nathan had intercepted her. Slid in like oil through a crack the moment he saw her in that lobby. Or maybe he'd been waiting for her. Either way—Accounting on Fourth, my ass—and by the time I'd sorted the nonexistent issue, Emma was gone. Swallowed into the building without me.
I'd wanted to be there. Wanted to watch her face when she saw the office I'd arranged—the windows opening onto Central Park, the dark stretch of it cutting cleanly through the city. The furniture waiting in the corner like a secret only we shared.
My phone buzzed.
Emma's name glowed on the screen, and the knot behind my sternum loosened. I swiped it open, already picturing her reaction.
Emma: My office sucks. Lol.
I read them again.
My office sucks.
The relief calcified.
I typed back immediately.
Damien: What do you mean?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Emma: Gray walls. No window. The desk looks like it survived a government auction. It's fine, really. I've worked in worse.
No window.
No window?
The office I'd arranged had floor-to-ceiling glass. I remembered our first meeting at Elion, how she used to stare out at the city, how the skyline reminded her the world was bigger than whatever crisis was crushing her that week.
Damien: Where are you right now?
Emma: My office? Right across from Nathan's, near the back. Nathan showed me this morning.
Nathan.
The realization landed like frost. He hadn't just intercepted her. He'd rerouted her. Stuck her in a temp's old office across from his.
A power play. Subtle enough to pass as a clerical error if questioned.
But that wasn't what this was.
Damien: Stay there. I'm coming to you.
I found her near the back, exactly where she'd said. The door was open. Inside: an old oak desk, a chair with a tear in the fabric, and Emma picking at a scratch in the varnish.
She looked up when she heard my footsteps.
"Hey." A grin flickered across her face despite her disappointment. "You didn't have to come here."
"Yes. I did."
I stepped inside, cataloging every insult Nathan had engineered. The water-stained ceiling tile. The outlet dangling loose from the wall. A thermostat that looked like it hadn't worked since the Clinton administration.
"Emma." I kept my tone even, though anger scraped at the backof my throat. "This isn't your office."
