Page 185 of Terms of Exposure
Richter's voice arrived before he did—booming something about a golf tournament in California, too loud for the hallway.
Sunburned, as always. Suit straining across a belly built on client dinners.
Shore followed—gaunt, hollow-cheeked, blinking so infrequently it unsettled half the office.
Ashford brought up the rear, tall and thin as a lamppost, mouth pressed into its usual line of legal disapproval.
Nathan himself appeared last.
He paused when he saw us, eyes flicking between Emma and me.
My hands stayed loose at my sides—relaxed, disinterested.
A lie.
"Ms. Sinclair," Nathan said smoothly, his entourage pausing. "I didn't realize you'd be presenting today."
"Surprise," Emma replied dryly.
He smirked. "Well. This should be entertaining."
He brushed past without waiting for a response, his loyalists trailing behind him like ducklings.
Entertaining.
I was going to savor watching her eviscerate him.
Farnsworth watched them go, then turned back to Emma with a dry expression. "You'll have your work cut out for you with that one."
"I'm aware."
"Good." His mouth kicked up in a smile. "Looking forward to seeing what you've got."
He disappeared into the boardroom, the two of us left alone in the hallway.
"You ready?" I asked, voice pitched low.
She smoothed her blazer, adjusting an invisible crease.
"I'm about to present to a room of people who think I'm either a threat or a joke." She shot me a look. "How do you want me to—"
"I want you to feel relaxed," I said. "Confident."
"I am confident," she bit out.
Liar.
"I know." My fingertips brushed the edge of her cheekbone—quick, discreet. "That's why I'm not worried."
And I wasn't.
Not about her.
I'd seen Emma Sinclair walk into rooms designed to break her and leave holding the keys.
I'd watched her hold her ground against Nathan's condescension. Against investor skepticism. Against every obstacle this industry threw at women bold enough to build something of their own.
She didn't need me to fight her battles.
