Page 226 of Terms of Exposure
"But oh my god, I'm so happy for you."
Despite everything—the Nathan dread, the lingering anxiety, the sense that something was lurking just out of sight—I laughed.
"Thank you, Tessa."
She beamed at me for another heartbeat, then remembered she was technically on the clock. "Okay, I'm going to gonottell anyone in the breakroom." She turned on her heel, clicking down the hall.
And then we were alone again.
Damien stopped dead.
A smile curved his mouth as he looked down at me.
"I want to celebrate tonight."
"Oh, is that right?" I said, quirking an eyebrow.
He took a step forward, sliding an arm around my waist.
"Mr. Holt," I chastised, pulling away.
"Nuh-uh," he tsked, holding me tight. "We don't have to do that anymore."
We don't have to do that anymore.
"People are staring," I murmured, eyes darting up and down the hall.
"Let them."
"Damien."
"Emma."
Emma. Not Ms. Sinclair.
"I have spent every meeting pretending I don't want to touch you every second of every day." His grin broke wide. "I've earned this."
A laugh bubbled up, surprising me. "You've earned the right to be handsy in the hallway?"
"I've earned the right to be handsy everywhere." His hand splayed wider on my lower back, possessive and warm. "The hallway is just the beginning."
"You're impossible."
"You love it."
I did. God help me, I did.
"So," I said, trying to pull myself together. His thumb traced slow circles through the fabric of my dress. "This celebration. What did you have in mind?"
"Dinner. At Marina's. Seven o'clock."
Marina's.
The little Italian place where this whole fiasco had started.
"It's perfect," I said, grinning up at him.
"I thought you'd appreciate that."
