Page 49 of Terms of Exposure
The pen tapped once against the desk. Twice. Three times.
"Emma."
Nothing. Only the pen. Tap. Tap. Tap. Until—
"Close the door."
I checked it—latched. "It's closed."
"Lock it."
The words came out flat. Cold. The woman laughing in my arms hours ago, teasing me about chicken mush—
Gone.
I studied her profile. The tension in her shoulders. Her refusal to look at me.
That meeting broke her.
The lock clicked and I approached her desk warily.
"What happened?"
She looked up, fury blazing through the room like fire.
"Sit down, Damien."
I lowered myself into the chair across from her.
That's when I noticed her hands.
Red. Raw. The skin across her knuckles angry and abraded.
"Emma." I reached for her. "What happened to your—"
She pulled back before I could touch her, the rejection sharp as the damage on her knuckles.
"Tell me what happened," I commanded, forcing my tone even.
Her attention dropped to her hands, lip curling. When she spoke, the calm in her was eerie.
"He was waiting for me at the elevator."
My fingers dug into my thighs.
"He started with executive performance guidance. Told me I was too direct. Too decisive." The words dripped with contempt. "Abrasive. Emotional. Said some board members felt... challenged."
"That's the point," I said flatly.
"That's what I told him." A grin flickered across her face before dying. "He said that defensiveness was exactly what he meant."
I started to speak, but she continued.
"He moved on to my... situation." She met my gaze. "Being new to the company. Closely associated with the CEO."
A chill worked its way through me.
"He mentioned the generous terms of the merger. How you personally advocated for my board seat." She paused, gaze hardening. "How people notice patterns."
