Page 122 of Terms of Exposure
I shook my head. "I don't know. Nathan's been sniffing around, insinuated today that there was something between—"
"That isn't good."
I huffed a dry laugh. "No shit."
She nodded, slow—thinking.
The hurt was still there.
In the tightness at her eyes.
In the line of her jaw.
But Jennifer had always known how to divide herself.
Emotion in one box.
Strategy in another.
"You need to control the narrative," she said at last. "If you don't…"
She tilted her head, mouth pursed. "At best they'll think you slept your way into Falkirk. At worst they'll put the pieces together just like Nathan is beginning to."
"And then we're fucked," I said quietly.
"Royally," she agreed.
"So what do we do?"
"A rollout. Controlled. Gradual." She took her seat in the chair beside me in front of her desk, ticking off points on her fingers. "Start letting the walls down. Slowly. A lingering look here. Coffee together in the break room there. Nothing overt—just enough thatwhen the official announcement comes, it feels like a natural progression. Something that developed over time." She paused. "Not a bombshell."
"You want us to fake-flirt in public?"
"I want you to stop hiding." Her eyes met mine. "There's a difference."
It was brilliant. Manipulative and calculated and absolutely brilliant.
"You should have been a PR strategist."
The ghost of a smile crossed her face. "I should have been a lot of things. Instead I'm here. Cleaning up your messes. As usual."
"Jennifer—"
"I'm still angry," she cut in. "That's not going to disappear overnight. You lied to me. You let me doubt myself." She sucked in a breath. "But you're my friend, Emma. And that matters more than the rest of it."
I swallowed past the knot. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We have work to do."
She rose—shoulders squared, spine straight—
command sliding back into place.
The Jennifer I knew.
Chaos into color.
Panic into plan.
