Page 123 of Terms of Exposure
"Nathan's a problem. The audit's a bigger one. And if you're going public with Damien, we need to make sure there are no loose threads for anyone to pull."
"There's one more thing."
She paused mid-step. "Of course there is."
"Damien wants to meet with you. Officially. He wants you on our side—not just as my friend, but as someone who understands the full picture. Someone we can trust."
Jennifer crossed her arms, considering.
I pressed my palms together in plea.
"Fine," she relented. "Call him."
"Really?"
"Call him. Now." She moved back toward her desk, pulling out her phone to check her calendar. "I have two hours before my next meeting."
"Jennifer, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." She looked up, gaze sharp. "But if I walk out of this room and go home and have a glass of wine and sleep on it, I'm going to talk myself out of this. I'm going to remember every red flag, every lie, every reason I should hate him—you." She set her phone down. "Right now, I can still see the way your face changes when you talk about him. I'd rather meet him while that's fresh than after I've had time to build a case against him in my head."
I stared at her. "That's... surprisingly self-aware."
"I'm a strategist, Emma. I know how my own brain works." She gestured impatiently toward my phone. "Call him before I change my mind."
I pulled out my phone, heart hammering, and tapped his name.
He answered on the second ring.
"Emma." His voice was warm but cautious. "How did it go?"
"She agreed to talk to you."
A shaky exhale came through the line. "How bad is it?"
I looked at Jennifer again. She'd moved to the window, staring out at the city.
"Bring coffee," I said. "The good kind."
The line went dead.
Jennifer turned from the window. "Is he scared?"
"Terrified."
She grinned, sharp as razor blades. "Good."
Thirty aching minutes later, footsteps carried down the hall.
I didn't have to look. The cadence of his stride. The air, tilting toward him.
And then the murmur—
Elion's staff greeting the CEO of Falkirk like royalty come to collect.
His responses were polite but clipped.
I stayed where I was—perched on the edge of my seat, hands clasped in my lap, trying not to vibrate out of my own skin.
