Page 128 of Terms of Exposure
"Thank you." I squeezed his hand, then dropped it quickly. "For showing up. For letting her see you—the real you. I know that wasn't easy."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he tugged me close, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Emma." His voice was low. Rough. "I thought you knew that by now."
The doors slid open.
The lobby stretched before us—glass and chrome and the muted bustle of midday foot traffic. Harold was waiting at the curb, the car idling in the pale summer light.
Damien and I slid into the backseat.
Side by side.
Chapter thirty-two
Damien
The car pulled away from the curb, and I looked to her.
She was beaming. Steady as a fixed star. The summer light caught her hair, turning the near black strands copper at the edges.
For the first time during work hours, we were in the car. Together.
Not officially.
Not yet.
But Jennifer knew.
She was on our side.
Three weeks.
After months of distance—
of pretending she was nothing more than another somebody,
of walking past her in hallways without touching.
Three weeks felt like nothing.
"You're staring," Emma said. She was smiling. That soft, private curve she only wore when we were alone.
"I'm admiring."
"You already used that line this morning."
"It bears repeating."
She laughed—light and easy, the tension of the past hours finally slipping from her shoulders. I watched her body soften into the leather seat, watched her fingers thread through mine on the seat between us.
"We did it," she said, low. "We actually did it."
I grinned at her, but she was already elsewhere—watching the city smear past the glass.
Her hand stayed in mine, and I let myself have it.
Harold pulled up under the covered entrance of Falkirk, shifting into park.
