Page 133 of Terms of Exposure
"Company expense account," I said, keeping it casual. "Consider it a perk of surviving Nathan's mentorship."
Her smile faltered for half a second at his name.
The cashier handed me the receipt. "Your order will be ready in a few minutes."
We stepped aside to wait. Sunlight spilled across the floor, catching dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Outside, the city churned on—taxis and pedestrians and the heat shimmering off the pavement in hazy waves.
"This is nice," Emma said quietly.
I let my gaze linger one beat too long—just long enough to be seen, not long enough to be accused. "I agree."
"Mr. Holt! Ms. Sinclair!"
We both turned.
Tessa wove through the tables toward us, a sandwich wrapped in wax paper in one hand and a bottle of juice in the other.
"Tessa." I straightened. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a whale with ankles," she said cheerfully. "But everything's on track. I'm not complaining." Her gaze darted between Emma and me, bright with curiosity. "Are you two eating here?"
"We are," Emma said. "Just waiting on our order."
"Oh, perfect." Tessa's face lit up. "Do you mind if I join you?"
I glanced at Emma.
Emma glanced at me.
"Of course," we said in unison.
Tessa beamed. "I'll grab us a table—there's a good one by the window that just opened up."
She was gone before either of us could respond, claiming territory like she managed everything else in this building.
Emma bit her lip, fighting a grin. "Well. That happened."
"Jennifer told us to stop hiding. She didn't say anything about acquiring a chaperone."
"Consider it practice," Emma said, eyes sparkling. "For being normal."
Our order came up. I collected both salads and the waters.
Emma reached for hers. "I can carry—"
"I've got it."
She hesitated, then let her hand drop, the corners of her mouth kicking up in a lopsided smile.
We walked toward the table where Tessa sat unwrapping her sandwich with the focus of someone eating for two. Her attention tracked us as we approached—lingering on the two salads I'd carried, on the way Emma walked close without touching, on the way I set her plate down first.
One eyebrow lifted, but she didn't comment.
I slid into the chair beside Emma instead of across.
Tessa's gaze flicked between us again—quick, assessing—then she smiled and took a bite of her sandwich.
"So," she said, chewing, "how's the transition going, Ms. Sinclair? Settling into Falkirk okay?"
