Page 13 of Terms of Exposure
"So," he said, leaning against the mirrored wall. "How does it feel? Being absorbed by the big bad wolf?"
"Elion wasn't absorbed. It was a merger."
"Sure it was." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"You saw the contract."
"Oh, I did." He dragged out the words. "And I've never seen a company as small as yours secure such generous terms."
The elevator dinged.
The doors slid open to Tessa's smiling face.
"Ms. Sinclair! I'm so glad to see you." She glanced at Nathan. "Mr. Bell."
I returned the smile. "It's good to see you too. How are you feeling?"
"Better," she said, one hand resting lightly on her stomach. "My bloodwork came back—everything looks perfect."
"I'm glad to hear it."
Nathan's hand slid to my lower back, guiding me forward with a pressure that felt more like possession than politeness. I resisted the urge to jerk away.
"I'll take it from here, Tessa," he said smoothly. "I'm sure you have plenty to do."
Her smile dimmed—brief, but there. "Of course, Mr. Bell." She turned to me. "Ms. Sinclair, if you need anything at all, my desk is right down the hall."
"Thank you, Tessa."
She nodded and disappeared around the corner.
Leaving me alone with him again.
"Shall we?" he asked, that slick grin firmly in place.
I followed, because I had to.
The offices stretched ahead. Damien's was the corner suite—of course—five doors down and across from mine. Tessa beside him. Maria across from her. And Nathan directly across from me.
Wonderful.
He tapped my nameplate. "Had them put us close. We'll be working hand-in-hand for the next sixty days."
Sixty?
The contract said thirty. I'd agreed to thirty—had practically choked on that concession as it was.
Was he testing me? Inflating the number to see if I'd push back?
"Thirty," I said through my teeth.
He patted my shoulder. "Assuming all goes well."
I ignored him and stepped inside.
A simple office. No windows. No warmth. Gray walls and a cheap oak desk. The faint smell of fresh paint, like they'd only just decided I was coming.
I sat. The marks Damien had left in the playroom—each one counted, earned, wanted—had faded. But my skin still remembered.His hands. His voice. The way he'd held me after.
