Page 222 of Terms of Exposure
We walked to the elevator side by side. Not touching, but close enough that our shoulders nearly brushed.
I caught the double-take from a woman in Marketing. The raised eyebrows from two guys in Finance who quickly looked away when Damien's gaze swept past them. The knowing smile from Tessa, who was loitering near the coffee station with a mug she clearly wasn't drinking from.
The elevator doors opened. We stepped inside.
"Here we go," Damien said as he pressed the button for the sixthfloor—HR.
The doors slid shut, and for a moment, it was just us—suspended between floors.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Ask me again in ten minutes."
"Fair enough."
The elevator dinged.
The doors opened, spilling us onto the HR floor.
Beige walls. Beige carpet. Beige chairs arranged in a waiting area no one ever used. A motivational poster—mountain, the word INTEGRITY—hung crooked near the water cooler.
Damien approached the front desk, where an elderly woman with reading glasses perched on her nose was typing something with intense concentration.
"Dorothy," he said politely.
She looked up. Her expression cycled through several emotions—surprise, confusion, recognition, then careful professional neutrality.
"Mr. Holt." Her gaze slid to me. "Miss Sinclair. How can I help you?"
Damien pulled a folder from inside his jacket and set it on the desk.
"We need to file a personal relationship disclosure," he said.
Dorothy blinked.
Looked at the folder.
Looked at us.
"And you're disclosing a relationship between..." She looked between us again.
"Correct," Damien said, utterly calm.
I, meanwhile, was still trying not to throw up.
Dorothy removed her reading glasses, cleaning them on her cardigan with deliberate slowness. Like she was buying herself a moment to process. Then she reached for her stamp—an actual rubber stamp, absurdly antiquated—and pressed it onto the first page.
Thunk.
"I'll need both of your signatures on page four," she said, sliding the folder toward us. "And initials on pages six through eight. Once the board signs off, I'll file it."
Damien signed first, his pen moving in quick, confident strokes. Then he handed it to me.
I stared at the signature line.Emma Sinclair, Employee.
This was it. The first domino. Once I signed this, there was no going back. No more plausible deniability. No morewe're just colleagues.
I signed my name.
